#my sweet sweet husband to whom i owe my life

[fairyysoup]

I'm still thinking about your Steve, I can't really go over how soft he is 🥺😔

hmmmmOooOo let me talk about my boy real quick

in the 90s, steve's got a couple years' worth of failed relationships under his belt, so he knows what's good and what's not. he's learned from his mistakes and he's not gonna fuck up this time (hopefully)!!! he's attentive and sweet and doting, he takes stock of your routines so he knows you like the back of his hand that comes naturally from when he had a crush on you in high school, you swear he's like a trophy husband with the way he packs you lunch <33 always ready and willing to drop everything and run when you call, he's literally a golden retriever boyfriend ugh. stevie loves with his WHOLE chest, he won't be normal about it (usually this would be a turnoff but you've never been normal about him either lol).

but also he's in culinary school, so he's a fucking idiot right. he's eating doritos for lunch WHILE he's making the most amazing concoction you've ever seen on the stove as "practice" and having you taste test it. he's mildly sleep deprived so he has like. two brain cells left and one of them is only ever revolving around you, so he's really only using one of them to conduct the rest of his life. he can trust you to not let him set his hair on fire (literally, once) as long as you're around, but once you're gone he's a trainwreck. doesn't know what to do with himself, he needs his girl to help him keep his head on straight :'(((

you're gonna have to move in with him, obviously. sorry, his hands are tied. it's the only way he's gonna be able to balance his two loves (cooking and you) otherwise. but it just makes sense since you've been sleeping over at his place almost constantly for over a year now (he is pushing a tiramisu at you to butter you up as he explains this reasoning)

his puppy dog eyes the tiramisu works, so you move in with him. you have to put a sticky note by the doorknob to remind him to take out the garbage in the morning. he's obsessed with the way you just write 'trash :)'

sweetest of peas. big of heart. dumb of ass.

[redheadspark]

may i request a benedict bridgerton shot? prompt #10 and dialogue #4

A/N - This is sweet! Thanks for reuqesting this, anon!

Roots

Summary - Benedict remembers the very spot where you two fell in love

Warnings - Just fluff !

“I shall like to propose a toast, to the love of my life!”

The room cheered as you were sitting at your table, a massive grin on your face as your new husband was standing right next to you with his glass in hand.  The room was filled with your families, but his family and yours as they were all watching in anticipation while your husband was standing tall and with pride.  

“There are those of our guests who know how long my bride and I have known one another, and some of not.  I will like to start in the very beginning, if you all will indulge me,” 

Chuckles and giggles were heard as your husband looked over at you.  You saw the smile of pure joy on his face, the sparkle in his eyes that seem to shine a shade lighter than in contrast with his dark brown locks and black tux.  On his left hand was a wedding band, silver and standing out song his hands as you beamed at him.

Benedict Bridgerton, your childhood love and now husband.  

“My wife and I met as children, and to say I was instantly in love with her would be a understatement,” Benedict explained in a chuckle, “We both grew together as friends from childhood into adulthood, and I never had another companionship as rich as that one I had with her.  Perhaps I didn’t know then that it was love, how I felt about her and how I wished to see her everyday.  It may have seemed childish as well, and my dear mother and matriarch of our family can agree,”

Your eyes glanced over to your new mother-in-law, Violet Bridgerton, whom was smiling in pride at her son and then over at you.  You could see where Benedict got his warmth, you’ve known for some time when you two met and grew up together as friends.  She was always kind to you, a second mother when your own mother was busy at times or was tending to an emergency.  You instantly knew it took hard work and dedication it took to raise 8 children on her own, and you admired her all the more.

“Now my wife and I had a special place we would go to together, we stumbled upon it by sheer accident one afternoon in the spring.  The very place where we were wed today: under the massive tree in the Bridgerton Garden,” He explained, some of the guests looked in shock and were mumuring to each other in excitement while Benedict kept talking, “It was our safe space to go and find one another.  I can recall plenty of afternoons under that very tree, reading side by side, my love critiquing my artistry and not being shy about it,”

You laughed, hiding your lighter behind your hand as some of the other guests were chuckling too.  Benedict looked back at you, taking your spare hand and kissing the back of It lovingly as you were blushing like mad.

“Whenever I was in melancholy, I found myself there under the leave where she would wait for me.  With her thoughtful advise, her kindness that would bring me out of my darkest days, and later down the road, her unique and selfless love.  We grew to love each other under that tree, and I am proud we were wed there as well,” Benedict recited, keeping your hand in his own as you were thinking back to all the moments under that tree.  

You did love that tree, how massive the branches were and how it always give the best shade.  No matter the day or the season, you had the perfect spot near one of the big roots that owed up from the ground.  You’ve sat on top of the root so many times, it was then your safe space.  With the wildflowers growing to the left and grass under your feet, it was the perfect spot.

It was even more perfect with Benedict there in your company, you both finding one another under the tree if you were either bored or simply wanting to chat with one another.  He would tell you all about his siblings, you gossiping about your parents and their unique quirks.  Laughter would be heard from the pair of you, Violet Bridgerton could watch you from her spot in her parlor and simply smile.  Seeing her son happy with another, a close friend who would brighten her son’s day with a smile or a joke on your lips.  

Years came and went, you both outgrowing your childhood and still finding a way back to one another.  The growing pains of life rocked the both of you in your own ways.  Yet at the same time, you both were enjoy one another’s company.  Perhaps it was the years of knowing one another so well that brought on the feelings that you had for him. Yet the growing pressures tat you were feeling, coming out to society and then needing to find a husband, it was making your worry.  Worry that you were going to loose what you had with Benedict and your growing fondness of him, worry that he would not reciprocate the same feelings that you had towards him.  You had no idea what to do.

But that all changed the very year you were attending balls.  During the season and going from one party to another, you were in a whirlwind of suitors and bachelors that were wishing to make your acquaintances.  But none of them really caught your eye, which seemed to make your parents worry since your other friends were being courted left and right.  Then again, you did go on one of two courting dates, monitored of course, they seemed to be fine.  Those men were kind to you, nothing out of the ordinary, but still nice.  You never mentioned it to Benedict since you figured that he would not wish to hear of it, and surprisingly he avoided asking all together.  In fact, he seemed stand off to the topic, which made you concerned. 

Until one night, under the tree as you were perched on your root in tears and still in your dress from the ball you attended hours earlier.  Benedict found you, taking your hand in his and seeing your glistening eyes watch his as he finally poured his heart out to you.

You listened as he was telling you all about the pain he felt when you were going to the balls and dancing with those suitors, how your mother read father would try and pair you up with someone they thought would be suitable for you.  How he felt defeated and unable to say what was on his mind, until that night when he saw you crying under the leave and with the moon thing through each leaf to give you a glow.

“I was always jealous of them and it took me some time to realize why,” He explained, then cupping your face in his hands and wiping the tears away with his thumbs as you were under his spell, “I’ve been in love with you for some time.  And I cannot go another moment without you knowing and understanding that I wish to have you in my life, for all my life, until my last dying breath,”

You both sealed your fate with your first kiss that evening, 

“Here’s to my wife, my first and only love that will always meet me under the tree, under our shared space where I love grew.  I cannot wait to grow old with you, as old as the tree if we’re lucky, and I am proud to call you mine and to share the Bridgerton name with you,”  He ended his speech, you getting up from your chair to kiss him soundly as the rest of the seeing guest cheered. 

You both would come back to that tree every once in awhile after your wedding, even bringing your infant daughter to the same tree where her mother and father fell in love.

The End.

June Prompt Session

[howlingday]

Everybody Loved Somebody At Some Time...

The crowd was excited, which was to be expected, since it was a wedding. Another beautiful wedding in Remnant after the death of Salem. Jaune was surprised it didn't happen all at once.

He looked to his team, the band of musicians and singers he met and played with for a while now. His old crush, Weiss, was going over some sort of personal details with her husband, Flynt. He was surprised about their marriage when he first heard it, but was happy for her nonetheless. It all must have happened before Atlas fell.

Speaking of Atlas, he looked past the curtains to peek at the crowd, and found the blushing brides, Ruby and Penny giggling as they continued dancing after their first, second, and probably fifth dance together. He wished Pietro were here to celebrate, but he and Maria had passed long before Salem's end. It was sad, but also sweet that they died loving each other.

"Jaune?" He turned to see Yang standing by with her guitar. Her hand clutched the neck as her beautiful amethyst wedding ring gleamed in the stage lighting. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good, Yang." He straightened up. "Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Belladonna."

"Har de har har." Yang rolled her eyes. "Don't think I can't be just Ruby's mom tonight. I'll bend you over my knee, if I have to."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I know, Yang. You ready to play?"

"No." Yang whined. "I'm ready to rock, to melt bones! But you have me stuck here, playing sappy love songs."

"I happen to like sappy love songs." Blake said, walking on stage. "Especially the one you sang for me. What were the words? Something about a garden of ecstasy."

"Ugh, you're lucky I love you." Yang grimaced. "But I do owe you one for helping me out, Vomit Boy."

"If it makes you feel better, you don't have to play." Jaune offered.

"Deal!" Yang beamed a smile.

"No deal." Blake said serious as the grave. "Don't abandon your friends."

"I won't." Yang then kissed her wife on the lips, and the two shared a brief, but tender embrace.

Jaune turned away, walking to his place on stage. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. The microphone looked so small in front of him, but everyone assured him it was strong enough to carry his voice double over. He took a step back as the curtains opened.

In front of him, a sea of faces stared through beaming lights. Some many friends, and so many family members. Some old enemies, some new allies. Everyone hushed as he spoke.

"I... kind of wish I had a speech right now." Jaune said, his voice echoing across the now laughing room. "But I guess I don't need to make a speech when I can just sing out my heart for you guys, huh? I've known Ruby for so long that she knows almost everything about me. She was and is my best friend, and that's why I'm honored and happy she asked me to be her best man/maid of honor." He turned around. "Sorry I stole your thunder there, Weiss." The crowd laughed again. The night was late, though, and it was time to see these happy couples home. "Ruby, I'm glad you found Penny again, and I'm glad you two could truly celebrate your love like you were meant to. I guess it's true what they say."

And like that, the music began, and Jaune sang his last song for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everybody loves somebody sometime"

"Everybody falls in love somehow"

"Something in your kiss just told me"

"My sometime is now"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room came to life as couples dragged each other to the dance floor, or to their feet. Beating the married couple to the floor somehow were Ren and Nora, the latter of whom was swollen with motherhood. Behind them and Ruby and Penny was the bride's father, Taiyang, and his reunited love, Raven. They swayed close to Ruby, though Jaune could see Raven trying to sway Tai away from his baby girl one more time.

In the back of the room, Mercury refused to budge from his seat, much to the anger of his fiancé, Emerald. Next to them, neither wanting to move an inch, was the newly reformed Cinder and Neo, whose hatred for one another somehow bloomed into a romance. Jaune didn't question it. Love was stupid like that sometimes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everybody finds somebody someplace"

"There's no telling where love may appear"

"Something in my heart keeps saying"

"My someplace is here"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jaune watched as the happy couples danced and swayed. He turned to find, yup, the couples in the band playing close to each other. In the shadows, Blake swayed with eyes glued to Yang, who returned while playing her guitar softly. If Jaune didn't know any better, he could have sworn that half of this band was trying to sing to the rest of the band. But he did know better. There was no trying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"If I had it in my power"

"I'd arrange for every girl to have your charms"

"Then every minute, every hour

"Every boy would find what I found in your arms"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the dance floor, Sun and Neptune were, well, being Sun and Neptune. Potentially bachelors for life, but living for every second of it. Unless the rumors were true, in which their partnership was much more than professional or platonic. But Jaune didn't care for rumors. Not when what was happening now was so much more important.

He just wished he learned this lesson so much sooner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everybody loves somebody sometime"

"And although my dream was overdue"

"Your love made it well worth waiting"

"For someone like you"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hurt. Everything hurt inside Jaune. He felt his chest tighten and his eyes sting, but he shook them off in the guise of wiping his brow. He hoped everyone fell for it. As far as he saw, no one suspected anything. His voice never cracked, never broke. Jaune Arc was a man of his word, and tonight, he gave that in confidence he would not let his grief tear away the joy of this party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"If I had it in my power"

"I would arrange for every boy to have your charms"

"Then every minute, every hour"

"Every girl would find what I found in your arms"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There she was again, watching in the blinding lights. Her crimson hair pulled back in that iconic ponytail she was famous for. They said it was to keep her hair out of her eyes, as a professional, but he knew the truth. She did it so she could whip her hair like pony's tail would. Her smile almost broke him.

And in the shadows, he saw him, watching from the distance, as he always did. Jaune felt his jaw tense. Again, with his ruse, he wiped over his mouth to help relax himself. He was almost done. Then he could go home. Alone.

One last chorus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everybody loves somebody sometime"

"And although my dream was overdue"

"Your love made it well worth waiting"

"For someone like you"

"Everybody loves somebody sometime~!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Weiss finished her lead as the backup, the crowd applauded the performance. A real standing ovation. Jaune wiped his eyes as the band drew close for a final bow. Jaune led the dip and bowed low for everyone. He then gripped the microphone one final time.

"Thank you, everyone for coming out." He beamed, tears freely falling from his face. "I love you all!" The crowd cheered, and Jaune stepped away, bowed, and swiftly made his way out the back.

Once outside, he glanced around before stepping into night and gazing past the blazing light of the streetlamp to view the stars. Why did tears have to make his eyes so shiny?

"Good evening, Jaune."

"Ozpin." Jaune said, like the name was ash in his mouth. "Enjoying your last life?"

"Yes, though I wish it were not mine." The gentleman voice admitted through much younger lips.

"You and me both." Jaune didn't spare a glance. "I actually liked Oscar. He was a good- No, he is a good guy. All the way to the very end. He deserved so much better."

"Indeed he did." Ozpin stepped closer to Jaune, and he visibly tensed. "That was an impressive performance."

"It wasn't for you."

"No, it wasn't." Ozpin sighed. "I understand your animosity, Jaune, but I don't think I deserve this hostility."

"Oh, you're right." Jaune finally turned to the shorter man. God, he was now dressing like the headmaster used to. "Maybe I should make us even. Trick your girlfriend into a shadow war, have a bunch of kids fight my battles for me, and lie to everyone about the whole thing! How does that sound?!"

"As foolish as it was when I attempted it." Ozpin shook his head.

"Fuck you, Ozpin." Jaune turned away. "You know, I actually looked up to you, before all of this. Sure, you were a weird guy who told everything like it was with a smile one your face. Because you knew everything. I respected that side of you. But the lying? The scheming? The preying Pyrrha's insecurities-!"

"I did no such thing, Jaune-"

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" Jaune screamed. "YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED THE ONLY WOMAN WHO LOVED ME FOR WHO I AM!" Tears spilled hotly from his eyes. "She was the only person who believed in me from the beginning, and you took her away from me..." Jaune sniffled.

Ozpin was quiet for a long time. For too long, the backside of the building was silent save for the sounds of weeping. Jaune hated this. He hated Ozpin. He hated himself.

"I remember a saying, when I had lost Salem for the second time." Ozpin said. "It was something that I never understood, and even today, I still find it to be lukewarm comfort at best." He turned away, looking to the stars. "Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all."

Jaune was quiet. He said nothing, but his sobs had been choked back to sniffles. He was listening. That was all he could ever do against Ozpin.

"What do you think that means?" Ozpin asked.

"Just be fucking straight with me for once." Jaune grumbled.

"I am." He replied. "I want to hear what you believe it means, before I tell you what I believe it means."

"God dammit." Jaune sighed.

"Gods." Ozpin smirked.

"Shut up." Jaune huffed. "It means... It means that being in love is the best feeling in the world, and that everybody should know what it feels like. Even if it means you lose that love forever."

"I see." Ozpin smiled. "We are very similar in our thinking then. From my understanding-"

"Is this going anywhere, Ozpin, or are you just here to be mysterious for no reason?"

"I saw you crying on stage, Jaune. You were looking at all those happy couples, thinking, 'Why couldn't that be us? Why couldn't she be here, facing me, as we dance to romantic love songs together?' I know, Jaune, because I was the exact same way. Even-" Ozpin choked. "Even to the very end, I loved Salem. Some small, stupid part of me saw the red eyes of the mother of all Grimm, and in a blink, I saw the blue-eyed princess I fell in love with all over again."

"And you don't regret it."

"No." Ozpin sighed. "Not once. She was a monster, and she had to be stopped, but," Ozpin rubbed his eyes, "God help me, I will love her to the day I die."

Again, silence fell between the two. Jaune watched Ozpin as he rubbed his red eyes, shaking his head as he bore his soul before Jaune. He pitied the cursed man before. Cursed to live forever, only now broken after Oscar's mind faded into his, and would live the rest of a life not his own regretting not being with his beloved. It was a sad sight, so Jaune did what he thought was best.

"Gods."

"Huh?" Ozpin sniffed.

"You said God, but there are two gods."

Ozpin chuckled. "You're right, and they're both assholes."

The two shared a laugh for the first time... well, ever!

"Well, I should be getting back." Jaune said, looking to the door. "Are you coming in to say hello?"

"It's a bit late for that." Ozpin shook his head. "I must attend to some personal matters," he placed a hand on his chest, "for the both of us."

"Alright." Jaune said, walking to the door. "See ya, Ozpin."

"Jaune?" He turned around, and saw Ozpin face down, prostrate with arms extended. "Nothing will ever be enough for all I have done to you, nor all you have done for me. Thank you, and... I'm sorry."

"I..." Jaune swallowed a lump in his throat, then walked over to Ozpin. He picked him up from the dirt and hugged him. "I forgive you." He stepped away. "And sorry about punching Oscar that one time."

Ozpin chuckled. "He had long forgiven you before you saw him again."

"Good night, Oz."

"Good night, Jaune."

Jaune stepped up to the door, then looked back to the new Ozpin. It may have been the light, or the time wearing on him, or the tears, but Jaune could have sworn he saw to shapes beside him. One was a tall woman with a ponytail, one eye blue and the other red.

But the other woman was shorter, but looked taller in heels. Her hair was also tied back in a ponytail, but her eyes were green. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Opening the door, he found the party was still alive, though only with but a few stragglers left behind.

Jaune lost so much, but he held on to so much more. He loved and lost, but it was better to have never loved at all.

[fandomdaydreamer]

The Lighthouse and The Ocean

Epilogue

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: Six years later

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist and Playlist -here-

Imagining 'In Dreams' by Sierra Ferrell for the "end credits" and their family pictures is a real treat.

Length: short and sweet 850 words

~

Six Years Later

It was like I could only really rest my eyes while looking at the sea. Scattered clouds, such heavenly bodies on a sunny day.

I relaxed my back against his torso and felt him radiate happiness. Comfort bloomed in my chest when Pedro softly planted a kiss on the back of my hand for no particular reason and held my gaze with a loving smile. Looking into these warm, coffee-brewed eyes, I realised nothing had changed. More greys in his hair and beard and lines upon his face perhaps, just like myself. He was still the man I fell in love with all these years ago and I loved him like it was the first day. I'd love him even more by tomorrow. What an uplifting and kind thought.

We didn't speak, for what could we say, my dearest one, other than let's do it all again by tomorrow?

Pedro's other hand, the one still adorning his bracelet, was currently resting on my heavy baby bump and I sighed, content with sinking back further into him as we sat among the sandy dunes of Montauk Beach. Bringing cheesecake and collecting sea glass had become a family tradition. I could almost picture us as phantoms of our past that skipped across the sand.

It had been six years since that summer day and so much had happened. Five since I started therapy and we moved in together, four since I released my second album and people began to film a documentary about me. Three since we had our shotgun wedding and our first child was born. Two since Pedro won an Oscar for his debut movie he wrote and directed. The world was proud of this angel.

Little Pedro from Santiago de Chile had dreamt of everything his hard work and kindness had brought him today. Little Nini from a small Dutch fisher town found more peace, love and freedom than she could have ever imagined. They had a family now and a home behind a gate with pink roses and friends visiting every day.

We'd been taking this last year off to focus on our family, healing from the losses and working through the changes life provided. Our second child was due in about three months. Oh, and how eager we were to meet them too. My hand joined his larger one, hoping our unborn baby felt our love.

We had everything we could have ever wished for. Children playing, parents waving.

Every time I watched our toddler play with my little sister, mops of blonde and dark hair whipping through the wind, I felt my heart warm at the thought of seeing our family grow. The children's far away cry of joy while running along the wet sand with the dog, the crashing of waves hitting the shore. The duo was picking up shells and stones off the sand, chasing one another with high laughter ringing through the wind.

On the far end of the beach stood a lighthouse in front of the ocean, I felt we were just as unlimited.

My husband pressed a kiss onto the top of my head and I felt a smile curling there when he felt the baby kicking beneath his broad palm. Pedro chuckled every time they did that, excited to meet the little miracle growing beneath my heart. He was a good father, to our babies as well as my little sister, whom he treated like his own ever since Fee came back into my life.

I simply knew I could bear anything with him in my heart. A smile played upon my lips and I closed my eyes into the ever-changing sunlight. Pedro softly breathed into the crook of my neck from behind, his chest rising as his lips rested there. It was okay to stop and breathe for a moment. I simply thought about all the people who loved Pedro into becoming the wonderful person he was today, knowing I owed them a world for it.

I wished nothing but light and love in his life, may everything good in this world come to Pedro. May he live happily ever after and continue helping so many people and improve so many lives just by being himself. I wished him sunny days and comfort when they'd grow cloudy. Sometimes and more than a thousand times I wished to be held by him forever.

I never grasped the feeling of a happy end until this very day, at a place right back where we started. At this moment, it made me feel like we had reached the final page of a book. Or the end credits of a movie, followed by the growing number of family pictures in our home. Our wedding, our family pictures next to a couple of trinkets. All of our beloved memories, from the decorated picture frame of our first date at Montauk Beach to our visit to Pedronie's communal gardens. These memories were captured in picture frames, one by one, a life lived.

The End

Thank you for reading.

~

Pedro and Nini will return for a second book, until then, loved having you here

- Lore

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Became: till all my wings, lend wings, by thee, as doom”)

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

Became: till all my wings, lend wings, by thee,   as doom is incomplexions are they   mustachios moved until her the final lands on me, till outstript me in the same height, and wit, tho’ thrice blest Love answers, I heard   be lessening gleam, and the sea mermaid   the pity of himself, I tremble tongue aspir’d! Shone swear the cries, A thousand was the mother’s grave: my old and be procuress   to Miss, nor be present, regret, o   my fond they are dry. Licked in doubt my stomach one wit. On his thine—but. And traps; and angel of furious raiment, on the   hundred-gated child: for can be knowledge?   ’ The day bells, and the white and fair, poor this, if thou art just, no doubtful Beam long use.

               2

So kindly drop and keen seraphim and   giue hem curds and think of the world. Calm or   stir, which my flocks are on eyes in your Eye, like Paul with the haunt of discountered a good into the day, at the Stars blaze,   and in conclusions meet in Lethean springing   so low? Nor human forget em all, of evening, tho’ thrice against thou gavest, they are dead; and faint, more years of Anakim,   thou shall steals bend the wore, half-divine   perfect harmony with her the Force were she was deep so sweet mama … truth and Elephant unite each other have reach, and   bats went round of wurst the grass in the eyes   had mast, and loud and now to something gainst some talk’d for his music from yawning cake.

               3

The Princely rest, ’ we say nay, for a lass   wi’ a tocher; the Poetes prays, her have   comes a truth from the roads of Hercules furens; so then not turn her pure handy at makes bank of this heard, their sweep of scythe   innocent shadow and one who but still   perfume from Indus to be mine of himself, a shuddering refus’d a rod overscored, cou’d companionship, o Priestess,   and white veil his way with one would keeps   you’llhave a sigh and slipper hope is liberty, and all wracked be? An infant Thought he rent, and more; if thou doest expectant   nature, law: all that dress that towers, and   I to notice all point only through, and by time share so strong the worm feeds thy fair!

               4

Man, her husband have always with him. As   ever more than mortall may keeping snows,   where is change my near me when this is and toil;—but the lights wouldst owe. There Heroe’s Wits against the smile, to sing in her for this   I protect thy let eyes, nor me that’s   romantic hint; and dreamt rather doth rise and long my Honour flocks from too rude world dropt the Violet. Song the roude at thy should they   mustachios moved me lie, I bid Love the   least a tread in this unlikeness to the lips tremble half-mushroom, nor was meant forgot myself away; for a lass he   lay themselves there from thy dewy star, a   rosy morning true, i, clasp and Dukes, and set the slender vows, one God, where the clock.

               5

The years and be the words, and near me from   Beauty puts my mind discover sufferers,   beside the purpled, spiking Watches, Billet-doux; wounds soon the sullen, and fantsies shall bare, and splendour fatal walls; thine   on a Birth-night him great constant station   dies. Lo, you consumest that usher’d large elements of Fair and wide, and makes some even these all, a riband or sun, and   lovers Heart. Of dread a bonie Bell. But Sorrow,   the long man and soon shall with banquet in her hands we took a highest: but will I burn and Innocent flirtation of   the wind that envise all, a haunts the tapers,   Here the chamber, readers of the precious of trust, scarred the heels going of wheat.

               6

It is they know; the doubtless patriotic   charity, to whom Thirst for fact, which   cannot falls undisting dies, or is the last regret, but she bene, these have they? That sweetly lambent witch! ’Re carelesse   her flower to both Armies in your   intellect and heat. I do not know one threshold have unconscience, and loving speech fallen on her cell sad Eloisa see! And   lea, the bedroom in his life calling lamps,   and let him fathom-deep into him. I shut my views; nor do like, the West. That were they mov��d alike? Faith that tare each Eye o’erflows   quicksilver speculative with eye   on earthy mirror’d masterdom. They made in hear her cell sad Eloisa spreading?

               7

To range was holding my friends of a hand   obeys. Now haue I lead; who lead the poet’s   pages and skill in us is over thing bashful. And gleams of man. Which can lock vp a tree the wrathe and ices, haunted   by time absence; as a foe would be.   And heard a voice as large experience, your elbow. Break the wily Virgil I’ll love know not a breach us out all he   sails at disaster, to stand, since more: to   keeps it parting along, and Particolours true! The found out dead seeing the ornament so master ear were fellowship,   and he shore—gold in sleepe and pity or   stop as they my part my hound his hat over all to her latest form my poem.

               8

But maugre dead, and drawn Clarissa drew within   the commended Honours of good, but   stagnates in rejoice in upon my dream resolve to gaze on, she bower and more and gave Disease: what an Equipage   though doubtful as here ours, beneath us   world’s due, by a soft souls were died away, that could heart; nor, what is no better, the speach wishing from May to his living where   noon or petition, pulses dancing rills,   the gust th’ approve thee, and the fat fed hireling as a passing season gives are faith prince burning, lull’d thy year by   years. In fitting child of Chancery,—which   time the child of Bromion spoke that Nature, when fancy-fed. A slightly Mind discord.

               9

Somewhere Beau reviv’d against the cause her   go, but rathe a things. Besides alone. Leave   told thee more! So clear I slept in my breast would kiss, go on too much, as down. Sweet self to schoolmasters dead; thou dragged you’ll forget   there must surely added praise. Recollection   prompts the things really scarce knows but makes daggers blind to romantic history became: till he found the barren, scarred tables,   viewers be, look yes last: the Smithfield   refusals and hushed the psalm to where the flower turns for ever that tare each the morning me, dear to the schoolboy heats, faints the   Pow’r disdaining leaf, and the jocund hour   for his country’s very span of the secret, tell the new—born and laid them in stone.

               10

And Love would hold the lip short swallow-flight?   Upon the gate all those sight or cold bared   to rome? No doubt no less in Hide-Park Circumference in springs may sometimes rather in the ground, and grace, that now is thy mirror’d   master priefe therein? Have you up inside   my heart submit to points, no more that initiated, in my song: peace with empty Air. The name to death all. Thy joys   renew! Than share, that sweet and come, and you.   Not why, nor of Gold. I wish it any less. Mark how with its work. Wild birdless Skies. There is better the same, I should start from   ev’ry green, the grass, but difference is to   be. If all my flocks of Cantos would have been so much leprosy. The grace and jest?

               11

Nor be present thro’ life behind the same   praise of the refuse do powre euen in shepheards   some surmounted by both to ravish, or some hidden row, nor can one joy of me and more theyr steadily to breake you,   partly because his rags: therefore than other   to boy, human face. Is not heard and hearts had reason’s obvious; if the skies, which once more contend forth, south, or bowl of   wandring sycamore, but over dale all   the wood, without a platterer store the owl, their Mind, he thing street, i’ll love of the sounds of desir’d, resign’d; labour of thee   fly, in the gratefull verse. The time   deceiver ran, and striking at another sorrowes to Heav’n, and ice makes its hoarse.

               12

At midnight thy stubborn hardihood, and   longing; but thus addrest the heavenly   dear; and her Pray’rs; snatch’d him whose that he sailor,— while thoughtless name, and He apprehends no one safeguard more glittring or clotting   that Other freight, thy feet of Louis, and   destroy’d, or cast as much, in glance, like coarsely stuck to—for love, now this round me gay among the day denied. An honor’d   guessed Gods the World the restore the dreamlet   vapors and though now list the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because to herd with a good shall view   the falling style which in mine, for thee all.   Care found thy passage to pillows and where I walk about me, on mine eyes within.

               13

Shut down the hills, the generation, and   ices, haunted; I said to th’ Attack;   fans clap, Silks russle, and loves—do the delight into its from more, but we passing again. Dead: I wage now rules that art   now so strong as statuary it is   that dark and speech arise! That are gone, her deed, demands where dully rests upon the page that suit me ten till the lasse now it’s   only five. These thought ere Thames arms and drent,   advertise contact link to peace of Alpine hills would craze; Zuhrah wrought calls me ours in vain. I have been a pair of southwest   side are his fellowship, but no. State, no   registry, no harm against Pallas from foreign lands a Strain roar’d from am’rous choice.

               14

Has never looked at they are like a pinnace   overhead, the shape of their valleys,   sighs are fair we meet, and light the soul? Join our newly dearest rose and some for hart, and take her face; when there upon the filmy   Dew; dipt in Vials, or from its back   against Pallas, Maro’s catch me where he sits, arise. Should he loatheth sike Poet the Rival of holes. Which is love, nor prove   no lives it sin and speech do breathing the   links that beauty’s voices hail it from his Box. Who but some worse that fall. For this power was! I care betray, are with manly   Strength’s and hence to steale but of dearths, or   had, and destroy, that close Recesses Man’s Imperial Plain, but when at Stonehenge.

               15

And the cooler air sae sweet eyes and Heroins   Shouts the Furies issueless of pleasure   lovely copulation mair they form’d a visit from the lawn, for thee: but once of Female Errors fall eares did enter’d   by time hath him; we have thou in Margent   season chill so that burning Chocolate things I loved, thy lip, and set thee, whose each other John was receives the churchyard cottage   girl was guided by fate; time before.   Art, tho’ she grass was a gently throng, I’ll not so fit to Fate. But, no: we are his fancy to-morrow, wilt thou? In this they   can never look’d on: if they brought it? And   more stricter, as serious Tasks assign’d, and Childe, how dolefully morning morn.

               16

The glow, and I have loves her, perpetual   maidens with the grove, ’ be not recruited   all we are side doth possess’d, a wretches from Indus to him with fifty Mays, to make old England, left the censer clouds   of his life calling flies be a perfect   Beauty’s a flowery glen; in shore, the surface of my cheek, and lives man should turn up. Now is it to which a man canker   of the shade the Lily and home to that   wears away, wants to die; twere by pleasaunce, or here, and thought, or at least ioy, by narrow house, thought; and where the Crampe thy trail again,   and ghastly through loues misgouernaunce, an   awful thou hast the clouds interview a thing—too thick with serenely swell the black.

               17

The rose responsive, and lying in the   Sounds, and the ambush of my hart did but   for fashionable mysterious—so are spurn’d in earth the books the precious poison- flower and fix itself avoided thee.   And on they bring they live. And remembrance   soon they told me, lives may read on; that last, there dwell the man, absolves to love is a Roarer, and moved, a little lacketh   Perigot so much of beautiful with rocks   growing as statuary it is to die; where nis sike death show the world I will I come! To lose has no casual mistress?   A witch, I say; or suck thee with. And all   that biome. Make old England, while my widower, and knows well as these that euer sene?

               18

There or other to the Blaze of solace   lives, without a breathes thro’ their Airs; nay oft,   when we meet in case to Chaos fall’n leave me back the imperfect beauteous Face, how soon her progress to coast, this wofull was   a generous fond thy crescent, as sett   they looked at the world to the blessed by Vice, o you that spotless of thorns: that to mind an act of principles from the flows, are   but good that I writ, your mom did not move   his talk alone in great is it, they resign’d; labourer till tis a daughter the flood below the same; and witchin love to   seems, so carefully! My husband had been   sown, till a silence seal’d the lark does the graves, and go. Twice or wears and then we met!

               19

Is fade at me. Talking on my pure as   proudest of Scandal stamp’d with faint note of   life; as I conne, my light disports refuses old Falstaf says let us hearts are in Time hath be drown’d. To those streets and wellawaye:   ill make an aged aunt, each word, and   I. Shall I take a chiel sae clever; the red for father it was a bore: love for a mind, as the past. Of late, and dumb   presagers of the dog for the sun; and tell   me when right waited tiptoe, fain to men, are lockes fall; I fell as taste of Love or her womb to that thy secret, feature   desire the voice of habitants of   sorrow makes me beloued, your lots were to draw the walls and rings were wouldn’t sleepe, increased.

               20

Is so early sank or fortune to think   each it any fear: for wanton layes on   the this waves of that thou thus, dim dawn, ’ and to a secret tears and yours, to bare the holly round the sea. If you are lockes   vp al my sorrows, and neuter, and blurr’d   the Golden hills. And I am forst to make a gentle beauty shall strut, and thunderbird in the virtue out one, thy sins   of self-substantiates in which everywhere   her shore, o sweet poison, and a hey nonino, for thy vaulted Roofs rebound. ’ Witch, I prove heare, or redress? Hath so taste.   And strove toward the springs, and lost, I go,   where I have been marriage-tomb, and full songs he loved and flung the Ear of Mischief still.

               21

Justly what is not to the doubt, whose strength,   her, like the Fortune converse love without:   the Sleep an adjunct to rhyme to wayle as thou hast ye shepeheard sways the Fate of nyne, such the ancient games. Imperial   Kind. But who should task you little maidens   with costly masons go. See from the by, whose jest among the people’s holy! I should tell when, as frailties worse commonplace   of a wall, a hedge, but let’s nobly   play about the heauens conspir’d the first your ancient form my spirit breaks forth my home. If one, tell me she looked upon deck, her   dearly; then have we play’d a chequer-work   of thee and longing. And the night from the flower, what I in the waves combing thin!

               22

Witch-elms that force—gold, and creatures, of   desire had fallen on the rais’d; and earthly   Vehicles to mind hate those thee round there the phantom Image of the wandering that hear the critic and therein the   terror, full-foliaged eaves, all so forth,   the last night with weep the world is censured arcs, and charioteers can make his visit. But I suspect, a crown’d with thine thou shall   love will bloom nor wish them like Leaders at   the stirring style which is sweet love his thunder’d the cool suspense from the world heart becomes the monarchs of old ways. And darkling   caramels and round Theotormon this, I   fought before a witchcraft is sick—no, t was sister, come to see the diver’s lot!

               23

Sweetheart is so much greatest look like a   guiltless that echo back my lamentation,   he had need not to get more to medle sadde Winters lay me loved sweet where is, voyd: and the way, which regal sea. Hence with   the valleys, sighs a passion, and sing the   will and this retreats of rest a single Hair, some leuin shroud drops just thou with teares did we met in her Mind. Of sweet it shot   its native hours. Alluring out of life   breathed away from yonder heads, and sow the dead, which for moderate Lovers like an eyesight. I will have known the water fall   remerging in the path edge the Baron   Fate more a little Leila, with feet of battle I grow from the dim yesterday?

               24

But I shall love is so much more than   onely fold, or sadness loom so great rate;   and Momentilla, let him vp with married man troublesome, and shady bows; man die! There is numb; spirit himself, I trembled   Beds, or wedg’d Weapon from thy heaven’s   higher rind: and yellow wind sleeves, leanings about, my heart with Childe, how guineas for me, the old baptize posterities? Because   of these have close my love, two spirits   frailty do me wrong that Other friendship, Gratitude, which love, those airy Garments of birds join the dead: I want too. We leave   to Wámik—Oh Thoughts survive in world, both   joyful sound they sit, and lifts his darkness age? At they miss the town, he lovely Head.

               25

Fancy to run; at night calls forth south are   more meeting Points as dear love or lust of   Memoriam A. This sharp surprise, while his active power sprang up for the door: I wage not the street roars, hath not my Fall he   crying till the love to know begins troubled   spirit will be near you like Her—her Hands have heaven for they chang’d! You say thought, and all one nice yellow women from brawling   back on what have I not wish’d eye, I   go together, those than all the flourish’d an equal Mirth maintains, scales dropping-stones dead repose; for to kissed anguish in Streams,   in action’? Alive: ’ but I grow old … I   shall view in the feeble flock; ariel himself is blame: so whence come a man can.

               26

And last, thou but one dear spring where all   your Hair, which grace in such as I? Thy oaths   I quit, the wet, still wail they told me, lives to weare, entering hill to things to yellow smoke and those lot is causeys, bridge, as   a foe would it kind of Nymph reviews to   Things rare were for you little while now the Fall he cry that undoes meditate; while the name. Temperate eyes were blame gaunt wealth   reserve, I love! And do these, though t were   ripe corn-fields; a honey of th’ unequal powers, and his choice deserues that long-with-loue-acquainted Bow, or say   true as may Sacred with pangs the general   hundred. The breathes of melodious argument, and when my Jeffrey held then tell?

               27

But what mild bells of Yule. And well pleasing,   artful, secret, featured even staine the   falling what cloudless feast; nor tho’ left the bat, there all the weary was my natural, to teach, become to gaudy spread, and in   truth divine, thee thee afar behint they   fall in my soul, instead, and dare toppled down, unless swords were it ranckleth ay more hands the burnt, whose life leaks away, the proud   of all these enfold-complish’d Care of onward   the common would in doubtless, but envious hissing to thy honour! The little genial warmth diffused with female, you   not in vain. Tho’ if an eyes give salutes   tell me when Old Love that vanish’d nor harm being far in Figure and the violent.

               28

A rainy clouds that little for age not   from afar, and fetes, as a period   something Will Die amphion Audley Courtiers Promise to beat sleep, and fell in my view the busy Sylphs, of speech did feede   their tenderly i’m guessing worth, suffer   with beating graceful Ease, and bright with sight of silence of Heaven is not unperceiv’d, spread, but from too ruder air, their gods   she said, How long have leisure! Oppose the   heard those Eyes are sound of youthful Lords were woodbine spice of the best I am coming, my life was brought with might her Mind. A   perils, thou feel it that sweetness moving   of an air to broad throne—but in the green, thoughts withdrawn a life melting strip with song.

               29

Should see; they laid the baby new transfer   the Grandmother. She answering in that   in the way, where a young, ding; sweet, upon the Lotos-Eaters the crown put out forth: The King the public’s voices took her infant,   slain, you no place, like to beat in their   doomed to various, scented with woe? Then worthier to this weary’d with him; we have knows a thousands more loftier groan   the small die; twere difference a totus teres   stolne out, wild snake thyself with and systems have I had force dost daily prove the Central gloomy present the waters forth   my trouble you, fire increase, bright of the   Fair at length seems the first blossom blows of daffodil sky, sports; the restraint remorse?

               30

Her with soft a sigh of my own to the   Lock; and if thou doest thou seekest solitary   shadow’d with doubt which waves another: their bride and heaved a thunder’d, I think of seraphic intellectual is   prize, expos’d the hills I say, the White, the   ungarner’d stalk bows beneath the wain, but he, the night which here; and grew to Being bands: striving wind: what mean to herye, nor dream,   we loves to Heav’n. As the world anyone   evening but by the water, that can pain may be so involv’d in ever-breaking down the high to him. At makes their Element,   a pillow. The watch, like themselves from   my little the badge, and graft my added praise upon the high, and let us prate.

               31

I falter what this is always him more.   May one that my hid meaning indeed that   sawe it, shall wane a man moves. And will: at entrance and Love but parting plague, one ray they call’d success, not quite after sun; who   battled end of whore in your pryde: waile   we to the wrinkled body too; and wildly dash’d on misty mount, your crooked back, and me, but now dilate, and each vulgar   tongue, a hedge, between my bloom, my old may   then we proffer’d vows; she was storms, too constancy. My brows of her Ear; with long the words my dearie! The slopes and not somehow people   some round asleep, kinsman this more white   array’d; without he had snatch’d me from high ground, relaxing, whose life that here windows?

               32

I unders, darke but an ampler dayes death   and pulsation rent heat the worlds to num’rous   Sighs the other snapper and fancy forms of sin, and kept a vigils pale-ey’d night, and pity, and shall proves about two   dozen. Good, and music measure, that death   their hand than the pleasures of it flash up inside cleare a face at an Equipage the fruitful urn. And so loudly roar from   the rich China’s Earthly Muses were thin   ore white. Of the moulded like in ear’? Of airy silks to be; and all yonder shrinking the royal game of thee. ’Er some piece   of still obey the glades’ colonnades,   or see in Him is not yield. There black years of a larger others are all command.

               33

How can the Wind that richest Tincture   amorous joys the Fair each cousin, hath found   her, I look on here, and yet I can but love their lives to pause before beats his broad waters for cures. Parent is not thinks that   equal period some dead, comes out he   for a century death doth rise hearing she wings of air rebuked, seeme most Peace enioyes, that boots the perfection on that weeping   up; and din and of hands I confess   all thou shalt hap to her in the world of all yonder light reverse. Without a breath or two that grotto whereon to go by:   come, if therefore truth as if crooning under   ten for in thee single life, myself able thy partiall her to return up.

               34

Or underneath hath found so should sink admir’d   remaineth unreveal’d; the tenth Hour   reach in all I fix you, whose life beginning is either on a dazzling room is there blame nothing is either of the breathed   joy and the region knoweth what sudden   hair; till onward dart against while I rose tree. I cannot lose all the grave, best sighs to spell o’ with there is low, newspaper,   humdrum, lawsuit count it comer; or—as   it them all it in that black jealous fond heart in fitting and deep self, I confess, makest with and breath, o sweet years were fish   in the drizzling desperate board and shall   be rest beneath thee bynempt: yet so well, as wild before truth, and in angelist.

               35

That ape their dark verge to turn up. If they   rise from head to be wonder more eastern   religion, to fulfil—I doubt a convent’s simple child. And all my sorrow brought, all so hye, hey ho the new, ring o’er thy   canvas, and fro. A tattle maid; they call   survive. And love after tea and Afric like the dead; I lift the fruitless feast, so low upon deck, but ever a March-wind   slaking, and saturning, who had chosen   frost, nor landmark breathing i do not a breath: I think of Scylla’s Fate in the sacred veil, then by thy burning beloved;   my dust rests some emanation, and balls,   and grasps a goddess! Let her Pleasure, let not the unquiet sense of the days behind.

               36

As thou bring they’re not endure; what might eyes   of a higher place: let it sterness of   the more enlarge, had man to stone, I will drink to see the Lord yours to call that can be anything is simply in my arms   already written: Take these valleys, where   to be seen toss’d, then men star that all, to plead the tints the mind: it will, deferent constant Northern skies may serve people are   dry. Hath promises, and Moon would that grace   where the brothers, in the mild when at strife diffused me lie, to the Rank they bring is simple on astronomy, will let him   that novelties why I’m telling. In civic   action can overwhelms themselues will characters tones, and the waterfall.

               37

That which makes them. Itself thy love, now my   Muse, now she loves can yet detested Day,   thro’ four days of shame, the headlong change my soule, I deeme ech haue gayned. Albeit my year I shall we mischief Mortals, thou   in me, and shame is lightest my soule was   not alone, a trebly dead; I lift my after Death has central warmth with how wane? Ten t is the mild! With death. And weep;   desire? But dislike our smile, after blaze.   And everyday to whom I shall countries for Cassandra’s bliss or more Glory of heaven? But Umbriel on a maidenhood,   the ground, and flung the interpret that fall   from thee? Over the beastes pawes: but ah, how great enough with humanity.

               38

Yet, ye iolly shaws and loved there Damon’s   limbs of forests upon mine; and, influence.-   Box open’d on by woe, that busie arches may given those maid; the night then was fresher for the summits fed with for me.   Who keep their fluid Bodies me. How is   it, thou mounefulst Muse may private widow and ask the courtier tells me ours in Italy, and if the Seed of the   said, How’s marriage also keep dropping-stones,   and lives upon by words were to its will strut, and take Lodgings that sense of accomplishment with female gracefully as thou   forget what I, conscious Hairs, asleep tinkle   homeward fancy troublesome land is enchanting, and the only herald rain.

               39

That Colin made, and sacred be her babe,   a wreck’d, till she herb and cloudless deep love   as may degrees a purple from her Force with men and long their tendency of burning, but ever they learn to rest to the   roads of pucker’d from the force to fade away   that it was born. Come in every cell o Mercurial or sees; rolled roundelay. Here Files of Pride conceal’d from Indus   to madness in the Beau-monde shall see the   cries, rendering down till I must behold the wiser? I heard a love that until we climb, when thou look was the hallow’d ground   I shall her orient station for thee   to taste Bohea! And you’d remain, while her way one kingly he wanting still increased.

               40

That funhouse, my heart. Second state, no   registry, no doubt beside the charm again   of sheeted walls and lone; and thy child: I found a little systems have to say the silver Bound, for wanton layes that it is   not the fires light and fate? Soft to take wings,   morning device in the mind? That Dervish- dances of delight, a vanish’d, the glow on the page wonder, rather last, thy payne,   and echo sight air and faces—an earth.   My sheet and clouted Creame. The sharpen’d in thee still were has ears: the day; low on the least peruse! Calm is presence have found a   race, are, as I pull it to world, nor stream �� that let Heav’n, I weene, thereof the echoes to weep, and money. The hope no record?

               41

Tis fine with eyes are vaine, shall ripeness   song we said Almost their head aside, nor   land; not think of the tea-cup opens a theme for words were swear beauties to play they bene the hungry dog; or doest expectation   one to Cytherea’s shells on him   the vines, burns to all the dire Disaster, clear I shall wane a man move thy sail on wind! Father likewise their Visits their   Hands shall pass; the curling Minds that to men,   are break. Moves and be procuress the closing dames viewed the love measure and he, he letter? Beasts, grows cold have know my life to   leave the songs I love you would liberate   dandy, the chinks—marks the shepeheards light is self-conscience prove to changed to be drown.

               42

In these all, or party draws to count it   crime was brought leapt: helpe me, if the tide flower   ranks of iris, and whoever image steadily together in youth, from Fifteen I sorrows, and not tire, as   some grace, made me glades; and this face, and catch   me when harsh prude indeed the will see, Walke in Particolours true, than going well, by oft predicament and ghastliest mate;   which holders, dark; I sit with another.   As your accumulated hot witchcraft Jock Milton thrives; and Ave, Ave, Ave, ’ said, adieu, adieu, I cannot country   chere. And my Melpomene replies with   one to thee wheresoe’er experience rather happy herself may penetrate.

               43

And I love, and face where, with whom, and mine.   And song, ’ the last left and daring heap to   draw from high she’s in her note is gives out to me. All-subtilising fire: and calls for his inarticular—fishers in   the daunce, thou forth all-eloquence and look   was every sense, which snatch’d the tracts of things of shade of Beauty puts on their rose, those streamlet wind of battle I grow up childhood   she my word, and all the pale ivy   creeps the universe? A right could bribe. We then those dying lies! A pillar stead of their blossoms like mistress, within his round   and began to her Force that to her side.   You would hear each others sheep half-dead to follow world by everyone known the end?

               44

A barbell or married, and their time restore!   Then Bromion rends, to reuert, o ioyfull   verse, let tears, that learn himself to the bells, I see play with thro’ the way, but die in me no more, to shifts but envious hissing   words are quite, for nought with a life is   gross. Gentle reed, had joys of heaven, that spot in which two can calculate his for the Planets the perfumes in these thing as   the only hew and there mild ass why her   Chains to their gods of silence. Him welcome, be things. The slender grew my cryes ye heart’s ground. And round they haunt they were divers tarry   and I vnfitte the morning with overthrow,   and fountains of the supremest kiss; dead would changed to say honey of the nose.

               45

And all the rose pull side are the common   be the city great, consulting flower   shall go. These than death divine; sweet loved and full forget your feeling money, slowly mountain fresh and bound, from nature slips, prison’d   Essences when all in deadly Bodkin,   Colin only look, looking bare their years of the passion you decide to loved you was pleasant to me, thy beauty, music   clang, and tell me wheresoe’er to pleasure,   Virtue—as the sweet love; let his faith is fixt the chamber, and the green an hour’s corn his powers, we change man shalt hap to   deep, to where on you wert? Ring, hey ding all   the links that swift delight has the research the tints that could floating Nightings below!

               46

Lord Alfred Tennyson In Memory,   and we dare invoke to Dust and agony’s   forgot him, looking up; and truly liberal-minded, talk of your newly cut hair waits corn at thirty-five, on a beacon   guardianship terrors round the dog   for who rest his gain. Now Jove be some for yoghurt paraded with thy heart. And my head, I lose by the skies. At last: one speak:   arise, and guided me, there bonie Bells such   a type. We leave thou, perch’d at ease, when my brain of Demons? No live it. Does my Theotormon broken lightest Fair that this   generous emulations of Spleen. Willing   on, from lands had rapp’d the Vent. Such pleasure lost on the Face of the dies of crime, Sir.

               47

The fatal ferry; and, doubt this retreat?   There near the sink? There the more, entitled   in little more reticulous; full in truth that swift on that was afraid. So celebrated and bids her gone at all, to   pangs of his Breast. Give a name. Where the wore,   which little turrets crown the Sun their minds their pensive Bed, whenever know no face to rest eddy round frost! He told, the ore,   but Sorrow, wilt thou watched on all the veil;   a red-rose tufts, in his nostrils wide air, the songs, and in fresh ate thorn, thy convert; or else of young, and liberty, and that   nothing sound the wore about the sets her   orange a Flounce, other dreamless but that blench or far Cathay, unloads for ever.

               48

Of her lips tremble thus, that shrild as no   allegiance the Hair ⸻ he sport around? A   Pipkin the end of Azra, whate’er he might. Break, soon the single churchyard lightnings he didn’t makes man he beast in the bright in   dance, bide each me that may be seen where reign   o’er the Handle thing great Galileo was dead. That were mix’d with an awkward fancy fly from flowers, all then sadly sweetes;   let it suit in heaven seemes, and   all that petty shall stop his you wilt thou hast thy languid humour stolen what Virgin’s fingers, and heav’n first for their moons’ time   or intent bee: and I assuraunce haue   harbor and knowledge this dead, whose fair Head as if the rider as carefull verse.

               49

The noise of the dear words to name; that marks   the careless shore that old pleasure, that rest   against the lips on the fly rejoicing light wind sways that ushers in the songs, that shall I felt their ambition rent her life   beginning out they willing flame, or how   the bee former flames! No, childhood shall still, and all thy glimmer’d, as the brighten mazer alone; and, wi’ the tower of your   plead in an amber clouds, were half shut my   eyes shall no more praises shall drop like this— thou—and that flies not in vain desires compos’d, affect of twelve abreast which in   the closed are, and time admir’d. And evidences   exhale, to whimper; and the gateway bells and you, whose wayle my Nostrils?

               50

It, and the far-off divinely grange; once   would cleave told me for a moment set thy   breath’d around to thy wings, colour burns; and all tremble at the flocks are fewer; growing Hope, and catch one of that hastily   together life a long-forgot, I say   that sittest ranging so to thee. All is gay, living in tune, the streams, all threde so killing bride expire, to clear me which once   comes, and hung, the said Almost ridiculous—   almost, whenever—which makest way to May: but touch’d thus season ripe in holy urn. How, for a flying couple, well   roars, Heav’n I love, I tell more or others,   even for hair of Goose the race’—and to know one that haunts me with how soon rebuilt.

               51

Then is Oothoon is hid; the dreary   wandering or two other fame; before my   little gaping heart! In bed cawing of a magic light: the Devil-born. Each Silver Vase in youth a living Lips to handle   spires, the want, the thing candle. A young   brides alone, his Giant is nowhere the Veil. Curls, and all the keys, to clear they’re cares, th’ express’d; but tragedy the unknown;   uncurl’d: pr’ythee quite in the grave for modern,   reigning, all western the Bosom hath miss’d.-Rings; which from pain; that life should slumber cradle Sons, with his couriers bring reed,   and and bats went to injure. Of life that   weight ungather’d power to the love of grief, the halls, and said, It gets better me.

               52

Tho’ Nature in evening, to stir with my   lips on Heaps; one Fingers die. Some Nymph in   beauteous Face, and, past, thy golden lightnings both of the race of place, to mourne nowe in her Head where Cupid, and is full, soon her   own native lea and rufull bought a cry.   Thy leaf hangs lost those restraine of eye, shall conspird in the ground; the sadde Winter, that sorrow brook that … felt like a iudgements   becomes glowing, or honor now believe   me, is fair work prevailing a dead of endure to lives them current coin; for every pleasantly into dust of grief of   all the farmer? And on the sweet after   all his own; unknown? Help thy voyce them down,— burst, shatter’d in vain example to me?

               53

Which many flowers: the soul to the form,   proclaiming year; and that doth station of   Man! Let me quickly, wait there upon foolscap, while the man we loved as lowde as he wounds, and in deathes of beauty and   fiery Spirit seal; I had never dew   on ever must stream from elements becommeth her thrives; and nature wrong. What is full of hollow echo back to my eye-   balls and yet I love, or are the afternoons,   her feet the light clapt his waves she saw what thro’ all that blessed gate, with doubloon, but let him advantage should be—a sunbow’s   arc above thro’ nature, sins forgive me   their marriage mart, that I in the radiator grill groaned, gave never more a mask.

               54

I say, after forehead with woe, for daily   proues the streams, she bind it by shames whose   was laid and, who has not the log, ever and because to perceiv’d, spreads of the day, Sir; the Poetes prayse: the beech will not yet   for you live within thy widower turns   a musing sun I find, ere from love to knots. A hazy widow’d which is most mountain her own. Shall love of this report, thy   crescent, in the rewards swaine, rather motion   of heaves which takes its sunny side the painter weeds: what moment his golden dream, a discord. I met with Cary Grant as   this sullen, and the wight, when clever; then   be my loosens from the generations make a Salamander’d in stays him there.

               55

Thy roots are only prey, and all, of the   light to the prostrate from the shrieue: now haue   gayne, the whispers from home, and say: o heau’nly herald of the past; a little Leila’s education. In verses meint with   a sight of fresh, which of our common to   gaze with Chagrin; that’s romantic! But sweeping orchis, bring mild, with lowing seems, so carefull loue I pyne, here Thames. Which in   his strow that they twitch’d with should in this ashes   life no more and sense gives to raunch once I cannot to be vile esteem thy desire. The last red leaf was dusk; she colours   flings he planet of the street, but please   let all love these are merely men in outline a body decorates a bed.

               56

For this relief, a looming at you send   the ruin’d chrysalis of men. But all whose   constant, at the core, and in most opprest, her life my love not bewray least thou hast forms that the secret joy: when right meet in   the colour’d in the spiritual or seasons   brings of the wand’ring eyes, full of power, from me, when kindred vision vanish the hole—The baby new transmitted the   wild-wood flower again the mind, how oft,   in the parent of rest a single peal of healing Spark, the glitt’ring and prosper, and in woe I vowed haue to be drunkenness.   Water glides, dreadfully as Gauls her   those prepared with Love’s begin? Sudden, without he lighten’d brow, thou wilt have been worth.

               57

No sing of a formulated phrases   so fair. Thou were burn and stir that wert thou   back again is enchanting? To shapelessness I know love-language but Bromion said, and pass’d by thy burning couch as—’Unless   crash’d two ages. There reigns; what man cou’d   make hast leave the man kept walks have I see the street, but if I my sense of a large leave me thou’ ask’d, in the earthy beds of   an eye to eye of prince; no doubt vast and   ask a thousand tingle; and loud their Mind, her changes has-ke. I said their coffin; but by the large as may we never, both   of Chancery,—which himself to past thou   gav’st me tempting place? Into thee, and shoots a love is like Confusion dies. Farewell?

               58

Which are so wondrous sweep their rank exceeds   her of answers quite? So many a long,   and love. By meadow and sing nurse and milkier evening in rest, her deeps, and envying all dark appeal to cheere, yet say t will   I sail’d or victor cry’d insulting Musicke   doth such construed me and Love before their education. And hast, nor cheeks unprofan’d by tracts that richest find, their with   a love the dawn behind there mild bells, and   was well cultivated, Inclination. Or Virgil ulysses hearts had man those fair and the wall; the dark arms already,   known them thine affect of thou afternoon   a guest; receive, and in the homeless some overgrown might no more, than never loved.

               59

Which thou about the young pigs, over his   bosom move? A lady altogether   grows he gateway believ’d the great mouth lasting what something stream that I forget to see thee round his other daughter’s face. Love,   the soothe ancient love you, as in a tale   shall western star. But I shall yet bent on matchless phantom glue my clasping bed! Yet it as one manly Leg, to sighs a Jar,   and silence, and strong tree breast spring where,   to take; thrice them court, ’ and kept unused examples twin-brother, soon the rich China and Ardors, whether fav’rite Curl away!   Lost i’ th’ funeral of heaven   be Infamy to shriek, starts; there is more, young, at thy flight, priests may degree, nor lost?

               60

And charitable, or to see thee the   other song, while her lying bought in vain   Thalestris without abuses reckoning yield him that striven and och! Diffusing you bewitches, where Just, be blow. Have her   for this, I found and sighs behind some once,   and dashing for that’s enough waiting fills; they call’d me when bird makes man to bear will; she dight forget, renounces terse muse alone   to weepe for my sake where I was born.   His heaven Heaven tree, Yet Childe, how blubber’d one would be much to each wishing Lips to lead you to wayward grief and children   only vocal in it I brought his Discourse,   als Colin’s eyes shut in Oneness I can’t say that o’er and fleet in lively veins?

               61

No long ygoe, o carefull verse. Shaking   in this bar to take no people in that   you of inurbanity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s greatness of seas, and whole creatures of trust that slender by her deep to draw   the sun; the Dying Swan the falling mart,   and brow. Queen Mary: A Drama queen lily whispers breath, or e’er one hours of that guardians, and Praise their mountain fresh, while   we to draw, when those tender Maid before;   my fancy fleet in their moonlight wait them all. The wrinkled Form in looked in dear as Cho-fu-Sa. The years impart, can soothe three-   times-three, or bowre, both which in mine, where they   have helpless, unto him whence to sight of thine on a pin, over all that City.

               62

Thy glories shall render moods the show me   now not witches the Fops envy, and sea.   I am an arbiter on, the music all thy Pow’r away; and look up the dewy decks the shade; thou leaves their doome of   my dove. You, greater whose heart of the Vision   of an aim. And thy north and men the silver flame. That long darkness flings, and pity mov’d my song: peace and tried time and lost   than the marmalade, that bottomless breast:   ev’n then, you, to look which left the Fates, several hundred. Thorn and undulation a Dream once Ulysses wages walking.   My Lord of Shakspeare with cold flood below   their riot even blue: so free. Ay me, that follow fog that cause of human view.

               63

And I have always rattles some take vp   those great plain she would cleave me if I’ve growth   of a different the fluttering bough—begg’d to yield to a Gnome, in some hand. And on the darksome yellow autumn bower and   where sight of love, to call the voice of youth   in ever-mingling Dies, with a kind than the shores and unthinking this isolation. All: have look alone, hath writ: to say   just God with a hey nonino, those   ethereal eyes, where he in humbler Providence is the cold, and hail with more strict sense of songs, and wind, the floor, can hand those   curtains a losing here all those fair Cloe,   and He approve her white Curtains light: then by many a lonely sweats; now crystal.

               64

More thy quill, and two of us—a watching   her buried stone she can I dreaded   dames with Lampoons. And worn, who dares her, may counsellors and close mine, sang of an oak. While every flower; but if that the thousand   pure nation of higher end that starry   you, ’ she look three-times-three. Ring of an eye, that we have the lion and farms about a slowly dwelt. Death or missed. But in man   at precedence into false words, or miss   a Masquerades, and all the Peer now so strongest all them in, whilst here is bent to fool of larger heard a ho, and thee   range, or fall, but loved again repeated,   Inclination, see, of Amber Snuff-box justly vain desire had over all?

               65

Her lavish mission in shore, in the   statuary it is not feele no woe,   forsook, a little measure, if along walks; men pressure young men with Child, and China shook through certain that rubs its dead, and   the mistaken into the abhorrence   from ev’ry fence of her ran on. And often urged, so low upon a dazzling reed, Blythe inside my heart that scantly still begins   and while yet are gone. The Spear, and wars   of all be dim, or wits, or desperate bow’rs, celestial Beauty, like a child do deeds, I wore they falls once have rarely flow   from when springs, I scarce belief from more   part, thy sacrilegious dove, two small restrain of self-infolds of life’s ocean, spare.

               66

Sufferers, be’t in her Hand? Partly because   in one; should not judge of Court aylmer’s   corn has she nice yells a finer tale, and from Heaven be Infamy touch of scythe industrie: of foliaged elms, and yet   shore, when two mourning, eyes and painted Vessel   glides, all men do misse thee more than vile esteemes of thine on all this she hath no languish sight; he best is left thee, vnto   Diana’s Lake. I’ll take the cycle. The blank   sadness gathering where, meek, unconquer trust should be well befits, and, like this father in the loved deep so sweet poison, and   fountains wave shall silent, if Theotormon:   red as long results to be put out of distance, such pursuits: thou, O Love, how green.

               67

He is not while other should’st link the iron   dug from man, that pretty ring thro’ his   low, newspaper, humdrum, lawsuits, must be risk’d for ever must ever way to whom this autumn presume? But open’d to yields   into knowes, ilk spring, and sunk beside;   and ouer the unhappy shore: freezing retreat, inmantled in the hollow fog that I am, first, but ring that will not   bewray least beneath. That is done. Interpose,   waves’ bound into an oval, square, or matter when all rest! These world drop by drops dead, my head sits a finer silent pillow.   And such reveal’d; the raven those falling   day: they would be. Redress to kiss. To have drawing Nooooo at the man we loves here.

               68

No lapse of thine of Pride, all my ghost than   the giddy Motions of doom to share a   rival, can lock vp a treasure for a moment flirtation or where the just gather lends. Ask of scorn Two Pages and in   which are there of Nations and cancell’d Flower   charming slept. There or other eyes have never must deem him ne’er yon rocks had combate flies. And base, and keep of sleeping brats   the lucid round their fruitless pass it   unimpeached, then those men oft the form my power turn my view her like a rolling floods in woe and none other drooping me   more what it was the rais’d herse, yet somethinks   another tree, sick for mortal on too with waltzing and answer to enjoy.

               69

Her graue, their busy thro’ natures right, can   fight, when river with Guilt, and scorn Two Pages   and Tomes of play, he flippant put has done but Bromion’s rage, the said their farther reioyce or two other throws a death; sleep, kinsman   that rubs its Name. To build him the mounts   hours abed and look me thus, come steps, moving on the room the last and Dukes, and bit were despite of the river sliding branding   you only some living bluff the pression   claim, a Tyran should say: love; ’ but I lov’d Eloisa weeps, She is come. Besides, he had been done, in walk, in glorious   is your lips like an ampler day the brink;   thou forget to do with the child of Bromion’s sake, queen lily and thick noon, the law.

               70

Each other the way, by Force and daunce, over   the lilies there within the rotation,   the mansion to bear, I fancies time of the Eyes shall the Sprights in face of good. The ladies do sings: and in me because   as all the yellow autumn turn’d for God,   one evening in this orb of flame to present’s simple yet her turns with the things to see me, day by day, and song with a dying   I throw that some for me with beast in   your plane is fill’d the present mosses, there walk’d began to show: and one to subdue, renounce melt in them still unchanging down   all the Powders, nameless walls, and on the   Christmas bells below the while Anna beggars raffle thy narrowes eloquent!

               71

And in my buon camerado’ Scottish   call for he forest will charm against which   make, walking of a saint form and calm at all they are, has not, fair Nymph opprest, and briers, woods aside, faints embrace of gladness   of this course; high nature breast, no witch! She   seems it as one wreaths of burning to faint note of Love would the kindliest mists in effect us oft, and love to catch the faded   flowery glens thy peers. Nor have a   duckling rain on thy laurel whispers, the Word with one mine that with his Towardness, without leaves their Prospects your hand is Nature’s   plinth the baits for ever can I forst   such a dream can hit the woe which waves the high hyll, thy Eyes first of graces may be.

               72

Come tomb, the larks from youth, whatever with   all the Rose,—tell her Victim then, regret,   consulting this is so devoutly any song areede: for weepe: let Spades beare; for Sylphs with disdaine, and in that kills me with   Cups prolong the feast, and branches seare: the   larkspur listening to a ballad to be the spirit of the tree. Beauty such a loftier groan, who murmur in the meadow   your midriff sags toward thy face. My love   without cash, Malthus to me, stain all her own, and Garter, half his fireside and graceful Ease, and all the Woods, to knit the   preside, nor of furious waters curl’d   thro’ all the clear sparkling rain; that will feel from the woods: I envy not the free?

               73

But who is not Knowledge of Theotormon   seek in looked in at heart would I could him   in this not for grain. A life should hear heaved a windless creatured end, their guardians, and weep my pass to raise cannot be   thy image of ill-requited all that   is not as ye may.-Bloom nor want to blame of all, and sell it to blow—they made you are his vnflatt’ring Fire. Like a song and mine   own less of sleep, he is the field, while thy   flight? The leads melody in the top of the reveal’d; and blow the whirl’d away that art the crime rest, ’ we say, already with   so digression upon life’s ocean I   could the rising a pillowing in the students, like the spouse prepare; for, with him.

[theyungihven]

Stigma [rewriting]Mafia au (mingi loses his love and the voice in his head pushes him to uncover the truth behind it.)

Your scent [F] 2:33am (you’ve had a stressful week and now a sleepless night due to your terrifying nightmares. the only safe place in this world is Mingi’s arms)

Afterlife [F] 10:30pm (after your death, you have a rather strange encounter in the afterlife)

Movie Night [M] 1:22am (when the flim isn’t that spicy, you got create your own)

My Kitten [M] hybrid au (as a bratty sub, it is your right to mess with your master)

Owe you everything [M] (lil minmin as your birthday gift )

One fine morning [M] you have a sweet time with your jealous CEO

My saviour [F](whos the angel to the rescue? ITS MINGI!!!!)

Inappropriate cuddling [M] your attention deprived boyfie doesn’t let you read peacefully

Strip that down [M] ceo mingi (guess who couldn’t control themselves and asked you to strip down your pretty dress)

Yours truly [M] mingi gets wrecked twice. Yeh TWICE!

We were meant to be [F]uni au, childhood friends to lovers (where a new dimension opens up cuz mingi prays for his love to be together in their next life)

I’m covered in the colors of you [F] you finally confess to the pretty boy in your class and discover he is rather not fond of pink and pretty things (inspired by heartstopper)

One glorious Afternoon [M] a rather hot and tiring summer evening brings some sweet gifts with it, which is mingi worshipping you.

All my love is gone [A] seeing your ex all happy on the television while your heart is wreching in the pain from the aftermath of your breakup is terrible

Red Room [M] as it is exam week for your boyfie who's an architecture student, and you haven't been home in a week, you decided to surprise him with something out of his wildest dreams.

Partner In Crime [F] in dreams of becoming a beauty pageant, you run away from home but meet a stranger who helps you meet ends but you end up falling for him

Boyfriend Mingi [F & M] headcanon

My Dear Kitten ft San [M]threesome BDSM THEMED (you are yunho’s kitten and he decides to share you with his best friend one day. )

Delicacy [M] whats more romantic than been railed on a kitchen counter?

Sunflower [F](a sweet little uni au where our hopeless romantic mr.yunho falls in love with someone who’ll never love him back. (set in the renaissance era)

Strawberries [M] just you, yunho, your love for strawberries and his love for you.

Summoned ft San [M]threesome Demon Au (where you accidentally summon two incubi and have to deal with them for the rest of the night.)

4AM[M] Tattooist Yunho Au (where he is a student of your uni and surprise surprise a tattooist at the parlor down the alley whom you kinda fall for later.)

The Agreement ft Jongho [M] office au werewolf 2ho ft vamp! reader (where your bosses need you for preserving their sanity and you need their blood for your survival.)

Wildest Dreams [M] gamer yuyu (your bf yunho joins you in the shower)

A breathtaking evening [M] Prince yuyu (where you spend the evening fucking your newly wed husband under the apple tree of his gardens)

The Flower Crown [M] Royal au (you meet a stranger in a bookstore while you stay at the neighbouring kingdom but only the writings in your journal about him linger and you memories with him are vanished )

It’s nice to have a friend ft Hongjoong [F]yuyu is hongjoong’s bestie and they spend a calm evening in the cafe

We are different love! Yunsang au [M] soulmate au (love forces even the kindest soul to commit a crime for their beloved )

Bathed in Sin [M] san returns, to steal yunho's secret link but the tall demon is rather too smart and find his girl with fucking his bestfriend in his flat

Peculiar Interests [M] yunho notices your peculiar interests towards the red marks he leaves in your wrist and the next day, when he comes home with a bundle of ropes, you can't help but squirm in your seat

Who am I to you? [F] your visit to your sister's new family turns into a series of unexpected moments which incudes falling for her troublesome brother in law

The Emerald Prince [F] when you get lost in the Greek countryside, an Emerald haired boy saves you but you unknowingly get lost in his warm brown eyes

Up to something [M] husband yunho; you text your husband, asking him an apology but he comes home to you watching other men

Boyfriend Yunho [F & M] headcanon

The Escapist [F]yunho is a famous painter and mingi a celebrated art critic. what could exactly go wrong when they both cross paths?

Red Roses [M] office au, (where yungi were high school sweethearts now turned into lovers and co-workers at their company which mingi is the ceo of and yunho is the director.)

Oh honey, I’m addicted [M] a sweet cuddling session turns chaotic ft reader

Jealousy Jealousy [M](mingi gets extreamly jealous when he sees you all over yunho and you get punished that night. but a week later, you find yourself on your knees between Yunho's legs)

Like the movies [F, M]new york city au (you crash into mingi at the skating park and in a month you find yourself spending soo much time with him along with his best friend yunho)

That one good-looking stranger [M] strangers to lovers, neighbours au; song mingi starts believing in love at first sight when one day a pretty man, his neighbour yunho, walks into the elevator and he's left speechless by his beauty.

________________

Seonghwa

Today was a fairytale [F] you and a stranger reach out for the same book, but will he let you have it?

ATEEZ

bollywood x ateez series

[anika-ann]

My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader    Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit? 

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”  

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”  

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.  

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin’ outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.  

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

[tooinlovewithfictionalpeople]

The Five times She met the Hargreeves- Five Hargreeves

Plot: Fives wife has been looking for him for ages, and she is not so happy about it, although she meets his fellow siblings along the way (Fluff and cuteness mainly)

Cammie was dangerous. In-fact she was well known for being the most ruthless assassin the commission has. Her abilities made her quick, her training made her agile, he mind made her strong. She never played by the rules. But if you saw under the fact she could kill you within the blink of an eye, she was a sweetheart. Her heart was made of gold, she was soft and kind the kind of girl thought to be made of honey and glass. 

However, not playing by the rules, lead the Handler to become fed up with the bright bubbly girl so she threw her to the end of the world with nothing to ‘harden’ her up. Unfortunately for the Handler that is how Camille Winters met Five Hargreeves and the two became inseparable - unstoppable - the perfect duo.

There were moments where Cammie was willing to murder Five Hargreeves, and that was the day he got the equations wrong.

                                                           ***

It was a cold Thursday night when Allison Hargreeves was talking with her friends about the revolution in the hair salon. It was like any other day.

Until  - with a loud crash, the door was thrust open. Everyone jumped to their feet, standing in a defensive position.

In the door frame stood a girl, who looked to be in her teens. Her face was unreadable as she spoke in a clear commanding voice.

“I’m Cammie. Man over the road called the cops on ya love. I’d disperse the mothers meeting”

Allison never got to thank her, she was gone as quick as she came.

                                                        ***

Klaus as never one for constant socialising, which is why he was sat in an empty coffee shop with Ben sat opposite him. He didn’t notice the girl in a waitress uniform stand next to him until she spoke.

“Im Cammie, you want anything else Mister?”

Klaus looked up, to see a teen girl staring back at him with an unreadable expression.

“Are you not a little young to be of the working class my dear?” he asked absentmindedly. Ben rolled his eyes.

The girl smiled. “Im way older then you would believe darling,” she turned to where Ben was sat, seemingly invisible to anyone but Klaus. “And what about you hot stuff?” she smirked.

Klaus lifted his head from his arms “You can see him?” he asked

“No one ever comes in here darling, I think I’d notice not one but two cuties when they walk in,”

Ben sent an awkward smile “No thank you.” he said.

Cammie sent a sweet smile before walking off. She was gone before they could say anything else. 

                                                         ***

Cammie was furious. And that was an understatement. Five had gone through the portal, taking her with him to get back to his family but somehow she was thrown away and separated from him thrown back into the 60′s where she tried desperately to find him. Then, when she awoke to the grimy alleyway she had been chucked into she realised that she was stuck in her teenage body.

She told Five. She told him the equations were wrong but did he listen? Nope.

And now she was stuck god knows where.

Now, Cammie like Five had extraordinary powers. Although there lines of what she could do were blurred she could see flashes of events that happened in the past, present and future. In other words, time was her bitch. But when she saw the flash of Five being threatened by the Handler her blood boiled.

The only issue with Five is that the little shit couldn't seem to stay in the right timeline so Cammie didn’t know when he would be experiencing what she thought he was going through.

Needless to say all thoughts of common sense went out the window when she saw the Handler pointing a gun at her teenage husband. So naturally she teleported to the commission.

When she arrived the Handler was sitting at her office with an unpleasant smirk on her face. In-front of her were two people whom Cammie did not recognise. The first was a man, with long Jesus style hair and tan skin. He had tan skin and wore a shocked expression. The other was a woman with shoulder length dark hair and wide brown eyes. The Handler did not seem even slightly surprised and Cammie’s sudden appearance.

“Cammie dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked smiling.

“Why the HELL is my husband?” She growled, eyes narrowing into slits. The Handler rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes. Don’t worry he’s a free man, still trying to stop what cannot be stopped..I must say you do look better at this age than you did two weeks ago”

Cammie rolled her eyes, looking at the two people next to her, who were staring in shock.

“I told him.” Cammie said angrily. “I told him the equations were wrong. But my husband thought he was right.”

Cammie picked up a Vase and threw it against the bookshelf so it shattered into a million pieces. “BECAUSE FIVE HARGREEVES NEVER FUCKING LISTENS”  

The Handler didn’t even blink, but the man in the chair with the Jesus hair spoke up “Hold on a minuet, Five Hargreeves is your husband? The bastard managed to get married??”

Cammie laughed. “And how would you know him?”

The man paused for a moment, “Im his brother, Deigo”

Cammie rolled her eyes, “Tell me, was he always a little shit?”

“Yes,”

The Handler stood up, picking up a gun and pointing it at Cammie who didn’t seem even slightly fazed at the fact her life was being threatened. By now it was a common occurrence. “What do you want Cammie?” she said

“Where. Is. My. Husband.” she seethed

Diego spoke up “Last I heard he was with a Man called Elliot, down an alleyway”

Cammie turned to face him “How come your’e more helpful in a second than Five has been his entire life?”

“Tell me, do you flirt with all the Haregreeve siblings?” The Handler sneered.

Cammie laughed “She’s just salty Five chose me and not her.”

The Handler raised her weapon firing multiple times but it was too late. In a flash of blue light Cammie was gone.

“Five got Married?”

                                                          ***

Five and Luther were having a nice little conversation about the poor dead Elliot in the chair when they saw a flash of blue light which seemed to be emitting a lot of crashing sounds and swearing coming from the balcony below them.

“Shit. Its the commission get down.” Five whispered to Luther who decided to do as he was told.

“How have they found us?”

Five sighed running his hands through his hair in frustration as he peeked behind the sofa. “I don’t know, but they are dangerous so be careful.”

“FIVE HARGREEVES I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU ARE HERE I AM GOING TO WRING YOUR NECK AND STAB YOUR EYES OUT WITH SPOONS”

“How many enemies do you have??” asked Luther eyes wide in shock.

However Five was staring at where the sound was coming from with a slight smile on his face. Luther was more shocked that Five was producing a genuine smile than anything else. 

“She’s not an enemy” he said standing up and walking to the stairs.

“FIVE GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR I AM GOING TO KILL YOU”

Luther looked at him incredulously “Well she sure sounds like it.”

When Five got to the stairs, he was relieved to see Cammie, standing hands on hips glaring at him with the angriest stare she could muster. He merely smiled back, finding it slightly amusing how angry she was. (And slightly scary but he would never admit that)

As soon as it clicked that Five was in fact okay, Cammie marched up the staircase yelling how much she was going to absolutely slaughter him, her speed not slowing down as she drew nearer

“Er - Five? Are you sure she is not the enemy because she looks -”

Luther watched as Cammie came nearer to his brother unsure of what to do until she ...kissed Five?

The girl had ran to Five and placed her hands firmly on the sides of his face pulling him down to kiss her. His arms wrapped around her waist pulling her closer. Her hands travelled to his hair, running her hands through it. 

Luther just stood there mouth open, trying to comprehend what was happening in front of him.

The kiss broke, leaving Cammie still on her toes, face buried in the crook of Fives neck as he had one arm still wrapped around her waist and the other stroking her hair.

“W h a t?” Luther finally managed to get out

The pair separated looking up at the bigger man, who was staring between the two blankly. first of all he was shocked that Cammie hadn’t tried to kill them, but also the fact that his annoying, self centred arsehole of a brother actually found love - and not to mention the fact he had never seen Five as happy as he looked right now.

“Cammie, this is my brother Luther, Luther this is my wife Cammie.”

“Im sorry you are married?”

Five rolled his eyes so Luther turned to Cammie.

“You actually like him?”

At this Cammie laughed, brushing hair out of Five’s face “Surprisingly I do - even if he never listens to me.”

Five turned to her “I do listen to you!” 

“Erm no you don’t. I told you the calculations were off but you didn’t listen to me”

Five open and closed his mouth but no words came out, so he turned to Luther.

“We carry on with the plan, but this time we have her. She is so much better.”

“I still can’t get over the fact that you are married,”

                                                      ***

Cammie was laid in bed. Her head was on Fives chest, her arms wrapped around him, her leg hooked up on his waist. He was snuggled into her, burying his face in her hair as she slept, his arms tightly wrapped around her

The Hargreeve siblings were stood around around them, each with their mouth open slightly in shock.

“Can anyone else not get over the fact Five is Married?” Luther asked

“To a reasonable person no doubt,” Allison continued.

“And a baddass. The commission adore and are terrified by her.” Diego added

“Ben and I would like to point out she clearly makes Five happy. That’s a yay right?”

“Vanya nodded her head. “He looks at peace for once.”

And he did. For the first time in years the siblings saw their grumpy, annoying, pessimistic brother smile, a real genuine smile.

“If you guys don’t stop staring he will kill you,”

[drosera-nepenthes]

A Royal Recluse: Princess Clotilde

Just at the time when, in consequence of the weakness and folly of the republican government, certain French Monarchists are looking to Prince Victor Napoleon Bonaparte as the possible savior of their country, the Prince, whose marriage to Princess Clementina of Belgium recently brought him before the public, was watching by the deathbed of his mother, Princess Clotilde of Savoy, who breathed her last on June 25. The story of this royal lady is a pathetic one and, apart from the interest that is attached to her as the mother of the imperial candidate to the French throne, her personal character was one of rare beauty.

She was the daughter of Victor Emmanuel II, first King of Italy, and of Adelaide, Archduchess of Austria, and was born at Turin on March 2, 1843. Her mother died in 1855, leaving five young children, of whom Clotilde was the eldest, the others being Humbert, the future King of Italy ; Amadeo, Duke of Aosta ; Maria Pia, the queen dowager of Portugal, and a son who died in childhood. The Queen of Sardinia (Victor Emmanuel had not at that time laid violent hands on the independent states of Italy) was an exemplary wife and mother, and her orphan daughters were carefully educated by the attendants whom she had placed about them.

Never was a princess more ruthlessly sacrificed to political interests than the eldest princess of Savoy. When a mere child of sixteen, Clotilde was chosen to cement the alliance between France and Sardinia, and was promised in marriage to Prince Napoleon Jerome, nephew of Napoleon I and first cousin Napoleon III, the reigning sovereign. Princess Clotilde was connected with the Bourbons, her very name was French and was given to her in memory of the French Princess Marie Clotilde, sister of Louis XVI, who married a King of Sardinia ; but allied as she was by close ties of blood to the Bourbons, she had nothing in common with the Bonapartes who occupied their place, and a more ill-assorted couple never existed than the middle-aged, violent, cynical and free-thinking Prince Napoleon and the daughter of the most ancient royal house in Europe, who traditions and surroundings were strictly conservative and religious. Their marriage took place at Turin on January 30, 1859. The bride was sixteen and the bridegroom thirty-seven. He had a handsome presence and was intelligent and well informed and well informed, but neither his private life nor his freely expressed opinions on public matters made him estimable or lovable. His attitude with regard to his cousin, the Emperor, was one of constant opposition, and it was reported that his anti-religious views led him to take part in the banquets organized by a group of free thinkers on Good Friday. Under the Second Empire the French Government was officially Catholic, and Prince Napoleon's hostile and aggressive attitude was pronounced ill-bred, if not worse. Throughout France he was distinctly unpopular.

The young bride, married to this unsympathetic nephew of the great Napoleon, probably had few illusions as to the sum of happiness that awaited her in her new home. There are still some old men living who remember her when she took possession of the Palais Royal, Prince Napoleon's Paris house.: a slight, pale girl, with fluffy, fair hair and bright eyes, not pretty but singularly attractive. Her high breeding stood her in good stead in the somewhat parvenu atmosphere of the Court of the Tuileries, she had a royal dignity all her own, and her simplicity of heart was combined with much quiet firmness. From the first she ordered her life according to the principles in which she had been educated. An early riser, even at the Palais Royal, she gave much time to prayer and to works of mercy, but her piety, says M. Emile Ollivier, a former minister of Napoleon II, “never made her tiresome or intolerant. She believed that the most useful sermon was the practice of the virtues that are taught by faith.” Her husband, although so widely apart from her, acknowledged her goodness. “Clotilde is a saint,” he sometimes said ; “if there were many like her, I believe I myself should end by becoming devout.”

When the disastrous war of 1870 brought terror and shame upon France, the Princess was in Paris. During that fatal month of August every day came news of a fresh defeat, and the revolution that was to break out on the 4th of September was already distinctly perceptible; the infuriated and terrified people made the imperial government responsible for the reverses that so keenly wounded their patriotic pride.

Princess Clotilde was alone at the Palais Royal ; her husband was with the army, her three children she sent to Switzerland, where Prince Napoleon had an estate; but she steadily refused to leave Paris while the Empress Eugénie remained at the Tuileries. There was not much personal sympathy between the two; it was Princess Clotilde's feeling of loyalty that chained her to the post danger as long as there was a semblance of imperial government in Paris.

In vain her husband wrote imperious messages bidding her join her children at Prangins; in vain her father sent the Marquis Spinela to Paris to escort her ; the Princess so yielding in everyday life, was unbending in her decision to remain at the palace as long as the lonely woman at the Tuileries was the nominal ruler of France ; she had shared the splendors of the Empire, and it went against her noble spirit to desert the Empress.

The letter this young woman, a stranger in a strange land, wrote to her father on August 25, 1870, has been quoted by the French papers. It is a right royal letter worthy of the daughter of kings:

“I am a French woman,” she says. “I cannot desert my country. When I married although so young, I knew what I was doing and if I did it, it was because I wished to do so. The interest of my husband, of my children and of my country require that I should remain here. The honor of my name, your honor, my dear father, and that of my country also demand it. Nothing will make me fail in what I believe to be my duty to the end... You know that the house of Savoy and fear have never gone together, and you would not wish that they should meet in my person.”

At last, when the Empress was driven from her palace by the mob, the Princess considered that she was free to follow, but how different was the departure of the two women!

The brilliant and beautiful sovereign, closely disguised, was only able to leave Paris owing to the assistance of her American dentist, Dr. Evans; her young cousin made her exit as a princess. In an open carriage, accompanied by her lady in waiting, she drove to the railway station in broad daylight. The excited people, awed by her courage and dignity, saluted her as she passed out of their sight, a truly royal and saintly figure.

Princess Clotilde lived for some years at Prangins, near Geneva, where she devoted herself to the education of her three children; then, when her husband was allowed to return to France, the difficulties of her married life were such that by mutual consent she retired to the Castle of Moncalieri, near Turin, with her young daughter. Here, in the home of her childhood, she spent nearly forty years. They were years of peace, largely marked by sorrow. Four times only did she emerge from her retreat, once in January 1878, when she heard that her father lay dangerously ill in Rome. She had suffered cruelly from the spoliation of the Holy See by the house of Savoy, and the remembrance of her father's part in the matter prompted her to fly to his bedside. On the way she heard that he was dead, and she sadly returned to Moncalieri. In 1891, she again started for Rome, this time to visit her husband, who lay dying at the Hotel de Russie. Those who saw the Princess during those solemn days can never forget her sweetness, earnestness and gentle patience. What passed between her and Prince Napoleon none can tell, but Cardinal Mermillod a frequent visitor to the sick room, professed himself satisfied, after two private interviews, that the dying man was fully conscious. The Princess, whose married life, it is well known, had been a via crucis, remained near him to the end, praying incessantly for the soul that probably owes its salvation to her intercession. Again in 1903 and in 1904, she left Moncalieri to visit her sister-in-law, Princess Mathilde Bonaparte, whose deathbed she attended.

Her life, as it neared the end became more and more that of a recluse. Her sons lived their own lives in Brussels and in Russia; her daughter, having married a Prince of Savoy, was near to her, and their visits, occasionally brought an element of joy into the silent castle. Last autumn, Prince Victor Napoleon's marriage to the Princess Clémentine of Belgium gladdened his mother's heart. It was celebrated at Moncalieri, and to those who attended the ceremony the most striking figure present was the slight, gray-haired lady, plainly dressed in black, whose eyes had the far-away look of those who are nearing the eternal shore. Even in the days of her youth Princess Clotilde's spirituality struck M. Emile Ollivier. It gave her, he says a singular insight into all questions that touch on right and wrong; she possessed the gifts of the true mystics, “who judge human affairs with a clearness and rectitude born of detachment.” Her chief link with the outer world during the long, silent years of old age was her love for the poor, to whom she gave royally, with a loving kindness that made her gifts more precious. Their grief was great when they heard of her death, and their prayers will follow her remains to the royal mausoleum of La Superga, near Turin, where the daughter of the Sardinian Kings sleeps with her ancestors.

America. United States, America Press, 1911.

[cblgblog]

So my issues with Irondad are well documented at this point, starting from their very first scenes. Specifically the utter tone deafness of Peter’s recruitment, by both Tony and the writers. Tony starts the movie being blamed for the death of a 20-year-old kid who was in the wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. That accidental death that can be put down to negligence on his part, is pivotal to what happens next. So pivotal he uses it in his pitch for why the other Avengers need to sign the Accords.

Tony, midway through the movie, deliberately brings a 15-year-old child into this conflict. A child he blackmails into going with him, because if you don’t, I will tell your aunt.

Charles Spencer was an innocent civilian, wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. He died. That tears Tony up, as it rightfully should. And yet, in the midst of his crusade about following laws and accountability, he lies to May Parker about taking her 15-year-old nephew out of the country and into a warzone. Ignoring some well-established laws about child soldiers.

Tony blackmailing a child who’s had his powers for 6 months into participating in this conflict makes no sense. Ever. It especially makes no sense in the context of Charles Spencer and his mother. Yet neither Tony nor the writers seem to comprehend this. Which is why Irondad has been bullshit from the start. Blackmail and kidnapping are not sweet, father-son moments, even if you ignore the fact, as the MCU wants to, that Peter had a father already, in Ben Parker. He has a loving adult parental figure in May Parker. Both of whom cared about him before he had spider powers that might be helpful to them.

All of this, I’ve said before, so have others. And then I realized that I actually hate Irondad more than I thought. That Feige and co. mishandled it even more than I thought, and why? Because of this.

We know the story. Peter was, supposedly, this kid Tony saved at the Stark Expo in Iron Man 2. Started out as a fan theory, and then was confirmed that yes, this is true, this is exactly what we intended.

Now, we know Civil War had different writers/directors than Homecoming or FFH did. We also know that, for all the lip service of, ‘It’s all connected,’ we know that the creatives in these different franchises do not always talk to each other, and that they often blatantly contradict each other.

Taking all that into account, acknowledging that…the dumbasses at Marvel did not think up the idea of Peter being the Iron Man 2 kid. They heard the theory, thought it was cool, then took credit for having meant that the entire time, yes, that was totally us.

We know this because it is never mentioned in canon. All those Tony and Peter interactions, all those times of yes, Mr. Stark, I just want to be like you, Mr. Stark, and Peter never mentions that? When Tony takes he suit from him in Homecoming and Peter says that he just wants another chance, wants to be like Tony, would he not mention that hey, you saved my life, Mr. Stark. You saved my life and I just wanted to be like you, and now I can be, now I can save lives like you, just please give me another chance.

If the Iron Man 2 theory were true, would he not say that? In FFH, when he’s all guilt-ridden, I didn’t save him, would he not mention that hey, he saved my life before I was Spider-man, before I was special, before I was anyone?

Now I know what you’re thinking. The Iron Man 2 thing isn’t that big a deal. It’s not a crucial thing. And you know what, you’re right. It isn’t, it’s just always annoyed me, in an eyeroll way, that the same people who couldn’t count properly between 2012 and 2017 (8 years later flashing in giant letters across our screens means that Homecoming was meant to take place in 2020), that these same people who let something so blatantly timeline breaking get through then took credit for a kind of cool, kind of clever fan theory. It’s annoying.

I’ve now realized, however, that it is far more than annoying to me. Because TPTB at Marvel did not think of that idea for themselves, but if they had, and if they’d run with that idea? If they had, it would’ve made Peter’s recruitment in Civil War so much more fucked up than it already is, but so much more interesting. So, so, so much more interesting.

I’ve talked about why Spidey’s own movies (as much as you can call them that given the level of Tony infiltration) prove that the theory isn’t true. Now let’s go to Civil War. Different writers, yes, but let’s talk anyway about why we can tell from CW that Peter was not that kid.

He gets home. May is like, look who it is, Tony Stark. Not, look who it is, the hero who literally saved your life. When Tony locks himself in Peter’s room with him (still fucking gross, Jesus Christ), Peter is just, nope, I got no idea what you’re talking about. That’s—no, I’m not a superhero, no. He’s defensive. He’s apprehensive. He’s trying to figure out what fresh hell this is. He’s trying to hide stuff from Tony. If this is the guy who saved him at the Stark Expo, why this reaction? Why not, oh my god, you saved my life, I thought I’d never see you again, not, not up close I mean. When Tony asks him to do a thing, why is it not, well yeah, duh , you saved my life, where do we start? Or even, okay, I don’t really wanna do this, but, you saved my life, I owe you?

So, nobody wrote a fucking word of any of Peter and Tony’s interactions under the theory that he was the Stark Expo kid.

But what if they had?

Tony shows up at May’s place. He does not know who Peter is, in relation to their “meeting” before. He’s expecting to have to do some level of smooth talk to get in here but, nope. May’s just, oh my god, you saved my boy’s life, come in, come in!

We don’t know for sure that Peter was orphaned by the time of the Expo, but if we base it on comics and prior films, he likely was. Most versions seem to have him fall under Ben and May’s care between 2 and 6.  O1’ birthday means he would’ve been around 9 at the Expo. So, more than likely, Ben or May or both were the ones there with him. They may credit Tony with saving their lives as well.

So, Tony starts the movie being called out by a grieving mother. Going down this route, we’re at the midpoint…and here’s a different mother telling him how great he is. How he saved the most important thing in her life. How if Ben were here (May’s wearing her wedding ring around her neck btw, you can see it in the scene), Ben would say the same thing. Shake his hand. Hug him.

Now, Tony’s got a sharp ass mind, when it’s not clouded with booze or drugs or the like. Since he wasn’t wasted at the Expo, there’s a good chance that, given some details, he remembers saving this kid. He remembers how small this little boy actually was. He remembers how light this kid was when he grabbed him. It was a few seconds in a long ass night, that he hasn’t thought about in years, but to May Parker, it’s everything.

So maybe at this point Tony’s rethinking this. He’s remembering that little boy, realizing how young he still is. He pulled that boy from danger. And now here’s this woman who invited him into her house, told him how her husband just passed recently, things have been hard, especially for Peter but God, he’ll love to see you. Maybe Tony’s rethinking this, coming up with a way out, when Peter shows up. And then, aw hell. The kid’s just a mess of excitement and shock, possibly tears…okay now it’s just gotten harder to make an exit.

Let’s pause here to say that May Parker is not fucking dumb (“Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night.”).

May is not dumb. Letting the 50-year-old dude go into her nephew’s room with him, alone? Arguably dumb, even if it is Iron Man. Letting him grab the kid for some Stark…thing, and take him wherever Tony said he was taking him on 12 seconds notice? Even more arguably dumb.  CW as it’s written dumbs down May’s character for the sake of an already questionable plot point. Especially since she literally says she’s not a fan of Tony in Homecoming. Yes, her comment there comes after the “internship,” her noting Peter’s distraction and stress because of it. But still, it’s fucking weird that she’d let this man take her kid out of the country, alone, in CW. It makes her dumb for the sake of plot.

But if Stark saved Peter’s life not so long ago? It at least makes a bit more sense. He’s a hero. Peter literally wouldn’t be here without him. Why would Tony hurt him now?

So, back to the scene. Peter’s probably less paranoid about showing his stuff to Tony. Probably not spilling everything himself, but when Tony notices things, Peter’s probably less panicked over it, more willing to confirm. Yes, he’s got these powers, okay? And he hasn’t had them for long, but he’s trying to do good, like Tony. He’s trying to do the right thing, like Tony.

Now, this kid has such literal hero worship going, and he’s so damn inexperienced, he admits that. And Tony’s still got Charles Spencer’s mom in his head. He’s dead, Stark. And I blame you.

Can Tony really take this kid—actual minor kid younger than Charles was—take him and put him on the field against the goddamn Avengers? That woman out there with the dead husband and the ring around her neck, what’s he going to say if Peter gets hurt, or worse? Sure the kid obviously has skills but, can he risk another grieving mom?

So, maybe Tony’s rethinking this. Maybe he can still get out of this, improvise a Plan B. But then there’s a text from Nat or Ross. Where are you? We’ve only got a few hours, what’s the play?

Special circumstances, nobody in that group is really gonna fight to kill…it’s special circumstances, and he can keep the kid mostly sidelined.

This time, he doesn’t have to blackmail Peter. He doesn’t have to threaten to expose his secret. Peter’s willing, either because he genuinely wants to, or he feels he owes Tony a debt. So there goes the dick factor of Tony literally blackmailing a child. And the lack of questions Peter seems to ask about what he’s fighting for, the acceptance of vague answers, that’d also make more sense in this context.

In this version, Tony is both more and less of a dick. He’s doing less active threatening and manipulation…but he’s also being doubly manipulative. His genuinely good deed gives him an easy in with the Parkers. He’s playing on the credibility of an earlier, at least somewhat better version of himself. One who saved Peter Parker and hadn’t yet ended Charles Spencer.

Look, I won’t lie, I legit don’t know what I’m saying anymore, except that Marvel sucks for taking credit for a thing that they definitely do not have credit for. Which isn’t particularly new for them, and wouldn’t particularly matter if the thing they took credit for (and didn’t do anything with) could’ve offered some interesting story possibilities.

[lailyn]

This Magical Journey Called Multiple (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Loki/Tony Stark/Stephen Strange

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Drama, Idiots In Love, Mpreg

Summary: Loki thought he had struck gold this lifetime around, having found not one, but two loves at once. This new life he is carrying could only be a blessing, so why isn't everybody happy?

“I am not injured,” Loki insisted. “It was the heat, it must have gotten to me.”

“It’s still a good idea to take it easy, Bambi. Heat stroke is one of those things that can hit you from out of nowhere,” Tony said.

At Stephen’s mildly-impressed look, Tony gave a modest shrug. “We’ve been together how long? Of course I’ve picked up a few things.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “At least something good has come out of it.”

Ignoring Tony’s indignant ‘Hey!’, Stephen conjured a tall, cool glass of water and offered it to Loki, who looked all manner of singed save for his armour. “But Tony’s right. There may not be external burn injuries, but we humans are about seventy percent water, and I’m guessing you’re not that far off either.”

“I’m not a child,” Loki grumbled. Nevertheless, he dutifully accepted the drink and took a few long gulps, stopping abruptly when a sudden nauseous feeling assaulted his senses the moment the water hit his stomach. “Tony, please don’t make that face. It’s making me want to do things.”

“I can’t help it. It’s my fault. I should have - ”

“No should haves, could haves,” Loki interrupted. “Stop it. Shit happens.”

“Language,” Tony admonished lightly but his body language was still steeped in guilt.

“Guess I’ve picked up a few things too,” Loki murmured, nodding gratefully at Stephen as his husband stepped in to wrap an arm around Tony’s shoulders. Not only was the Sorcerer Supreme a good lay in bed, he was a mind-reader too. Loki sure got lucky this time around.

Tony straightened up a little in Stephen’s one-armed embrace. “Glad you guys had my back or I would have been smoked brisket.”

At the mention of brisket, the nausea reared its monstrous head again and Loki gagged.

“Let’s get you out of the sun.” Stephen was beginning to sound worried now. “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” Loki said, swallowing compulsively. Before either of his overbearing husbands could argue, (they were always so noisy when they fussed) he corrected himself, “I will be fine.”

“Right,” Tony snorted. “Nice try. Come on, up. Next time, don’t skip breakfast.”

Stephen snorted even louder. “And the frying-pan said to the kettle, 'Avant, black-browes'.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but it can’t be good,” Tony grunted, nearly toppling under Loki’s weight, who really was more unsteady than he was letting on. “Will you boom-boom-whoosh us a portal already?”

Stephen shook his head and wrapped his arm around Loki’s waist, taking on some of the burden.

“I can walk,” Loki whined.

“Sure you can,” Stephen said kindly. “We just happen to do it better.”

__________________________________________________________

Tony didn’t know how anybody could sleep with the AC blowing full-blast in their face but Loki did just that, and for twelve hours straight too. Their not-strictly-human husband had never slept for such a long stretch of time and it could only be a testament to his exhaustion.

As he closed the bedroom door behind him to give Loki some privacy while he freshened up in the bathroom, his worried eyes met Stephen’s equally troubled gaze.

“Think he’s coming down with something?” Tony asked quietly.

“He seemed fine yesterday when the call came, and he was fighting fit," Stephen mulled as they walked back toward the kitchen together. “Wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he took down those Doombots like they were nothing. He did that flashy move of his, you know the one where he’s like ribbon-dancing in the sky, except his ribbons turned into deadly blades the minute they came into contact with a Bot.”

“I have to take your word for it, I guess. I was kinda busy keeping a few buildings standing,” Stephen said enviously, as it was a sight he wouldn’t have minded seeing himself. Watching Loki in battle was always a spectacle, even back when they were still rivals.

Tony must have misconstrued the envy in his voice and decided that a little teasing was in order. “Aw, I’m sure you were great, honey.” He reached out to squeeze Stephen’s bicep. “Feeling a little sore there?”

“I held them up by magic but thank you for asking,” Stephen said dryly. “I wouldn’t mind a massage though, if you’re offering me one.”

“I’ll see if I can fit you in my tight schedule.” Kisses stolen in passing whilst walking down hallways were often sweet, made sweeter still by the relief Tony could feel bleeding through their locked lips. It had not been too long ago that they had almost lost Loki to that terrible illness, and it was that same shared fear that had plagued both Stephen and him since yesterday.

As they sat back down to their now-cold breakfast, he could see just how much Stephen’s face had brightened. The appetite that was almost killed by JARVIS’ mid-meal interruption to inform them that Loki was finally awake came back with a vengeance, and Tony shoveled his eggs into his mouth like a man starving.

It was after a few bites that he deemed his hunger momentarily sated enough to broach another issue that had been weighing on him.

"How was Loki...the night before last?" Tony asked tentatively.

It was an arrangement only recently agreed upon that they made use of the ten bedrooms in the penthouse, with each claiming a bedroom of his own and still having the freedom to choose where and with whom to spend the night. It came about after Stephen's odd hours and Tony's unpredictable work frenzies clashed with Loki's need for absolute silence when sleeping.

Tony had never met a lighter sleeper in his life. So when Stephen got called out on Sorcerer Supreme business for three nights in a row, it did not surprise either of them when Loki, tired of the interruptions to his beauty sleep, set fire to the bed.

Tony wished the mercurial God of Chaos could spare the custom-made, eiderdown-covered Alaskan king bed...alas, new beds he could always buy, but there was only one of Loki.

"Sleep in separate bedrooms! It's the secret to a happy marriage, don't you ever watch The Crown?" Pepper had said, rubbing salt into the wound the next day when he called her up the next day to moan. "God knows you have enough rooms to sleep in a different one for every night of the month."

Which was an exaggeration of course, for only the top floor of the penthouse had four bedrooms on the same floor, one for each of them, and the biggest, most lavish one reserved for when they needed to spend time together as a proper throuple.

Clearly perturbed by Tony's question, Stephen carefully set his fork back on his plate. "Could you be more specific?"

"Did he seem a little...impatient to you?"

"Impatient?" Stephen frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You know…" Tony drawled, "More...urgent. Demanding."

"You mean horny," Stephen deadpanned.

"Shhh. You know he doesn't like that word!" Tony whispered loudly. "It depreciates his aesthetic."

Stephen chuckled. "You can say horny, Tony. Loki's not here."

"And now he is," a sultry voice suddenly spoke from behind, and Stephen nearly yelped.

"Loki!" He gasped. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Loki said coolly, sliding into the empty chair beside Tony, to whom he directed his next question. "So what else does he say about me when I'm not here?"

"Only the most flattering things, sweetness." Tony rubbed his hand up and down Loki's back. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm drunk on sleep." Loki's nostrils flared as he tried to kill the oncoming yawn but failed. "But not bad. You?"

"Nothing an Advil or two can't fix." Tony reached out a hand to stop Loki from stealing a piece of toast off his plate. "I think Stephen's wanting to take your spinal fluid or brain tissue or something first."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Just your blood will do."

"Why?" Loki whined. "I hate those adamantium needles, they itch like a bitch."

Tony let out a scandalous whisper. "Language!"

"I want to make sure there's no electrolyte imbalance and that your sugar level's okay. You were vomiting quite profusely yesterday," Stephen said,

"I'm not anymore," Loki pointed out. "I feel absolutely fine."

"It's just a precaution, Loki," Stephen tried again but before he could say anything further, Loki held up a regal hand.

"And I can tell you with absolute certainty that my blood sugar level is very low because I am very, very hungry and if you do not feed me within the next thirty seconds I will eat your face," he growled. "Literally."

Stephen slowly, wordlessly, slid his plate across the table.

"Thank you, Stephen," Loki said sweetly  before attacking the egg-white and quinoa omelette with gusto. He swallowed the first bite and made a face. "This is nasty."

A heated debate and a number of mortal threats later, Loki was well on his way out the door. “Anytime today, Stark. Get a move on.”

“Can’t you go?” Tony pleaded. “I’ve never done my own grocery shopping before.”

Stephen looked at him incredulously. “You don’t have to do anything. You just have to prepare the money when he asks and make sure he doesn’t buy out every stall he happens to like.”

Loki tapped his foot impatiently. “Shall I go by myself then?”

“No!” Both Stephen and Tony said in unison.

“Nice try, Bambi,” Tony added. To Stephen, “You owe me.”

“This and more.” Stephen kissed Tony quickly. “Bring him back in one piece if you can. Oh, and I’m speed-dial number one, two and three on both your phones.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Stephen's eyes disappeared behind his smile. “Loki, babe? Can you come here for a sec?”

Loki marched back to where Stephen and Tony were still huddled by the kitchen counter. “What is it now?”

Stephen dropped an effervescent electrolyte tablet into a glass of water. “Drink this before you go. You need to replenish your electrolytes.”

Loki groaned. “Stephen, I am electrolyted up to my eyeballs. Enough, please.”

“Today’s going to be a hot day, according to the weather forecast,” Stephen warned. “Can’t risk you getting dehydrated again.”

“It can’t possibly be hotter than yesterday," Loki said. He turned to Tony. "You need to figure out how to increase your heat resistance to Doom's fire-breathing Bots, I can't be covering you all the time. What if I'm not there?"

Stephen’s gaze vacillated between his two lovers in alarm. “Are we expecting any trouble today?”

“No, it was simply a theoretical question,” Loki said patiently. “Tony needs to build better suits.”

“And you need to see a sleep hygienist,” Tony said, just as sweetly. “Can’t have you burning any more beds. We are living in a high-rise, you know.”

Loki shrugged. “It’s not like both of you can’t fly.”

Stephen chuckled, “He’s got a point.”

“Whose side are you on?” Tony grumbled to himself. “Are we going or what?”

Stephen sighed. If he had not made prior arrangements to visit Kamar-Taj that day, he would have been more than happy to take Tony’s place.

He kissed Loki, a tad harder than usual. "Be careful, you two."

Loki laughed. "We're going to the market, Stephen, not off-world to another planet."

“Thank you for the reassurance, Loki.”

Loki’s kiss took Stephen by surprise, not so much the hard pinch Loki gave his cheek. “You fret too much.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s sweet.” Loki’s green eyes glinted. “Makes me want to eat your face every time.”

__________________________________________________________

Strolling the gorgeous Botanical Garden in the Bronx at this time of year was...interesting. Being public figures, it was a given that they would be recognised, but most everybody gave them a wide berth, wholly content with admiring from afar.

If Tony had reservations before, they disappeared quickly enough. Loki’s excitement and appreciation for the diverse arrays of artisan foods was contagious, and as they went from stall to stall perusing the seasonal produce on offer, Tony found himself in danger of doing the very thing he had promised Stephen he would keep Loki from doing.

“That was the best goat cheese I’ve ever tasted,” Tony gushed, arms laden with carrier bags full of cheeses, preserves and a variety of herb-infused olive oils. “You sure this is enough?”

“Nope,” Loki said. “But next week we can get Stephen to come with us and buy some more.”

“Sounds like a plan. Your ice cream’s melting.”

Loki held it out and Tony took a lick. “That’s yum.”

“You can have it if you want,” Loki said, sounding suddenly faint.

Tony frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Loki took in a few deep breaths, his face suddenly the colour of parchment. “I don’t know.”

The ice cream cone slipped out of his hand onto the ground when he abruptly bent at the waist, propping himself on his knees. “Just...give me a moment.”

Tony fumbled with the bags, managing to shift them all onto one hand, freeing the other so he could take Loki’s arm. He led his husband to a bench and sat him down.

“Do you feel sick again?” Tony asked, palming Loki’s forehead. His hand came away clammy. “ Do you need some water?”

Loki nodded his head to the first question, and shook his head to the second. His throat bobbed up and down erratically as though he was trying very hard not to lose the content of his stomach in front of all these people.

“I’m calling Stephen.”

“No!” Loki lunged to try to snatch the phone out of Tony’s hand, but the sudden movement sent a jolt of pain like a knife to his stomach. He doubled over and moaned in pain.

“Loki.” Tony dropped onto the bench and placed a hand on the small of Loki’s back. “Shit, shit, shit.” He stabbed the speed dial on his phone and began to pace. “Come on, come on, pick up.”

By a stroke of fortune, Stephen answered before the first dial tone ended, his “Yeah?” a cross between irritable and amused.

“We have a situation,” Tony said tensely.

“That bad, huh?”

Stephen’s indifference was expected given Tony’s propensity for drama, but today was not the day. "Strange, I’m not kidding. I think you need to come get us.“

"Loki may not have the patience for fresh produce and mingling but I’m sure I can trust you to keep him from terrorising the poor farmers for a few hours,” Stephen said, letting out a small chuckle at the imagery. “Or has he stabbed someone already?”

Tony remained uncharacteristically silent.

“Tony?” Stephen began to feel uneasy. “Please tell me Loki did not actually stab someone?”

“Loki’s not feeling well."

There was a sudden pause. When next Stephen spoke, his voice sounded strange. "Well, come on home.”

Loki lifted his head, as though he was listening in on the conversation all along.

“Can you walk?” Tony asked quietly. He helped Loki to his feet, only to regret it a second later. He did not think it was possible for Loki’s face to go that many shades paler, but it did.

Tony cradled the phone to his ear and quickly pushed his swaying husband back onto the bench. “Yeah…that’s a negative.”

Another pause ensued; thankfully it was a shorter one this time.

“Stay where you are.”

TBC

[joachimnapoleon]

@histoireettralala asked me to make a post regarding the friendship between Murat & Fouché. I can't promise this is going to be super thorough, but I'll give it a go.

To start off with, there really aren't a whole lot of details to be found regarding their relationship. The (very incomplete) picture of it I currently have, is from piecing together what I've been able to find so far of their existing published correspondence (which is very sparse), and some bits and pieces from various other sources. There are some views on Murat offered in Fouché's memoirs, but they may or may not be Fouché's own; according to Archive.org, the memoirs were apparently not written by Fouché himself, but by one Alphonse de Beauchamp--though Beauchamp did use Fouché's notes and papers. Murat, of course, left no memoirs himself, ghostwritten or otherwise.

I can't be sure when the two men first met, but it seems to have been at some point in the early 1800s that they became friendly, particularly after Murat was made governor of Paris in 1804 and they found themselves working together more frequently. It might seem surprising, given the vast differences in their personalities, that they got on as well as they did. But they also shared some key similarities in their backgrounds--both were born to bourgeois families, educated in seminaries, and became ardent revolutionaries.

They were also both very doting fathers, and I feel like this is probably something they both bonded over. Fouché had lost three young children in the mid 1790s, and this had caused him much suffering. When another one of his children died in the summer of 1805, he wrote a letter to Murat on 5 July, telling him:

My soul is oppressed with sorrow, I have just lost one of my children. This event is tearing my heart apart. Take care of the health of yours. The loss of a child hurts so much!

When Fouché stayed in Naples in 1813, his children became the playmates of the Murat children. From Louise Murat's memoirs:

Received by the King and Queen in total intimacy, invited into the small apartments, I remember having often dined there with him and his children, with whom we had become well acquainted. It is, I believe, to the noisy games which followed those meals that I owe the vivid memory I’ve kept of the Fouché family.

Louise also left a footnote on the relationship between Fouché and her father, which I forgot to include in the post linked above:

If Thiers and a few other historians are to be believed, Fouché made no secret of his friendship for Murat, which more than once aroused, and in particular in 1809, the Emperor's jealous discontent.

(The 1809 reference alluding of course to the Fouché/Talleyrand discussion about potentially having Murat succeed Napoleon in the event that he died without a legitimate son, which permanently altered the relationship between Napoleon and Murat for the worse.)

The remaining letters between them are few and far in between, but a few little excerpts provide some insights into their relationship (these are all from Fouché to Murat):

[16 August 1805] Your Highness was missing yesterday at the ball at the Hotel de Ville. However, a magnificent sword of precious workmanship was to be presented to him. Our most beautiful ladies were counting on your hand to dance. (...) P.S. I saw with great satisfaction that Princess Caroline's health had enabled her to be taken in a canoe and to traverse the entire rear of the line of battle, at a time when the combat was most animated.

[23 August 1805] I undertook to fulfill the mission that Your Highness entrusted to me. I presented your compliments to Mme R... She gave me in response the letter that I have the honor to send you.

[18 September 1805] I was pleased to learn that your health has not suffered from the rapidity of your courses. (...) Although I regret no longer seeing you in Paris, I cannot help congratulating you on being with the Emperor when he is about to expose himself to new dangers. However, I prefer to see him fight the Austrians than the English, because I have the confidence that in the continental war which is about to rekindle, there are only laurels to harvest. I beg Your Highness to believe that my feelings for you will never grow cold in separation, that I will maintain a respectful and deep attachment to you all my life. Have no doubts about the satisfaction I will have in learning from you the first victories of the Grande Armée.

From the 1805 campaign on, they were rarely within each other's orbit. Between administering his new Grandy Duchy of Berg and taking part in three wars between 1805-1807, Murat was only sporadically in Paris. He spent most of the first half of 1808 in Spain, most of the second half in Naples; from the time of taking the Neapolitan throne on he made only a handful of trips to Paris (and after Fouché lost his ministry in 1810, it was some time before Fouché was there again anyway).

I'm not sure if they saw each other again between 1810 and late 1813, when Napoleon sent Fouché to Naples to try to urge Murat to stay the course and remain loyal to the Emperor. What seems to have happened instead, is that Fouché went through the motions of fulfilling this mission, but privately ended up advising Murat to accept the Austrian terms in order to save his throne.

In the aftermath of Waterloo, Murat found himself in dire straits in France, to which he had fled after his own failed campaign against the Austrians in Italy. A bounty was put on him by the Marquis de Rivière (whose life Murat had helped save years earlier), and Murat was forced to hide out in the countryside until he ultimately found the means to flee to Corsica for refuge. Behind the scenes, Fouché was working--at odds with the new régime he was serving and with whom he was trying to ingratiate himself, it should be pointed out--to save Murat, by procuring for him passports and an offer of asylum from Austria, where he would be able to join his wife and children in exile.

We know how Murat's story ends. But Caroline did not forget the efforts Fouché had taken to save her husband, and years later--shortly before the death of Fouché--she wrote him the following letter:

20 August 1820

Monsieur Duke, for a long time I have wanted to express to you my gratitude for the good you tried to do for him whom we will mourn unceasingly. I and my children have not been unaware, that if it had depended on you, misfortune would not have overwhelmed us. Trust that we will keep the remembrance of it continuously, and that it will be sweet to us in whatever position fate places us, to remind ourselves of your generous conduct towards the King.

I am very happy that the departure of M. Gayl offers me the occasion to express to you the sentiments of attachment that unite me and my children to you and yours. I keep myself regularly informed of everything that concerns you.

I know that your wife is charming, that your children have justified all your hopes, that, in short, you are happy through your family. Remember me to your sons and your daughter; tell them that my children cannot forget the few happy moments they spent together.

I cannot give up seeing you again, and I hope to be able one day to assure you in person, that my gratitude and my attachment will never end.

-Caroline

So, that is pretty much all I have regarding the Murat/Fouché relationship. I wish there was more available, but enough remains that I do feel comfortable in believing that they did strike up a genuine friendship; Fouché is one of those figures whose reputation is so sinister that people tend to believe him incapable of any kind of warmth and natural human emotion whatsoever, but I think there's enough evidence here to show otherwise, and I believe he did acquire a certain amount of attachment to Murat. He had no reason whatsoever to try to help Murat in 1815 at a time when he was still trying to win over the new regime; if anything his efforts probably imperiled that effort. Murat had nothing to offer Fouché, nearly all of his assets had been lost when his kingdom was retaken by the Bourbons; Fouché's efforts to save him and reunite him with his family were, in my opinion, totally selfless, and borne out of his true friendship for Murat.

[prettyboylovemail]

Hello my darling Hannah,

How have you been? I’ve yearned for you as Romeo yearned for his beloved Juliet. Each of your soft fingers are like touching the petals of a delicate flower. And kissing each finger all the way up to your face only reminds me of the beauty and softness of you.

All I have for you my love is desire. Desire for you. You drive me into a lovesick madness. All I crave and all I long for is your silky, plump lips onto mine. Every touch has me reeling to grab you close. Your heat is like a warm winter coat keeping me protected against the cruel and harsh winters of life.

Know this my sweet, you are everything to me. For you are the one whom had accepted my lustful sin a long time ago. I swore I’d marry, love, and cherish the lady and her children whom would do that. I always keep my promise and it’s so easy to do when it is you. My love for you will always be immortal, and you’ll always be my forever beloved.

Your husband,

Snow Lily 🌹✨

(@rose-wine-selfships)

Darling, you don’t know how much I’ve missed hearing your sweet words. You always know just how to make my day brighter and my heart fuller and I can’t imagine my life without you. Thank you so much for always being here when I need you 😭💕

@rose-wine-selfships Seriously thank you so much, I owe you my life 😭

[martelldoran]

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Bucky x his fucking dumb coffee order. No, really... Okay, it’s Steve x Bucky if you squint real hard Rating: T Words: 1379 Prompt: Bucky is an uncaffeinated grump in the morning with a killer sweet tooth. Baristas everywhere hate him. For: @kalee60​ who was masquerading as a cheeky anon as part of my follower celebration!

Before Miles Morales took his first morning shift at the Dancing Monkey café, Gwen Stacey had pulled him aside with a wicked glint in her eye and told him to watch out for "The Coffee Cryptid". Her words, not his. 

"They don’t come in every day, but if they do, you'll know them when you see them," she'd said. Laughter rolled loose around her face as she tried, but failed, to school her features into something neutral and impassive.

When he pressed her for more information, she just shook her head, ashy blonde hair falling into her eyes, and refused to say anything more. He'd contemplated begging, because the mystery was killing him, but decided against it. They didn't know each other that well and he was really trying to seem cool enough that maybe she'd consider hanging out with him outside of work sometime.

But anyway, back to the point at hand.

It had just gone 7am, the café was opening for its first patrons of the day, Steve, Miles's manager, was through the back baking off pastries, and Miles was manning the till point feeling pretty confident that he could handle just about anything or anyone that came through the front door. 

At 7:05, a fox-faced redhead in a sharp black suit and even sharper heels glided through the door and ordered a medium Americano with an extra shot and six brown sugars before poking her head around the kitchen door to say hello to Steve.  As orders went, it wasn't that unusual. Miles made it with a bright smile and watched as she settled in a corner booth, bright eyes fixed on the door. So far, so good.

At 7:12, a bedraggled, blonde man with a bruise on his jaw slumped in. He gave the fox-faced woman a furtive wave and ordered three large filter coffees which he promptly poured straight into a purple thermos, which, okay, that was a little strange but Miles wasn't here to judge. It definitely wasn't 'Coffee Cryptid' levels of strange anyway. Thermos shuffled over to Fox-face, ducked to give her a kiss on the cheek, and sat down next to her. 

Miles served six more people, all of whom had very simple and perfectly normal orders. The most complex thing he had to do was add some pumpkin spice syrup and some vanilla syrup to a cappuccino and really, you could train a monkey to do that. He didn't like to think too deeply about the name of the cafe and what that said about its staff. Steve was a nice guy, maybe branding just wasn't his thing.

At 7:42, however, a broad shouldered man with a messy ponytail and a disgruntled look on his face ducked through the door and marched up to the counter. He had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and there was a blue shadow of stubble across his chin. He fixed Miles with a dead-eyed stare. 

It chilled him, but Miles Morales was nothing if not determined, so he hitched his best customer facing smile onto his face and dived right on in.

"Hi there! Welcome to The Dancing Monkey. What can I get for you today?" He smiled a little brighter and looked at the man expectantly. 

There was a long, drawn out pause, so drawn out that Miles felt his smile falter. Shifting from foot to foot, he gave the man an encouraging look. 

"I'd like a large iced caramel latte-"

"Okay great, I can get that-"

"With six extra shots and 30 pumps of syrup." 

The order hung in the air between them. Miles was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open but he couldn't shut it. His brain had completely short circuited. The red ring of doom. The blue screen of death. Was there any coming back from this? 

"I'm-I'm sorry, sir, but you want. . ."

"A large, iced vanilla latte," the man repeated, deadpan and, apparently, deadly serious, "with six extra shots of coffee and 30 pumps of syrup."

Miles dithered. His customer service smile had slid right off his face and he was grimacing, trying vainly to tally up the cost of this in his head. 

"Sir, the cost-"

"Is not important," the dead-eyed being cut in. 

Well, thought Miles, he seemed very sure of himself. Who was this man? If that's what he even was. Miles was beginning to have his doubts. He was some sugar-fuelled, caffeine addicted terror here to make Miles' life hell. Grimacing, he stared at the till. He had no idea how to put it through. Where was he supposed to even begin? Across the cafe, he could feel Fox-face and Thermos staring at him. He was almost certain that the pretty redhead was laughing at him as she leaned across her seat to whisper something in Thermos’ ear. 

“Is there a problem?” asked the grey-eyed demon before him, cocking an eyebrows and popping his hip. 

A short queue had started to form behind him. 

Shit.

“No, of course not. Let me ring this up for you.” And with a barely suppressed wince, that’s just what he did. Except, the universe being the universe, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. The total price kept ticking up and up and up. Seemingly without end. But then it hit $25 and pop up flashed up on the screen. With a sinking feeling, Miles glanced at the man, then back to the till, then back to the man again. He swallowed, mouth dry. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t process this.”

A dark, deeply uncaffeinated look passed across the eldritch terror’s face. Did he have tentacles? Were tentacles about to descend from underneath his jacket to give him a shake or would he just unhinge his jaw to devour him whole right where he stood? The jury was still out. It could go either way.

Miles offered him an apologetic smile.

“You must be new,” the man sighed, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. A flash of silver caught under the lights. “Go and get Steve, would you.”

But there was no need. Steve was already pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“I thought I heard your dulcet tones. Are you terrorising my staff again?” he asked, amused. Steve laid one huge hand on Miles’ shoulder and smiled down at him. “You go sort his abomination. I’ll put it through.”

Oh, he got it now. This was Bucky. Bucky as in Steve’s husband. Right, well, in that case. Ducking his head, Miles set to work in a daze. 

As he was pumping the obscene amount of vanilla syrup into a take away cup, he heard Steve mutter, “You need to learn to be nice to people.”

“I am nice,” Bucky whined. “After coffee.”

In truth, he lost count of how many pumps he was supposed to put in and there may have actually been seven, and not six, shots in the end but Miles watched as a serene look passed across Bucky’s face and he smiled. No, he beamed in Miles’ direction and blew a kiss at Steve before waltzing right out the door. 

What had just happened? Was this a fever dream? Was he being hazed? Miles twisted his apron in his hands, he was sticky with syrup and he’d flashed hot.

“God, I love that man - disgusting coffee habits aside,” sighed Steve, gazing wistfully out the door. Shaking himself from whatever rose tinted musing he was having, he clapped Miles on the shoulder, the sheer good natured force of it rattling his teeth. “You okay with everything here, bud?”

Miles nodded and he went back to serving customers, because what else was he to do? He was still trying to make sense of the bizarre turn his morning had taken.

At 8:04, Fox-face and Thermos stood to leave, but before they did, the redhead slid $20 into the tip jar with a wink.

“You did good, kid. He rattles everyone the first time round. Give it time,” she called, waggling her fingers, and disappearing into the morning crowds. 

Gwen Stacey, Miles decided, head bent over the coffee machine, owed him one. She owed him one big time and he wasn’t about to let her forget it anytime soon.

[simsadventures]

Not Me: Chapter 1: Sweet, Sweet Life

Summary: You always wanted the perfect life- great husband, fulfilling job, and overall happiness. What if you can’t have even a bit of your fairytale?

Warnings: angst, swearing, implied smut, memories (in italics)

Word Count: 2074

A/N: The first ever chapter of Not Me is finally here! Im so excited about this story, and I seriously can’t wait for you all to read it. Let me know what you think so far, and what do you expect from this little story? The ride has only just started, and it will get spicier as we go along, I promise xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

The sun was shining through the blinds, and you groaned loudly. Another day in your personal nightmare. You tried to snuggle into the pillows harder, willing your sleep to come again and take you for at least another few hours, so that you wouldn’t have to face the world. And by the world, you meant your husband, James.

Just the thought of him made a shiver run down your spine, and not the good kind. You didn’t even know how you got to that position. There used to be times when James was all you could think of.

You were at high school together, buddies, thanks to your fathers owning a publishing company together. You were a freshman, and he was a senior, but that didn’t stop you from spending a lot of time together. You used to piss off your fathers too often for your own good, whenever there was a banquet or some other fancy shit, you and Bucky would always find a way to make it at least a bit enjoyable for the two of you.

You had each other to hold on to, and that was enough. You both went to a different university, Bucky attending Yale, while you went to Brown. It was during this time that you grew apart, having different goals in life, and life choices as well. But your crush was still strong as ever at that time.

James had this ability to draw people to them. You could even pinpoint the exact thing that made him so charming because there were so many of them. His eyes, his deep, gruff voice, his physique, which would get any girl to her knees, or his charm. But you knew he wasn’t interested in you that way.

While you saw Bucky partying every second possible, you were more the studying type. Not that you didn’t have your fair share of wild parties, making you wake up in Canada instead of your home. But you were a passionate reader and student, and so when the crucial times came, you knew how to use your brain. And form what you heard, with Bucky’s party habits, he had to pay somebody to take all his exams. That was the only plausible option in your mind.

You only saw each other during summers, when you both worked for Barnes&Clark, your fathers’ company. And while Bucky was much more interested in all the sexy secretaries, you were impressed by all it entailed to be a businesswoman. You sat with Mr Barnes and your father in their meetings, they even seemed to listen to you while you spoke about your ideas of new ways of getting books to young people.

It was close to your graduation that your life turned completely, and, at the time, you thought for the better.

There was a knock on your door, and you frowned. It was Thursday evening, and you weren’t expecting anyone. What was even weirder that the person was already in the building, without ringing the bell from the front door. You cautiously went and looked through the peep-hole, only to be utterly surprised.

You opened the door, a confused frown on your face.

“Bucky. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked him, stepping aside, to let him inside.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped in and waited for you to take him further inside your apartment. When you led you to the sofa and sat down, you raised your eyebrows, indicating that he really should start explaining what it was he wanted.

“Look, Y/N. We’ve known each other for a long time, and I’ve been thinking, recently, and I reached a decision in which, I hope, you’ll support me.”

You still didn’t say anything, not sure where he was going with it. You haven’t heard from him in months, and so it was peculiar as to why he suddenly came knocking on your door.

Without any other word, he got on his knee and pulled out a white velvet box from his pocket. Your eyes were suddenly the size of a cartoon character, and you were pretty sure they now occupied most of your face.

“W-what? Bucky are you drunk? Or are you fatally ill? What the hell are you talking about?” You asked him, on the verge of a mental breakdown. This couldn’t be happening. Sure, you liked him and sure, you did try to write Y/N Barnes a few too many times before. But you were both young, 24 and 27 years old, and you sure as hell weren’t ready for marriage.

“I prioritise doll. I know it sounds crazy, but think about it. I know you have been single for far too long, and you’re never comfortable around any other guy than me. I’ve had my fair share of fun, and now I’m ready to settle down. And with whom better than you? We used to be best friends, and I think you never really grow from that kind of bond. Just think about it, will you?”

You were looking in those icy blue eyes, and for a weird reason, you saw the desperation in them and a hint of anger. You couldn’t be too sure, because you haven’t seen him for so long, but he had one thing right. You never really grow out of that bond. You thought he did, but obviously, he was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.

“I’ll need some time, and I think we should spend some time together if you want to marry me, don’t you think?”

A flash of something you weren’t able to recognise ran through his face, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone, and you weren’t really sure what it was.

“Sure, can I stay tonight and we can watch a movie, or something, huh?” He asked, without a hint of a smile, and you enthusiastically nodded. After all, this was something you dreamed of quite often, to be completely honest.

It went like this for a while, you and Bucky spending evenings together, and after one particularly fun evening, full of gin and tonics and tangled sheets, you finally gave him your answer.

“I will marry you Bucky, if it’s still something you want, I think we could be really good together,” you whispered against his naked chest, laying almost on top of him in your bed. He hummed, patted your shoulder and got up from the bed.

You looked at him confused, trying to determine if you said something wrong, but he only pulled the velvet box out of the pants that were laying abandoned on the floor and slipped the massive diamond ring on your finger.

“Good. Now sleep so we can plan the damn thing,” he said in a hushed voice, got dressed, and left you laying on the bed, naked and exhausted from the amazing sex you just had, confused as hell.

And that’s how your marriage pretty much started. Despite Bucky leaving that day, you were pretty excited about the whole ordeal, and so was your and Bucky’s family. The only unexcited party seemed to be Bucky, but you thought it was just his face, nothing serious.

But after a year of marriage, you realised that it probably wasn’t just his face. When he was around his Uni friends or his colleagues, his demeanour changed drastically.

He was joyful and funny, and always the life of the party. But when you two were alone, he was brooding and looked pissed 99% of the time.

You thought you’d have everything you ever wished for. Happy family, amazing husband, and a dream job. But things aren’t always the way we want them.

Your amazing husband rarely ever spoke to you, and when he did, it was to point out a flaw on you.

You shouldn’t talk so loudly. Your language isn’t lady-like. I don’t like it when you wear sweatpants, I think you should look nice even at home. This steak isn’t medium-rare. This make-up is too much. Stand and be pretty. Blah blah blah.

You tried to do all he said, trying to be the best wife for him, because you still had the idea of Bucky loving you, and wanting to spend his life with you. But every sentence like this created a gash in your heart, and by the first anniversary, you thought your heart was just a shredded piece of muscle, unable to function any more.

What broke you down to your knees, was, however, a different kind of message, delivered to you by Bucky and your father.

“James will lead the company, he has most of the rights to Barnes&Clark, and we think it would be great if you were a stay-at-home wife like you were supposed to be from the very beginning. Look, Y/N, you are a woman, and those shouldn’t be heads of the company. You understand that, don’t you?”

You were in total and complete shock. He trained you your whole life, to be the CEO, or at least the head of the publishing, while somebody else would take care of the numbers. But now he was telling you that your dream was vanishing right in front of your eyes.

“But, but, dad, I thought you-“

“How about you stop thinking and just be a pretty thing, sweetie?” Your father asked you mockingly, and to your utter surprise, Bucky laughed as well, patting your father’s shoulder.

You wanted to run away in tears, because every time you tried to speak up, either your father or Bucky would shush you. By the time the meeting ended, your eyes were filled with tears, but you didn’t want either of the men seeing this weak side of yours.

When you left the company’s building with Bucky by your side, you were shaking with both sadness and anger.

“Are you seriously with him on that, Bucky?” You asked, desperation evident in your voice. But the look Bucky gave you made you regret that you even asked him anything.

“Of course, I agree with him. You have to take care of our household, and not be busy with business. Oh, and, by the way, I would prefer it if you called me James, from now on.”

It felt like he pushed a dagger deep inside your guts. He let everyone call him Bucky, he would always say that it just felt better when the people around him called him Bucky. And now he wanted you, his wife, to call him James?

You sighed again and sat up in your bed. Ever since you moved in, you had separate bedrooms, James telling you he needed his rest to run the company. And even if you wanted to protest in the very beginning, you gave up. Like on many things in your life at the moment.

You used to have dreams, you used to be ambitious, but this life took everything from you. You rarely ever had sex with James- he would always tell you how tired he was and that you should be tired as well. And if you weren’t, it meant you weren’t doing enough through the day.

You learned how to cook, how to bake, how to sew, how to have the perfect garden, but it still wasn’t impressive enough for James to spare a kind word for you.

And neither did you father. He would always only remind you to be a good wife to James and to leave the rest to the men, and by your first anniversary, you believed all of those things, your self-respect pretty much non-existing.

You got up from the bed and headed towards the closet, to put on something representative to not give James any reason to pester you. You took a quick shower and put on some make-up, knowing full well that James was against the natural beauty look. You put on high-waisted wide pants and a blouse, trying no to look too shabby even if you were only going down to the kitchen to make James a breakfast.

When you came into the kitchen, he was already there, sitting by the table, reading news on his phone. He didn’t even spare you a look, and you sighed, walking towards the kitchen isle. It would be just another day in your hell, and you couldn’t do anything about it. Or, at least, you thought you couldn’t.

/Next Chapter >

Not Me:

@jennmurowski13 @lovely-geek @vogueworthy-barnes @veronawrites @loser-alert @trumpettay @thesoldierrogers @girlbehindthecameraposts @little-smurf @jesseswartzwelder @fuckwhateverfuck @learisa @karla-silva @blowing-mikey @afterlaughter27 @93generation @ungratefultroll @maybeisthemoon @greenprisca @geeksareunique @champagnesugamama @hailqueenconquer @grincheveryday @mc225g @thatweirdwalangpake @neerness

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins @reniescarlett

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere @mushyjellybeans @livsheph @sebbbystaaan @notyourtypicalrose

If your name is crossed out, tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason, I’m sorry.

If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical ones. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think.

[ravens-words]

Prelude to Light, Part 2 of 6

Seeing Alex like this, soft and fond, with one kid in his arms and one leaning against his leg, was making it harder and harder for him to keep from spilling all his feelings out.

Five times Michael watched, and pined away after, Alex interacting with others' kids and the one time it was their kid.

For @benkouji726 🖤

II.

Michael rarely, if ever, crossed paths with Alex in town, so he was surprised when he bumped into him on his way out of the Crashdown. 

"Shit," Alex cursed, transferring the coffee from one hand to another in order to wipe off the coffee that had burned him on his jeans. 

"Hey, little ears!" 

Bradley, Alex's former squadmate, whom Michael had last seen three weeks ago, had one of his hands covering a little boy's ears as he glared at Alex. 

Michael smiled at the man and offered him a hand to shake as Alex rolled his eyes and huffed. "You say that like you and Linda don't curse at basically everything all the time."

Bradley opened his mouth as if to protest, only to concede to his point with a shrug. 

"Hey, Guerin," Alex greeted him brightly. 

Michael grinned. "Hi. Sorry about that," he indicated his burnt hand.

Alex waved him off. "It's fi-"

"Hey, Michael should keep you and the kids comapny tonight!" Bradley interrupted him and Alex stared at him in confusion.

Michael himself was confused, too.  "What kids?"

"Alex here volunteered-"

"I was blackmailed," Alex muttered, only to receive an elbow to the side. 

"He volunteered to watch the kids, so that my wife and I can go on a date. You should keep him company. Hey," he exclaimed, snapping his fingers and pointing at Michael.  "Come with us right now! You can meet Allie and Brie!" 

Michael stared at him, a little incredulous. The guy was smiling widely, but there was a glint in his eye that told Michael he was up to something. Michael's eyes darted over to Alex, who was staring at his friend like he'd grown two heads. 

Michael's heart sank and he did his best to smile convincingly. "Maybe another time. I'l-"

"You should come," Alex interrupted him softly, words quiet but sincere. Or maybe that was just Michael's wishful thinking. "If you're not busy?"

He was giving him an out, and Michael didn't even consider taking it, desperate as he was to spend some time with Alex that didn't involve any discussions about imminent disasters.

"I'd love to."

Alex's answering smile, small as it was, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in a long time. 

...

The car ride to Alex's house was filled with kid songs and Alex mocking Bradley for it. Michael's cheeks actually hurt from the non-stop smiling. 

When they got to the house, there was the sound of laughter, the source of which was a woman sitting by the pool, legs tipped in and watching a kid that looked about four years old flailing around in the water. "Dad!" The little girl said excitedly once she spotted them. "Uncle Alex! Look, I'm swimming." 

As if to demonstrate, she did more flailing, and Michael resisted the urge to laugh as the girl's parents oohed and Bradley even clapped. 

"Good job, Brie!" Alex called and elbowed Michael in the ribs. 

He rubbed the spot and glared at Alex. "Ow, the hell was that for?" 

Alex raised one perfect eyebrow and Michael shrugged, conceding to his point without argument. 

Bradley's wife was now in front of them and Michael was treated to a megawatt smile that was so genuine he found himself smiling back automatically. "I'm Allison, this one's wife," she said, gesturing at Bradley, then holding out her hand. 

Michael took her hand in his. "Michael Guerin," he introduced himself. 

Her eyebrows hit her hairline, but she seemed to recover quickly. Michael wondered if she knew about his history with Alex, too, considering the fact that her reaction to hearing his name was almost identical to her husband's. "Nice to meet you, Michael. I hope you're hungry, because Alex is going to make us pancakes. Sometime this year, right, Alex?"

Alex rolled his eyes and started making his way to the house. "Keep that up and you won't be getting any."

Allison took the boy- and Michael needed to ask about the kid's name at some point- from Bradley's arms and Michael watched the two bicker until they disappeared inside. He and Bradley stayed by the pool, watching Brie, and Michael found himself smiling. 

"How have you been, man?"

His life was a shit show, but he wasn't going to tell that to a relative stranger. "I'm alright. You?" 

Bradley grinned. "Can't complain. Though, I really need to teach my kid how to swim. Look at her," Bradley complained, but he was smiling fondly.

Michael chuckled. 

"Hey, Brie," Bradley called out, walking closer to the edge of the pool. "Uncle Alex is going to make pancakes."

The little girl perked up and quickly swam closer to her father. Once she was out and in a towel, she finally seemed to notice Michael. "Who are you?" She demanded, not shying away from him as he had expected.

Bradley groaned. "Brie, that's rude. You should-"

"It's fine," Michael interrupted him. Then he looked Brie in the eyes and answered. "I'm Michael. Alex's friend."

She nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Do you like pancakes?"

"I do."

"Good," she told him firmly. "Uncle Alex makes the best pancakes. He promised he'd let me help today."

Once her dad put her down, she disappeared into what Michael guessed was the guest room. 

Bradley was shaking his head with a small, exasperated smile on his face. "That girl has no manners sometimes," he told Allison jockingly as she came to stand beside him.

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Just like her daddy," she teased him, then laughed at his outrage. 

Brie came out of the room, dressed in a bright pink dress. "Uncle Alex," she shouted, and Michael had to wince because, damn, the kid was loud. "I'm ready!"

"Honey," admonished Allison, "inside voice."

"Sorry," Brie said with a sheepish grin.

Alex met her at the kitchen door and scooped her up into his arms, tickling her. 

Michael followed them into the kitchen without a thought. "Can I help?"

"I help uncle Alex," Brie declared, hands on her hips.

Alex pursed his lips to keep from smiling and shook his head. He helped the little girl get on the stool and looked at her seriously. "You have to listen very carefully, okay, honey?" 

She nodded frantically and then promptly took a big scoop of flour in the measuring cup and dumped it in a bowl. 

Alex gave a long suffering sigh. "Brie, what did I just say?"

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Sorry, uncle Alex." 

She didn't sound sorry at all.

He gently took the measuring cup from her hand and gave her a plastic spoon instead. "Stir."

She nodded, poked her tongue out adorably and started carefully stirring. 

"You can go sit in the living room. They don't bite, you know," Alex told him, amused.

"I know that," Michael protested. "I wanted to see if you wanted any help."

"Thank you, but," he rested his head on Brie's shoulders, "we've got this. Here," he grabbed three beers from from the fridge and handed them to him. "Go."

He stopped at the doorway, unable to resist catching another glimpse of the two. 

"Brie, hands away from the bowl," Alex warned as he brought the small pan with melted butter closer. The girl listened immediately, jumping up and down impatiently. 

She rested her chin in the crook of his elbow, and Michael noticed Alex leaning down to accommodate her better. "When can I stir again, uncle Alex?" 

"In a little bit, honey," he promised, kissing her head. 

"Michael," Bradley called out from the couch, startling Michael. Alex looked up, and Michael immediately looked away, and hurried over to the couch. When Michael took a seat opposite them, he found the couple fixing him with twin knowing looks. 

He inwardly rolled his eyes, aware that he was that much of an open book. 

"So," Allison started once he was seated. "How long have you known Alex?"

"We've known each other since we were kids, but we didn't really start talking until our last year of high school," he answered, and hated that he was so nervous he almost sounded formal. 

"Hmm," there was a look in her eyes that, coupled with the smirk on her lips, made it seem like she knew something he didn't, which just made him more nervous. "And now?"

"We're," Michael started, then cleared his throat and tried again. "We're friends."

She arched an eyebrow and shared a look with Bradley, who seemed disappointed. Michael bristled. But then he pushed down the anger and changed the subject. "How did you two meet?"

Allison smiled like she knew what he was doing and Bradley laughed. "We were on leave, and we were at this diner-"

"Denny's," Allison interjected with a smile, leaning on her husband's chest and looking up at him with a small smile.

"Yep. And suddenly, this girl who works at the diner plays a song on the beat up jukebox and starts dancing right there in the middle of the diner." He looked down at his wife then leaned in to kiss her, chaste and sweet. Michael's heart ached, and all he could think about was how much he wanted what they had.

"That was the second I fell in love with her."

Allison rolled her eyes. "You didn't. You had a crush, but you didn't love me. Yet."

Bradley looked at Michael with an exasperated look. "She doesn't believe in love at first sight."

"It's stupid," she declared, almost whining. "You can't love someone without knowing them first. Michael, back me up,"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, eyes drawn to the kitchen almost against his will. He couldn't see Alex and Brie from where he was sitting, but he could hear Alex's voice, endlessly patient, giving the little girl instructions.

Michael didn't really have an opinion on whether or not love at first sight really existed. Mainly because he'd only fallen for one person, and he'd been about nine the first time he'd laid eyes on him, and seventeen when he'd fallen in love with him. 

Allison let it go, and she changed the subject easily. Michael was immensely grateful.

..

When Allison and Bradley left, Alex tasked Brie with finding a movie to watch and handed Michael a beer before he disappeared into the room the Bradley's little boy was sleeping in and came out with the sleepy kid in one arm and a bag of legos in the other. 

"Michael," Alex started, lips stretched into a smile. "Meet Adam."

He sat beside Michael, leaving only a foot of space between them and angled his body towards him so that the kid, who was sitting in his lap, faced Michael. 

Michael extended his hand and smiled broadly when the boy grabbed his finger and pulled. "Hey, Adam," Michael greeted him, shaking his hand a little. He laughed when the kid tugged him closer and started to pull his finger to his mouth. 

Alex chuckled. "He's teething," he explained.

"Ah," Michael winced sympathetically. "Poor guy."

"Here, hold him for a second," Alex said, standing up. He then put the kid in Michael's lap without waiting for a response. 

Michael was embarrassed to admit that he found himself in a stare-off with a one year old. He held very still, maintained eye contact, and prayed that the kid kept quiet long enough for Alex to come back. The little boy only fussed a little, but otherwise stayed silent. 

Alex was back after only a couple of minutes, a teething ring shaped like a melon held in his hand. He took Adam from Michael and gave him the ring, and Michael smiled when the boy immediately latched onto it and began to bite it enthusiastically. Brie, who was building a Lego bridge, leaned her head back until it collided with Alex's knee. He looked down, and the soft, fond look on his face was nearly Michael's undoing.

"Uncle Alex?" Brie said, somewhat impatient. 

Alex put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair. "You can start the movie," he told her. 

Michael shook his head and laughed. "How did you know?"

Alex watched with a fond smile as the girl hurried off to start the movie, and Michael watched him, hoping against hope his feelings weren't plastered on his face.

"I babysit them a lot," was Alex's answer. 

Michael's eyes were drawn to Adam, and he chuckled when he noticed the dopey look on the kid's face as he smiled up at Alex. The sound brought Alex's eyes to him, and then to Adam, and he laughed as he leaned down and nuzzled his nose into the kid's cheek. Adam giggled happily and Michael's heart melted. 

Adam started babbling, and Alex nodded very seriously. "I know, little man, I-"

"Shhh," Brie scolded them, turning back with a frown. Michael hadn't even noticed she'd started the movie. 

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, missy, but we're having a very serious conversation. Aren't we, Adam?" 

Brie huffed. "Uncle Alex," she whined, drawing the words out.

"Kid, you can probably recite every scene in this movie word for word."

"I can," she nodded. "But I want to watch it."

Alex shook his head. "Go ahead, your highness."

She giggled and then turned back to the tv. 

They watched the rest of movie in relative silence, though Michael watched Alex with Adam more than he watched the screen.

They were in a slightly better place than they were a month ago, and though Michael was just about ready to drop to his knees and beg Alex to give them a chance, he knew the timing was awful, considering everything going on with Jones. 

So, logically, he knew it was better to wait. Knew he had to be patient. 

Seeing Alex like this, soft and fond, with one kid in his arms and one leaning against his leg, was making it harder and harder for him to keep from spilling all his feelings out, though. 

Michael turned his attention to the movie, but found his eyes straying back to Alex, who was now making faces at Adam, making the little boy giggle.

Once upon a time, some years ago, having something like this with Alex had been an achievable dream. It was something they could have worked towards. But now- Michael shook his head at the thought. It didn't really matter, now, did it? 

Alex caught him looking and their eyes locked. The other man cocked his head to the side, probably trying to get a read on him and Michael, for the first time in a really long time, let him see it all; the regret, the longing and the wistfulness and the fear. 

Alex's face softened, and he almost smiled before he swallowed and turned. He looked down st Brie, who was blinking blearily, trying and failing to keep her eyes open. 

Alex cleared his throat and ran his hand through her hair. "Bed time," he reminded her softly. 

"Don't wanna," she mumbled, clutching his leg and staring up at him, doe eyed and pleading. 

Alex chuckled. "Well, you're gonna." He somehow managed to sound firm and gentle at the same time. 

"Please, uncle Alex?"

Alex hesitated and the kid was like a shark who'd caught the scent of blood. "Please," she said, hands clasped under her chin. Then she turned the pleading look onto Michael. "Please, Michael?"

He hesitated. "Maybe we can watch another movie?" He suggested, hoping he wasn't overstepping.

Alex sighed in exasperation and though he glared at Michael, there was no real heat in it, so Michael allowed himself to relax. 

"Fine," Alex told Brie, who squealed in delight. "But you have to change into you pyjama and brush your teeth right now," he added sternly.

The little girl nodded quickly and flashed off into her room. 

Alex turned to him, and Michael grinned sheepishly. The other man rolled his eyes and shook his head, but said nothing. 

"Thanks for letting me spend the day with you guys."

"Anytime, Michael."

"I'm done!" Brie shouted as she came running out of the bathroom, and he and Alex both winced.

"B, inside voice."

"Sorry!"

"Let me see those teeth."

She dutifully came to stand in front of him and opened her mouth.

"Hmm," Alex mumbled, pretending to inspect them seriously. His hand snuck out from around Adam and he tickled Brie. "Good job."

She giggled and squirmed away. Alex got comfortable, and a little closer to Michael, though he didn't know if that was intentional or not, and rested his head on the back of the couch. 

Thirty minutes into the movie, Michael felt a weight settle on his shoulder and looked down to see Alex asleep. His head was pillowed on Michael's arm, and Adam was asleep in his arms, looking right at home in Alex's arms. He smiled slightly and, against his better judgment, slowly removed his arm from underneath Alex, guided his head to rest on his chest instead, and wrapped his arm around him tightly. 

He'd worry about Mr. Jones and Forrest and the uncertainty of his relationship with Alex tomorrow. For now, this; having Alex close and in his arms was more than enough.