selfish gifting

The importance of tone in GOTG Vol. 2

Tone : the general character or attitude of a place, piece of writing, situation, etc.

We’ve all seen movies or read books that get their tone wrong.  They feel subtly off or wrong somehow.  Do it wrong, and every twist or revelation in your story feel wrong too, straining the audience’s disbelief.  Done correctly, manipulations of tone are barely perceptible but absolutely necessary to support dramatic character arcs.

One of my favorite parts of the movie was its subtle manipulation in tone, particularly in the second act.

Spoilerfic meta below

Keep reading

lesbianrain  asked:

Okay, but how did Shiro and Keith start dating? And how did the camp find out? (Or did everyone just know because "Come on, it's obvious" and Lance's jaw is on the floor)

Voltron PJO AU: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (Betting Pool Gods Version)

How Shiro and Keith Started Dating.

Ever since Shiro and Keith met, Keith had always been drawn towards the son of Zeus. He couldn’t really pinpoint what exactly it was, but he just knew he was comfortable when he was by Shiro’s side, he felt safe—despite the fact they battled way too many monsters than any other demigods should’ve before they get to camp, simply because they were apparently BOTH children of The Big Three. 

Being a child of Zeus and child of Hades made them more delicious (Keith cringed at the term but there was no other way to put it) also because they were very rare. The gods made a law that The Big Three: Zeus, Hades and Poseidon, not to have anymore children with mortals because they tend to be really powerful and destructive, they have the ability to destroy the world and the gods would like to prevent that. All the World Wars were caused by children of The Big Three fighting. Keith would’ve found it amazing but he couldn’t imagine starting World War IV if he and Shiro would have an argument. 

Keith made his way to forest since Shiro told him to meet him there. He saw his best friend’s back sitting on a tree branch. Sensing his presence, Shiro turned around and waved at Keith. Keith smiled back. It must be Shiro’s friendly aura, his caring personality or the way he simply smiles softly at Keith. 

Shiro summoned the winds to lift Keith up to the tree so he could sit beside him. “Thanks,” Keith muttered as he sat properly, holding onto the branch. “So what’s up?”

“I got you a cake,” Shiro pulled out a slice of cake from his picnic basket and handed it to Keith. “Well, Hunk baked it cause you know how awful I am at things like this.”

It startled him, to be honest but he smiled and accepted it. “What’s the occasion? Not that eating cake on a normal day is bad.”

Shiro frowned. “You don’t remember.” A fact, not a question. Keith shook his head as he took a bite, seeing Shiro getting a slice of his own. “It’s your birthday, you silly goob.” 

Keith gaped. His birthday? “What? My birthday?”

“Yeah, Happy 18th Birthday, Keith!” Shiro chuckled and then softly stared at Keith who seemed to have a hard time processing it. He took the son of Hades’ hand and started caressing it softly, an obvious attempt to bring Keith back to the present. 

Keith’s heart was beating so fast and before he could stop himself, Keith grabbed Shiro’s shirt and pulled him close so he could give him a peck on the lips. It was really brief but Keith felt like he could’ve died, so when he realized what he did, he quickly detached himself and noticed that Shiro had his eyes wide open in surprise.

“What was that all about?” Shiro whispered, still not taking his eyes off Keith.

Oh gods. Keith felt terrible and absolutely awful. He let his feelings get the better of him and now… “I… I’ve always been meaning to tell you before my 18th birthday without realizing I was running out of time and oh gods. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way, Shiro.” Keith forced a laugh. “Think of it as like, uh, my um… birthday gift? Selfish birthday wish gift.” Keith was blabbering, he knew that as he stared at his hands that were clenched on top of his thighs. His hands started to shake and then suddenly his plate started to slip and he couldn’t process what happened next but…

1. His plate fell. He went to grab it out of reflex.
2. He fell off the branch with no such grace.
3. Shiro panicked and summoned the winds.

And that was how Keith found himself holding his now empty plate, floating in front of Shiro who just gave him a very amused smile.

“It’s not funny,” Keith grumbled, fist still clenched. “Put me down.”

Shiro shook his head and cupped Keith’s face to return the favor: a soft peck on Keith’s lips. “Now we’re even.”

If his eyeballs could only pop out of his eye sockets, they probably would’ve done it now because what the hell just happened?

“Keith?” Shiro asked worriedly.

“D-do that again,” Keith squeaked.

Shiro laughed and Keith could’ve sworn he saw the clouds parting, giving ways to the rays of the sun to shine down on Shiro, providing him the golden halo that Keith knew was always there. He reached out for Shiro who gladly pulled him and Keith hugged him really tight. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he buried his face into Shiro’s neck. 

“What did you say?” Shiro asked.

“I said this is the best birthday ever,” Keith leaned away for a second to look at Shiro. “Also, you are allowed to hold my hand in public whenever we walk side by side.”

“Oh, thank the gods. Cause that’s what I’ve always been dreaming of if I ever got myself a boyfriend.” Shiro sarcastically said then he softened and kissed Keith on the cheek. “I’d love to hold your hand in public, Keith.”

That was how the camp found out because they went back to the dining pavilion, holding hands.

“Oh thank the gods it worked,” Hunk sighed in relief as he saw the new couple passing by. “I hope they enjoyed my cake.”

“WHAT?” Lance screamed. “Are you seeing this?!” he pointed at Shiro and Keith dramatically. “What the heck? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?? I?? WHAT?”

“C’mon it’s so obvious, Lance,” Pidge rolled his eyes.

“OBVIOUS? OBVIOUS???!” Lance raised an eyebrow. “I THINK NOT! Since when did Shiro go for guys? AND KEITH OF ALL PEOPLE???”

“Lance, close your mouth. Your jaw could reach the floor,” Shiro commented as they went past his table. 

There were a lot of groans and devastated cries because not only was the son of Zeus no longer available, even the son of Hades! Even worse! They just started dating each other.

BNA and Law vs Ethics

The BNH world has… a very oppressive law system. According to text; 80% of people have amazing abilities, but it’s literally illegal for most people to use them.  You’re allowed to use your Quirk in public if:

A) You’re a registered hero, or training to become one

or

B) ….. Nope, that’s it. 

There’s no option for your normal joe to use his super strength to help with construction, or for a guy who can manipulate cement like clay to make the most AMAZING architecture. 

No chance for someone who can harvest water vapor and condense it into pure water to go help out in a drought. 

No chance for a ‘Creator’ type to go produce food for a homeless shelter, or replicate medicines for the sick. 

No ‘Healing’ quirk can work at the Hospital. You have to rely on common medicine. 

All quirks are illegal unless you want to go to school to become a public servant AND work with the police.  (And even then, you cannot use your gift for “Selfish Reasons”) 

This sort of blatantly unfair (considering the physical mutation type especially) policy tends to push people who normally wouldn’t break the law at all, veer to criminal activity because “I’m breaking the law by existing so why not?" 

Criminal doesn’t necessarily mean evil. What is lawful isn’t always morally right, and what is illegal isn’t always morally wrong.

Normally “Hero” means "morally right” but in BNH the text says blatantly that Heroes are lawful, but not necessarily ethical. “Villains” may be unlawful, but they’re not necessarily ethically corrupt. (Example; in the manga a guy is stopped and ticketed for using his Quirk to move quickly and harmlessly through a crowd because he was late to work, but using it at all is illegal)

In BNH, the only difference i’ve seen between a “villain” and a “criminal” is if they have a Quirk or not, but the “villain” term implies they’re essentially evil, though the behavior is no different. The public still views them as an Evil entity. 

“Heroes” are public servants by canon’s own text, paid by the govt to work with the police. They’re not essentially “good” - they’re just doing their job, and hamming it up to get more funding.
When a hero confronts a villain, things tend to escalate quickly - heroes tend to leap in and punch, so of course people fight back.

(SPOILER ALERT) 
If you’re into the second season - I agree with Stain’s view of the world, though not his methods or conclusion for how to improve it.  (END OF SPOILER)

“Heroes” shouldn’t be on the pedestals they’re on. They’re peddling a false narrative of good vs evil - or perhaps the public is peddling it, and the people with Quirks are both perpetuating stereotypes and existing within the system. 

You’re either with us, using your Quirk to defend the public (and therefore ‘Good’), or you’re using it selfishly and against us - and therefore evil. And Heroes spend a lot of time doing PR and self-marketing, trying to stay high in the public’s ‘Rankings’ of heroes. 

How many Heroes have sabotaged other rising heroes to keep their own placement? How many people were arrested or threatened with legal action for trying to use their Quirk on the job? (For instance, helping your construction worker parents lift heavy things with your anti-gravity quirk~) 

How many people have been villified for years, peacefully struggling to exist until they finally snapped and became the monster everyone said they were? (A cornered mouse will bite)

Probably my absolute favorite character so far is the Mind Control guy. He can literally take over and tell you to do anything - and you do it. All his classmates constantly joke that he’s a danger, he’d be suited for a villian, “That’s definitely a Villain’s quirk” - But despite that, he still wants to be a Hero - Is still aiming to use his skill for good, simply because he wants to be a good person. (but how many people would bow to that kind of peer pressure? HAVE bowed to it?)

Idk man I have a lot of feelings about this. 

Spring!Chrom/Summer!Frederick C-S Support

Written by  drizzled-wind


C SUPPORT

Frederick: Milord, I’ve finally found you! I was worried that you wouldn’t be in this world when I arrived.

Chrom: Frederick?! Er, how…nice to see you here. What exactly are you wearing? It’s uncommon to see you without your armour.

Frederick: It is merely the outfit I was ordered to wear while on an excursion to the beach Outrealms with the Shepherds.

Chrom: Ordered? Or advised?

Frederick: If Milord Chrom asks anything of me, including what to wear, I will always comply.

Chrom: …Right.

Frederick: If I may, Milord, I would like to say that your costume for the Spring Festival suits you perfectly.

Chrom: Ack… I was hoping you wouldn’t comment on it. I look ridiculous. Especially since the Spring Festival is probably long over back home.

Frederick: If Milord would rather I did not talk about it, I will stop. I merely wanted to compliment you on the rabbit ears on your head.

Chrom: Lissa’s going to pay for this… Look, Frederick, I was forced to wear this. It was against my will.

Frederick: Should I prepare the new recruitment posters for this foreign realm?

Chrom: The what?

Frederick: Posters bearing Milord’s image; but as I recall that you were displeased with the last ones, these would depict you with this spring outfit instead. If we could attract potential Shepherds here, that would be most wonderful.

Chrom: What?! Frederick, we’ve talked about this countless times. I don’t want myself on posters, no matter what I’m wearing. Good gods…

Frederick: Milord, my deepest apologies for displeasing you. I merely wished to show off your extravagance to all the worlds.

Chrom: That’s very kind of you, but I’m getting tired of it. In Askr, I’m not your lord and you’re not my knight. We are simply friends who were both stuffed into ridiculous costumes that we’re unable to get out of!

Frederick: I must refuse. You are my lord, sire. Nothing can change that.

Chrom: I didn’t want to have to do this, but Frederick, I order you to treat me as a friend and not your ruler while I’m in this bunny getup.

Frederick: I-if Milord commands it… Then I will listen. We shall be…friends!

Chrom: Excellent. (Gods, please be merciful…)

[Chrom and Frederick have reached support rank C.]


B SUPPORT

Frederick: Milord! I mean, my friend! How does the day find you?

Chrom: Ah, Frederick. Somehow I knew you’d show up sooner or later. I’m perfectly fine, except for the snickering that follows in my wake whenever I venture out of my room.

Frederick: Who dares laugh at you? I will take care of them at once.

Chrom: I daresay you’ll earn yourself just as much laughter. Do you realise you’re carrying a bag of shellfish around, partially shirtless?

Frederick: I was summoned while I was clearing the beach so that no one might trod on a sharp shell. I have discovered that they make excellent weapons, my friend.

Chrom: Okay… I noticed some of those shells are rather pretty, at any rate.

Frederick: Which one would you like?! I’ll fish out the most radiant to gift to you, one friend to another.

Chrom: Fine, that one. And Frederick, you don’t have to keep calling me your friend. It’s getting kind of unsettling.

Frederick: My sincere apologies. What would you suggest I call you instead?

Chrom: How about my name, like a normal person?

Frederick: It would be an honour…Chrom. Ah, can you not feel us getting closer? Today is truly a joyous day. Here is your shell, Chrom. May its beauty reflect our friendship.

Chrom: Thanks, I think. Since you gave me something, I might as well hand something over in return. Here, have one of these eggs from the festival.

Frederick: An egg adorned with the symbol of the royal family? This is too much… I shall cherish it for the rest of my life.

Chrom: Glad to hear it.

Frederick: Wait a moment…Chrom, have you ripped your beautiful costume? An entire sleeve is missing.

Chrom: Oh, er… I did that a while ago. I’ve grown accustomed to leaving that arm free to display my brand.

Frederick: A wise choice. This way, the whole outfit boldly displays your best attributes.

Chrom: Frederick, I think we’re crossing into uncomfortable territory again. Let’s stop talking about the bunny outfit.

Frederick: Then what do you suggest the topic be switched to?

Chrom: Er… How was the beach Outrealm back home?

Frederick: Most magnificent. The skies were clear, the beach was bright, and we were given an excellent swimsuit to give to you upon your return. It featured the Brand across the back.

Chrom: Gods, no… I’m not sure I want to return now. Is there any news that’s not about me?

Frederick: No. My reports will only ever have to do with you.

Chrom: Wow, is that (y/n) calling me? Sorry, Frederick, I’m going to have to cut this short, haha…ha. Perhaps we’ll speak later.

Frederick: I await our next meeting with baited breath, my friend.

[Chrom and Frederick have reached support rank B.]


A SUPPORT

Chrom: I can’t see Frederick anywhere. If I can just get to the weapon storage room without him popping up behind me, then I may be able to get Falchion back.

Frederick: Chrom, how pleasing to see you out and about. I’m glad you’ve grown used to your handsome costume.

Chrom: Gah! Frederick?! Are you following me?

Frederick: I would not call it “following”, but merely keeping an eye out. It would not do to allow others to take advantage of your festive outfit to mock you. I am here to prevent that.

Chrom: Frederick… We’ve been over this time and time again. Instead of watching over me, go put on some armour to avoid mocking yourself. I’m trying to find my normal clothes, anyway.

Frederick: I’m afraid we cannot, Chrom. (y/n) has decreed that we stay in these costumes to fight, as that is how we were summoned.

Chrom: You’ve got to be kidding me. We have to stay in them until we go home?

Frederick: That was the report, yes.

Chrom: Falchion is my rightful blade. Surely I can at least switch out this ridiculous carrot axe for it?

Frederick: Apologies, but no.

Chrom: I don’t think (y/n) realises how horribly degrading this is. Don’t you feel the same? Parading around the battlefield in your smallclothes?

Frederick: As long as milord is satisfied, I do not mind what I am wearing. But if I may be so bold, I think you look quite dashing in that suit. There is nothing to be ashamed of in wearing it. Even the axe.

Chrom: You’re only saying this because I’m upset right now, but thank you anyway. I suppose we can suffer awhile longer, since we can’t exactly go against our Summoner’s wishes.

Frederick: …

Chrom: Frederick? What’s wrong? You’ve gone uncharacteristically silent.

Frederick: Apologies again, Chrom. I was simply thinking that being partners in festive costumes brings us even closer than before. Perhaps even closer than tossing a coin in a fountain would have been.

Chrom: Not this again…

Frederick: It is my honour to suffer through wearing this in battle with you.

Chrom: Frederick, let go of my hand! Look, I know you want to be extraordinarily close as knight and lord, but I have already ordered you to stop thinking in such a way. We can’t be as close as you want us to be, so please stop harping on about it!

Frederick: O-of course, Chrom. I am terribly sorry. Please, excuse me…

Chrom: Wait, Frederick! He’s gone… Maybe I was a bit too harsh on him.

[Chrom and Frederick have reached support rank A.]


S SUPPORT

Chrom: Frederick? It took me ages to find you. Are you alright? I’m so sorry for what I said earlier.

Frederick: It is not your fault, Milord. It is I who spoke out of turn. Please, think nothing of it.

Chrom: Still, my words were unnecessarily harsh. I had no right to spurn your friendship in such a way, not when you’ve always been there for me.

Frederick: I should not have made you uncomfortable in the first place. I was aiming to have you feel more at ease in your costume, but I took it too far.

Chrom: Frederick, I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I do value your friendship, more than I can say.

Frederick: So you do not mind that I prefer your Spring costume to your regular outfit?

Chrom: No, I- …Wait a second. Did you fabricate that “rule” the Summoner made about staying in costume?

Frederick: I am deeply sorry, Chrom. I’m afraid I was being rather selfish. Please accept this gift as my apology.

Chrom: Gah, fine. Oh, another pretty shell. Wait, this one has something in it… A little egg with a heart painted on? It’s very cute, but Frederick, does this mean-?

Frederick: Yes. The way I felt for you was not simply as a lord and his knight. Since being summoned here, I have been able to fully realise my feelings, wrong as they may be. Please forgive my disrespect, but I am in love with you, Chrom.

Chrom: If you simply told me from the beginning instead of pretending…

Frederick: I know it was foolish; to think I could marry the exalt! I do not expect you to accept, but I simply could not hold my feelings back anymore.

Chrom: Frederick, stop. You don’t have to worry, because I do accept, exalt or not. I must admit that through our bond, friendship did turn into something more.

Frederick: Really?! We can truly be as close as I imagined?

Chrom: We already are close. That’s why I also have feelings for you, Frederick. Your summer outfit doesn’t hurt anything, either…

Frederick: This is the happiest day of my life! No longer will we be separated by the boundary of lord and subject! Instead we shall be partners in life for eternity.

Chrom: Yes, it certainly is a happy day.

Frederick: I will venture outside of those boundaries now by saying that your rabbit ears are very cute. I owe great thanks to whomever designed that costume.

Chrom: Frederick, please…

Frederick: Shall we design more of those eggs? Or pick up more shells? Come along, Chrom! We have a whole lifetime of our love to live!

[Chrom and Frederick have reached support rank S.]

If you’re only showing kindness with the expectation of getting something in return then you aren’t showing true kindness. If your kindness, your support stops because you aren’t receiving what you wanted, what you expected, in return then it was never genuine. If you can’t be nice without it being reciprocated then you were never being truly nice in the first place. True kindness is given freely. Kindness should be a gift, not a loan.

anonymous asked:

Starker, 41. 👌

Wow so sorry this is late anon, adult life is awfully busy ><! I would have just let this sit around and die in my ask box but obviously this ship needs more love and so I went ahead and filled this prompt. Hope you enjoy it! 


Tony was always one to go a bit overboard with gifts. There was that time he bought Pepper a giant stuffed rabbit, that time he rented out the whole Six Flags Magic Mountain theme park for Rhodey’s 25th birthday, and that time he bought Happy the world’s largest chocolate Easter egg that one year because his birthday fell on the same day as Easter.

It was an understatement that Tony went overboard with gifts, but be that as it may, Tony liked getting those he cared about crazy extravagant gifts. Weather he bought them or made them, seeing the look on his loved one’s face when they received such a gift was the best feeling in the world.

So, for Peter’s graduation present he decided to really take it up a notch. The first round of gifts had been some upgrades to the Spider-Man suit, all ranging between new web shooters and giving the suit a new color design. Then he let the kid host his graduation party at the Tower. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do since in the aftermath he had to deal with a bunch of recently graduated high schoolers making a mess of everything, touching things that weren’t theirs, and making Tony look and feel old for finding the whole party scene a bit much these days with the loud music, flashing lights, and lewd dancing. But anything to make his boyfriend happy.

Then he gave Peter his own room in the Tower, a room close to his own so they could share a living space together like any long-term couple would want. He even gave Peter his own lab on the many R&R floors of the Tower. It was a bit of a selfish gift on Tony’s part since he missed his old Science Bro these past few years and he really just wanted Peter with him all day every day because he loved him that much. But when Peter saw the bedroom and then the lab, the look on Peter’s face; a beaming smile and beautiful brown eyes illuminated with joy, made Tony feel like his urge to house Peter wasn’t as selfish as he thought.

Finally, he decided for a much more intimate gift for the newly graduated teenager. He knew how much finals had kicked Peter’s butt, he knew how much keeping the Spider-Man identity a secret really kicked Peter’s butt, and he knew how stressful the college application process was as well as the process of coming up with the thousands of dollars needed to actually attend college. Okay, well, he didn’t know that struggle first hand, but he had witness others go through the stressors of it. In short, he knew Peter needed a well-deserved break and Tony was happy to give him one, even if it was for just one night.

Tony would wait until all the partying died down and wait for Peter’s stress to decrease so he could give him the rest of his present. A romantic dinner for two on the balcony of the Tower.

On a lovely summer night, Tony decided he would surprise Peter as well. He had the young hero put on a blindfold so that Tony could do a big reveal later, and led Peter up to the top floor of the Tower.

Once they had made it to the balcony, Tony carefully removed the blindfold from Peter’s face and watched as Peter reacted. Peter’s eyes were bright, his smile wide, and there was even a cute little blush present on his cheeks. Tony wanted to kiss him then and there, but he figured he could wait.

“You did all of this for me?” Peter’s voice suddenly spoke up. Tony turned to the teen and nodded.

“Of course, you deserve it.” He told him and then took Peter’s hand and led him to the table where they would be dining.

It was a nice table and on top was all the food, a three-course meal including two bowls of Minestrone, a basket of bread sticks, two bowls of pasta—Fettucine specifically—and a bottle of sparkling strawberry flavored water in a bucket of ice to keep cold along with two empty wine glasses. The balcony was laced with fairy lights powered with the intense blue hue of the arc reactor and a gentle summer breeze moved through the scene. There was gentle orchestral music playing from the speakers by where the dessert—chocolate lava cake—was placed so it wouldn’t be in the way of the main meal. And the lights illuminating the city stretched out beyond their intimate scene really tied the whole thing together. Tony had really out done himself.

He then gentlemanly pulled out the chair for Peter, let him sit down, and pushed the chair back in before making his way around the table to fill up the wine glasses with the sparkling water. Once he finished filling those up half-way Tony then seated himself down at the table. He sent Peter a tiny smile and Peter smiled back.

“Thank you, Tony, this all looks so amazing.” Peter said and Tony’s heart fluttered a little.

“I’m glad you think so sweetheart.” He said, voice smooth. “Congratulations on graduating high school and putting up with me the past two years.” He said and Peter let out an adorable snort.

“Three if you include the year we weren’t dating.” Peter pointed out and Tony slowly lifted his half-full wine glass.

“Toast to all that then.” The billionaire said and Peter nodded, lifting his glass up as well. The two glasses carefully clinked together and then Tony took a slow sip of the strawberry flavored drink, watching Peter with a gaze so loving and happy it was a wonder he was ever miserable so many years ago.

5

Miraculous Moments

Plagg - Episode 2

Fall in love with yourself first.

And I don’t mean in the cheesy “take yourself out to the mall and blow your money on bath salts and body lotion and new clothes” because that can only take you a few days.

Fall in love with your curiosity, your drive to find out what’s going on in a loved one’s brain, your motivation to seek truth, the very thing that sets life changes in momentum.
Fall in love with your hands, and with them admire the things they make, the people they touch, the power they give you to take care of your body.
Fall in love with your goals—and, whether you carry them out or not, admire them for what they are—your passion in the form of tangibility, the stuff that legends are made out of.
Fall in love with your ability to love, your own unique combination of empathy, thoughtfulness, and admiration of beauty. Know that if love was visible, yours would be a giant array of stars.
Fall in love with the way in which your body works like clockwork—your sleeping habits, your eating habits, the way  your body tells you it wants to keep you safe.
Fall in love with the way you kiss, the way you sigh, the way you keep your secrets. Fall in love with the way you decorate, your taste in food, the way your subconscious works your innermost thoughts into your sleep. Fall in love with your handwriting, the way you sing, the way you doodle in notebooks. Fall in love with your preferences, your growing encyclopedia of memories, the way you catalog admirable traits in others.

And I don’t say any of this because I think you’d be undeserving of love if you didn’t see yourself in this way, or that love wouldn’t eventually find you, or that you’d never be able to be happy. Because, truthfully, I think we are all capable of finding love in ourselves in one way or another.
But, as short as life is as we know it, can you seriously look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t like this to happen at your own hand? It is not selfish to want to experience yourself alone; it is not selfish to share the gift of you with yourself.

It’s not that you’d be undeserving of someone else’s love, but rather that you are deserving of your own.

Fall in love with yourself first.

—  we were built for more than just sharing
Legacy, Honor, and Progeny: pagan perspectives on the afterlife

Eternal life. It’s the promise handed out by every Abrahamic church and the light at the end of the tunnel for god-fearing Christians. Live according to the bible, and you will be granted your spot in heaven, a place so beautiful and perfect and bathed in God’s love that you could never want for anything more. Live a path of sin and treachery; take your seat in Hell. It seems so simple, but upon the shallowest of critical inspections, the concept crumbles a bit under its own weight. Christians (and members of other Abrahamic religions for that matter) worship within a cult of death, a religion in which death is the ultimate salvation, and life is to be shunned in many ways. The afterlife is held above the mortal life, as even God himself cut his son’s life short as some sort of sacrificial lamb.

To the pagan mind, this all seems a bit absurd. How could the focus on death reign supreme above the glorious celebration of life and the cycles of our own earth? How does the sky reign supreme over the bounty of the land? Where’s the sense in the celibacy of priests and nuns? How does abstention of life’s nature bring one closer to the forces governing it?

I will take a brief side-step here to introduce the concept of legacy and honor and their ultimate importance within a national socialist state. National Socialism (or fascism) only makes sense in the scope of multiple generations. The preservation and betterment of a nation’s people are far from selfish aims, but rather gifts to be given to one’s children and their children’s children. The soldier fighting for his nation does so out of love, and this is what brings him honor. His sacrifice for his nation lives on, if not individually then as a part of a greater whole. “The men who fought.” “The men who won.” At the very least, “the men who gave everything.” Similarly, the man and woman who live their lives to the fullest, giving their love to each other and their children and their land, can share a legacy. The house they built, the lessons they’ve taught, the examples they’ve set…these things are what will live on forever in the blood and minds of their children.

So the pagan mind and the National Socialist mind are naturally compatible. Instead of driving tirelessly towards a distant afterlife, heaven, that is the ultimate salvation, the pagan finds his salvation and his afterlife, his legacy, before death. He doesn’t flicker out hoping he’s followed the rules well enough to be granted eternal happiness. Rather, he goes knowing that he’s granted those he loves and wishes well as much as he could and that his name will live forever through them, becoming a part of legend and myth. There is no bible. There are the embellished deeds and stories passed from mouth to mouth for years. There is no need to look for the skies as they did in the barren deserts, where Abrahamic religions were born. The blood of our heroes and ancestors soaked into the soil and is revitalized with every blossom and tree that springs forth from that sacred life force. And that is eternal life.

You Attend The Late Late Show With Him (Request)- Harry Styles

“Love, get out of this bed,” Harry says from above you, pulling the covers away gently from where you held them above your head. He had been dressed and ready for a well half hour, but couldn’t bring himself to wake you up, considering the night you had before.

“H, leave me the hell alone. I’m so exhausted,” you groan, turning over and covering your face with the pillow as your fiancé laughs.

“We’re going to miss the flight, and then the Boys are really going to ream our arses’. They still haven’t given up on the last time,” he says, taking the pillow and turning you over forcibly but gently, climbing on top of you and kissing your lips as your eyes open. “Mm, you awake now?” he asks, lips still red from the night before.

“I guess so, but I might need another to truly wake up,” you smirk, looking up at him from your place on the bed, his shirt just barely covering your panties that you’d slipped on when you went to use the toilet after spending most of the night awake making love to your boyfriend. You thought he was leaving by himself to go to L.A. for The Late Late Show with James Corden, but he had already packed your suitcase and told management you would be joining him. “You know, we spent the whole night up, when we could’ve very well saved some for when we got to the hotel, but no, someone was a bit too excited, if I say so,” you laugh as he leans back down to kiss you, your arms wrapping around his neck, until he starts to tickle your sides, that when you jump out of the bed, swatting his arm and running to get in the shower. 

“We could just sleep on the plane and still have time at the hotel,” he says hurriedly, cursing at himself for not just containing himself a bit more the night before. He quickly makes up the bed, grabbing your suitcases and putting both by your bedroom door. He walks to the mirror, fixing his hair and putting on the rings by his nightstand, fixing his shirt and jeans before going to make you and himself a tiny breakfast.

You quickly get out of the shower, freshly bathed, shaven, and had used Harry’s favourite scent on your body. You pop in front of the bathroom mirror and sink, brushing your teeth and drying your hair with a towel, quickly tying it into a top knot and throwing the towels in the laundry bin. You walk into the wardrobe, putting on a matching hot pink bra and panties set, then throwing on black leggings, a black t-shirt, and a sweatshirt, one that you had stolen from Harry before he left for tour, but it was ironed and nice enough to wear out of the house. You sprayed perfume on yourself, another one of Harry’s favourites, and grab your converse before walking down the stairs to meet Harry in the kitchen. 

“Thanks, baby,” you say, placing a quick kiss to your fiancé’s lips and taking the toast and eggs from his hand. You both eat fairly quick, putting the pan in the sink and checking your carry-on to make sure that phone and computer chargers had been packed, alongside your phones and computer, itself. You hear a car beep outside the house, meaning that Niall had arrived to pick you up and drive all three of you to the aeroport together. Harry sets the house alarm, taking both suitcases behind you, whom carried the carry-on and made sure that the house was locked up afterwards.

“Look who made it on time,” Niall laughs from the driver’s spot, you sitting passenger, Harry insisting that he would sit in the back. Your left hand was laying on your lap and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the diamond sitting on your ring finger. You said yes, and you were going to marry him, and everyday Harry seems happier and happier just knowing that the three letter word was your answer. “Mate, you listening back ‘dere?” Niall asks, looking at Harry from his mirror.

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” Harry asks, drawing his attention back towards his best friend, who had been apparently trying to get his attention for the last few minutes.

“We ‘ave to go straight to ‘de hotel, and ‘den we only have like an hour before we ‘ave to head back to James’ studio,” Niall says, turning his attention back to the road. It was early in London, awfully early, but by the time you arrived in California, it’d be the night and time for another interview.

“Okay. Baby, do you want to just grab a bite to eat in the hotel, or meet up with the Boys at the studio and find something closer to there?” Harry asks, turning his attention towards you as you contemplate your answer. You have this little dimple, not one as deep as his own, but one that is visible and stuck out most when you were concentrating or laughing, and he could see it at this very moment and it made his heart flutter.

“Why don’ we just eat at the hotel, this way we can all leave together and we won’ have to worry about getting back to the studio,” you say, turning your body around and facing Harry. “What’re you smiling about, hmm?” you ask watching as he shrugs but the smile never fades. You grab his hand and squeeze it, before placing a small kiss to the back and letting it go.

“You two make me sick,” Niall says from next you, shaking his head and chuckling as you two both laugh at his commentary. “But if you two could hold on the loving-on-each-other, it’d be great so we can just get on this damn aeroplane.”

You laugh and get out of the car, taking your bag and the carry-on whilst the pilots load the luggage on board and you walk hand-in-hand with Harry to board. Harry sits across from you at first, but just long enough for you to take your phone out and quickly take a picture, before moving over to his side and snuggling against him. “I love you,” you say, taking your phone and editing the picture, readying it for you to post.

“I love you more. But I also love you in my clothes. And you’re wearing my favourite perfume. What’re you trying to do to me, love?” Harry says, head resting against your own, placing a few kisses there and then placing a lingering one on your lips.

“Okay, okay, you two. There are other people on this plane,” Louis jokes from the seat next to you, already putting in earphones and humming the melodies to the new songs off the album.

“What do you think James is goin’ to ask you ‘bout?” you ask, looking up at him and adjusting yourself so you could place your legs in his lap and head on the pillow.

“Probably ‘bout Zayn leaving, the new album, I think he might ask about that “No Control Project” the fans are doing, and possibly us. I know once we posted the pictures about us being engaged, people have been tweeting questions and I’m pretty sure he’ll take some of those,” he says looking down at you whilst drawing circles on the palm of your hand. “Do you wan’ me to answer the questions or just leave it private?” he asks, looking at you intently, waiting for your response. You both had been not completely private with your relationship, but did keep certain aspects away from all to see.

“I mean, we already posted the pictures online, so answering the questions can’t be too bad. Just don’t say too much about the proposal, I mean if it’s asked, you could talk about what you did, but what you said to me I want to be completely private. Your memory and my memory only. It was the best thing you have ever said to me and I want to cherish it all by myself,” you say, leaning back up to kiss him, smiling as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I love you.”

“I love you so much, babe. You don’ even understand. But c’mon, we need sleep before we get there, it’s goin’ to be a long night. And not just because of the reasons you think I’m thinking of,” he smirks, planting a kiss on your forehead before wrapping the blanket across your bodies, and laying his head on yours. You smile and quickly upload the picture to Instagram before closing your phone, cuddling into Harry, and falling asleep.

@Mrs.StylesOfficial: Look at my handsome man. Whatcha doin’ over there, H? #fiancé

***

“Baby, I’m sorry to do this to you, but the plane is landing. We got to get up to go to the hotel,” Harry whispers from beside you. He’d only woken up ten minutes ago when we heard the pilot’s voice on the intercom. He watched you for a few minutes, amazed that this sight was what he has to look forward to for the rest of his life, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “My love, c’mon, we can go eat and then the interview and then go back and sleep,” he says, brushing stray hairs that had gotten loose from your bun, away from your face.

“Ugh,” you groan, wiping your face and opening your eyes, adjusting to the darker surroundings that you had arrived in. “I want a pizza,” you say, wrapping your arms back around his waist, trying to wake yourself up, and his cologne was surely doing the trick. It was your absolute favourite and got it for him every year, both as a selfish gift and non-selfish because you both completely loved it.

“Okay, babe, I’m sure I can arrange that,” he chuckles, rubbing circles on your back as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket, checking his mentions on both Instagram and Twitter, smiling at the new post you had uploaded whilst he was sleeping. He quickly responds to Twitter and leans back over to you. You had managed to get up from your seat and grab your carry-on and backpack. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you multiple times before you could respond.

“I love you, too. Where’d that come from?” you giggle.

“I can’t just tell you that I love you?” he asks, hand interlocking yours as he hears the wheels meet the road beneath the plane.

“You can. Always. I love hearing you say it,” you say, leaning in to kiss him.

“I love to say it. But I also see that you changed your name already,” he smiles. You swear that the minute you said yes to his proposal, anytime you would speak his smile would grow larger and larger.

“I did, I did. You know we are getting married in six months, I think it’s time,” you laugh, standing up from your seat and grabbing Harry’ hand to interlock your fingers and you walk off the plane and into the car that waited to bring you all to the hotel.

The ride was quick compared to the 14-hour long plane trip. Once you got checked in to the hotel, everyone dispersed to their own rooms to drop off luggage and then went to wherever they wanted for the remaining hour-and-a-half before the car came back to take the crew to the studio. You and Harry stayed in the room, ordering a pizza, ready to just relax for the time you had.

You were laying on the bed, hands on your stomach as an unknown program played on the TV. Harry climbed on the bed, leaning over to turn the box off, and then pulled you to the middle of the bed. He climbed on top of you, kissing you deeply, running his hands down your sides as you hands attached themselves in his hair. He moaned as you pulled lightly on the hair, creating a massaging sensation, and as soon as he pulled off you shirt, already leaving love bites on your neck, there was a knock on the door, signalling the arrival of your food.

“Fuck,” he whispers whilst climbing off of you, “Stay right there.” He finds his wallet on the dresser, grabbing twenty dollars out. He opens the door, says ‘thank you’ to the delivery man, pays him, and shuts the door as fast as he possibly can. He walks back over to you, climbing back on top, kissing you again. “Killed the mood, didn’t it?” he says as you giggle from underneath him.

“Yeah, little bit,” you laugh, getting up, pushing Harry onto his bum as you pull your t-shirt back on. “Later, baby. Later on, when we get back, no one will interrupt us. Okay?” you say, giving him a quick kiss before going to eat the pizza that had just arrived.

You two made your way downstairs just in time to meet with the rest of the band and avoid any embarrassment. The car pulled up a few minutes after you all had gathered together, and everyone piled in, ready to just arrive at the studio. “I’m surprised we didn’t have to come up and get you,” Liam says, laughing alongside the other two members.

“Oh shut up, Liam,” Harry chuckles, knowing that that is exactly what happened the last time. 

As soon as you and Harry had your first time together on your one-year anniversary three years ago, it has been quite hard to keep your hands off each other. Especially on one occasion where Harry was almost late for sound check because you both had stayed at the hotel for a bit too long.

“C’mon, Liam, leave us alone for one night?” you ask, pretending to pout for a minute, and then everyone is laughing. The rest of the time was spent discussing bits of your wedding that is set in stone and fully prepared, and what else needed to be done in order to be ready for the wedding in November. 

In a mere ten minutes, the whole entourage was being ushered into the studio, the Boys going to meet James backstage whilst you, Lou, and Sophia stand around by the side where you would watch the show.

“There’s the better half,” James says, walking over to give you a hug.

“How’s it going, Cordo?” you ask after giggling, feeling Harry come up and wrap his arms around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m well, and you? The wedding’s coming up soon, yeah? November, right?” he asks, taking a sip from his mug.

“Yeah, we only have a bit left before we’re done planning, as well,” you add, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek quickly, feeling his smile grow as he places a kiss to your shoulder.

You and James talk a bit more until he’s being called out, in order for him to start the show and introduce the Boys. You and the girls watch from the side, listening to the men talk about their fans and the new “No Control Project” and you swear you can see all of their faces light up. There are questions about Zayn and how the tension is between the five, quickly dismissing any rumours that there was fighting continuing, and other nonsense. But towards the end you hear James say your name, and you look over to see Harry’s smile grow as big as possible. 

“Harry, we’ve seen that you have a bride-to-be, if I’m correct?” James says, leaning forward to speak directly to your fiancé.

“You are, James,” he says coolly, trying not to let himself burst with every detail that he would like to share, just not particularly on camera.

“I’ve met your missus, she’s quite lovely,” James says, flipping through note cards, assumingly the ones that have his questions.

“Y/N is wonderful, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, besides One Direction,” he says, seeing a picture of you and him from Instagram appear on the screen.

“I have a few questions here from fans, and I am going to ask the more vague ones, this way you don’ have to give anything away that you don’ want to, okay?” James asks, looking intently at Harry waiting for his nod of approval. As soon as Harry nods his head, James starts to ask the questions. “When is the wedding exactly?”

“The wedding is the 16 of December. The day we met three years ago,” Harry answers, taking a quick peek at you on the side, mouthing ‘I love you’ before answering the next questions.

“Okay, here are two. How did you propose? And, I want to know, have you thought of letting me be the best man?” James asks, and Liam, Louis, and Niall shake their heads, laughing quietly.

“Well, Y/N and I don’t want to reveal too much about the proposal, but basically I did it when we were in a bit of a rift. She had no idea and the best part was that she was mildly irritated at me when I did it,” Harry says laughing. “My sister actually helped me pick out the ring, because her and Y/N are best friends and she knew what she wanted. I already had an idea, but that really helped. And for the second questions, no. I already have my best men.”

“Really? Are you sure? I would make a great best man,” James says, earning laughs from everyone in the room.

Harry just shakes his head, waiting for the final question to follow suit.

“Did you ever think that maybe you two were too young to get married right now, I mean you’re both in your twenties,” James says, sitting back in his seat and drinking from his mug.

“No, not at all. We love each other, and the people who love us, support our decisions completely,” Harry says, smiling and finishing the interview before walking off stage and sneaking up behind you, and hugging you tight.

“Hi, baby. You did great up there,” you say, leaning up to kiss him, your arms locking around his neck loosely.

“All because you were here,” he says, kissing you back, foreheads resting against each other. 

You had finished UNI within the first year of you and Harry dating, so ever since then you’d been on the road with the team. Management paid you in bits to just keep everything in check, seeing as though you basically acted like a mum to the group, even with Liam being the responsible one. It was really nice being able to spend time on the road with Harry and not have to be away for a long time.

“Alright you two, are going to come back to the hotel with us or not?” Louis asks, looking behind waiting for you to follow.

“Yes, yes, hold on,” Harry says, taking your hand and guiding you out to the car. The ride seems shorter back to the hotel and as soon as you were let out, both you and Harry walked straight up to your hotel room. 

You unlocked the door, feeling Harry push you in lightly, closing the door behind him and locking it. You quickly take off your sweatshirt and shoes, giggling when you feel Harry pull you up close to him.

“What do you want from me, mister? Is it was I think it is, hmm?” you ask, leaning up against his ear and kissing down his jaw and near his lips, but never touching your mouth to his.

“You know what I want, missus. Now stop teasing me,” he whines, grabbing your cheeks gently and connecting your lips to his. You two strip of your clothing and fall on the bed, spending the night professing your love to each other in more way than one.

***

“You know, I know we say it, but I can’t describe how happy you make me,” you whisper, fingers tracing the butterfly on his abdomen lightly.

“And I know I say it quite often, but I am so in love with you, that I can hear you breathe in the morning and I feel like I fall more in love with you,” he says, the pads of his fingers resting lights on your bare back. 

He’s so in love with not only you, but this moment. You’re both lying underneath the blanket, bare from making love just hours before, and now you’re professing your love for one another in whispers, as if you want no one else in the world to know why you are so deeply in love with each other.

The wedding was not too far off, and he couldn’t wait for moment where, this, right here, would become his forever.


Hello, darlings.

Here is another request. I am trying to get as many as I can done before I go to dance later on, and then once I get back, I will finish up.

Feel free to send in requests and I will respond back as soon as I can.

All the love,

Caitlin xxx

    “… the gift of immortality is not one to be handed out. No mortal creature is designed for the Unending, I think, and they would not acclimate to such a lifestyle very easily.”

     “We, humanity, are too kind to last forever. We love too easily and too often, forming bonds to better ourselves and others; such partnership is rarely seen in longer-living species, and thus implies much.”

2

1. Chica by @kaindycandy Sorry senpai, I just had to draw her X3
2. Mangle by @ceciil She’s so cute! I caaaan’t 💕
I don’t want to be selfish or rude, but… Could you reblog this? But don’t feel forced to. I really tried my best… I hope you like it.

it’s in a motel room,
of white noise and white sheets,
that your curl your fingers around the pin underneath his ribs,
and pull it, drinking the wisps of gunpowder straight from his lips,
hungrily awaiting the explosion to come.

it’s on a motel bed,
of selfish gifts and selfish greed,
that he stains nicotine onto your jaw,
inking rosary red into your thighs,
and prays for faux absolution against your neck,
shaking fingers,
with metal wires tangled around your wrists,
and white linen.

it’s on a crumbling balcony,
of cerulean sunrises and cerulean fingerprints,
that he confesses his sins,
screamed into the wasteland distance
and hissed into your neck,
when the shrapnel tears your lungs,
and leaves you bleeding out in the dirt,
that you might just regret curling up around the explosive,
but in the end, maybe burning with him was all you planned to do.

it’s in the frozen bathroom,
of dying wall lights and dying boys,
that he presses a bullet between your collarbones,
laughing in black jeans on bony hips,
sprawling in the fracturing bathtub,
whispering, ‘weren’t we meant to live forever?’
and carving a youthless, deathless,
revolution between his lips.

—  dis aliter visum (the gods have deemed otherwise.) // r.d (for @kcvnsky)
A Work of Art

A story based on this post  by nerdyholler

__________________________

It starts as nothing more than an absentminded thing. Bucky is lying on the living room floor on his stomach, pillows propped under his chin. He’s not even sure what he’s watching, to be honest. When Steve gets home, he sits on the floor beside Bucky and sets a hand on his back. As they sit in silence, Steve runs his hand over the contours of Bucky’s back, causing a shiver to run through him. Bucky’s shirt gets rumpled up beneath Steve’s palm and so, gently, wordlessly, he rucks it up so that the plains of Bucky’s muscular back are exposed. Without saying anything, Steve begins to trace over the divots of the muscles and scars that expand across and under the skin. Every few minutes, the movement of Steve’s fingers on Bucky’s back are interrupted by the soft press of Steve’s lips. First, to his flesh and blood shoulder, then to the seam of metal and flesh on his left. Finally, to the middle of his spine.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked softly, after what felt like hours of Steve’s methodical tracing.

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve answered, his fingers faltering slightly.

“No…” Bucky breathed quickly, “It feels nice. Just curious.”
Steve hummed an acknowledgment, his hands moving once more, “I’m drawing.”

Bucky closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders back, “Drawing what? There ain’t nothing there.”

The sound of Steve’s chuckle sent a burst of warmth through Bucky’s body, “It’s there, in my head. I’m drawing a portrait… You.”

Furrowing his brow, Bucky turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of Steve. He was frowning in concentration, his tongue poking out between his teeth. Bucky loved how Steve looked when he was really into a drawing. For a moment, he could almost see the smaller Steve. The one from a lifetime ago. It was as close as he got to really remembering. Even now, a year after Hydra had fallen, the memories were not as many nor as clear as he would have liked. He knew Steve, their history both as friends and lovers, and who he had been. Sometimes, when they made love he could feel the frail frame of Steve’s other body beneath his hands. But, these flashes while Steve drew were the clearest it ever got. And here, under the careful scrutiny of those sparkling blue eyes, Bucky felt whole.

He sighed, “I ain’t much to draw, to be honest. Not much to look at either,” he drawled, accidentally letting a bit of his old Brooklyn accent slide through.

“Oh Buck,” Steve said. He nudged Bucky, giving him a hint to flip over. After he was on his back, Steve let his hands roam over Bucky’s chest. “You,” he began, drawing a line with his finger from Bucky’s sternum down to his navel, “are the most beautiful person on this earth.” He splayed his hands over Bucky’s pectorals, feeling the thumping of his heart and the ripple of his muscles. Bucky inhaled sharply. Steve was looking at him as though he was precious, sacred even. When he spoke again, it was nearly a whisper, “You are my favorite subject to draw…” he leaned in close, his lips brushing Bucky’s ear, “Also, my new favorite canvas.”

It became a nightly thing after that. Sometimes, Steve would join Bucky in the living room, stripping him of his shirt, and just running his hands over him. Other times, Bucky would simply walk, shirtless, into whatever room Steve was in. Mostly, they laid in bed, Bucky stark naked, while Steve ran his fingers all over him. Sometimes Steve would draw intently and, others, he would simply let his fingers slide lazily over Bucky’s skin. Whatever kind of touch it was, it made Bucky feel warm, warmer than he’d felt in years. After so much time in cryo, his body ran colder than normal. But, under Steve’s gentle touch, it felt as though he had a fire rolling in his core. It was comforting.

On Steve’s birthday, Bucky was almost shaking with anticipation. He wanted to give Steve his present, but he wasn’t home yet. It was just like Director Fury to send Captain America out on his birthday. Bucky didn’t care if it was also the most patriotic holiday, this simply wasn’t fair.

It was eleven thirty when the door opened and Steve walked in. He was still wearing his uniform, but his smile was wide. Bucky got up from the couch, wrapped his arms around Steve, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “Happy birthday, Captain Rogers,” he whispered.

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes,” Steve replied, kissing him again, “I got sung to more times than I can count today.”

“Good thing, too,” Bucky chuckled, “'Cause I can’t sing for shit.” He stepped back, reaching for the wrapped box by the couch. He held it out to Steve, “Happy birthday, buddy. It’s-” he faltered as Steve smiled, beginning to open the box, “It’s kind of a selfish gift but, I hope you like it.”

“I’ll like anything if it’s from you, Buck. Thank you,” he glanced in the box and furrowed his brow. Slowly, he pulled out another box with the label ‘Body Paint’ printed boldly across the front. His eyes widened and he blushed so red that he matched the stripes of his uniform. “Bucky,” Steve looked up at him, “So I can… to you?”

Bucky nodded, “Told you it was selfish. If you don’t want to, it’s-” but the rest of his sentence was lost as Steve crossed to him and began to lift the hem of his shirt.

“I want to,” Steve breathed, yanking off Bucky’s shirt and starting to undo his uniform, “Right now.”

Smiling, Bucky helped Steve with all the buckles until he was just in his boxers and undershirt. “Where do you want me?”

“On your stomach, right here. Arms outstretched,” Steve said at once.

Bucky smirked, “Okay, Captain Bossy.” But he did what he was told. Once on the carpet, he saw Steve take out the black paint and a small brush. “What are you gonna do?”

Steve only shook his head slightly and sat cross legged beside him. He dipped the small brush into the black paint. When he began running the small brush over Bucky’s shoulders, he gasped. The paint was cold, but it felt good. Steve worked from the middle of his back, outwards, first his left and then his right. He painted down to the elbows, blowing gently to dry the paint before setting his arms back on the carpet. Once he was done with the outline of whatever he was doing, Steve picked out some colors and a larger brush. Bucky found it difficult not to be lulled to sleep by the almost rhythmic stroke of the brush along his back.

A soft touch at the back of is neck caused Bucky to come back to attention, “Hey,” Steve said softly, “I’m done. Do you wanna see?”

“Mmm,” Bucky hummed, nodding sleepily and standing up, “How am I gonna see it?”

“Just hold out your arms,” Steve said, flicking on the lights, “and I’ll snap a picture.”

Yawning, Bucky held out his arms to each side. He heard the shutter sound of Steve’s phone and turned back to face him. Steve was beaming, blue eyes sparkling. Bucky took the phone from him and felt all sleepiness drain away as he took in Steve’s handiwork. Expanding across his back and down his arms were a pair of red and blue wings. Each feather was drawn in detail and shaded as the blue in the middle of his back faded down to red on his arms. The paint even showed up well on the metal of his left arm.

He looked up at Steve, who looked apprehensive for Bucky’s reaction. “Stevie,” he gasped, “This is fucking amazing.”

Steve’s smile spread over his face again, “You like it?” Bucky nodded, “I’m gonna get a polaroid camera so I can hang the pictures of everything I paint on you.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Bucky replied.

Steve cradled Bucky’s face in his hands and kissed him sweetly, “You can go take a shower. I’m gonna print this picture.”

In the shower, Bucky was fascinated by how the colors flowed down his body and into the drain. The red, blue, and black still looked so beautiful. He was Steve’s work of art now. And, somehow, that feeling didn’t go away, even as all evidence that the paint was ever there disappeared.

The mural of photographs on the wall of Steve and Bucky’s room expanded every day. Any evening they had to themselves was spent with Steve painting Bucky’s bare torso. Once, Steve painted “Starry Night” by VanGogh onto him. The only bit of his upper body that was left unpainted was his neck and face. That had taken four photographs to capture. Another time, Steve had sketched the New York skyline, as they had known it growing up, onto his back. Bucky loved the feeling of Steve’s hand smudging the paint for shading, as well as the quick precision of the sketching itself.

The painting didn’t stay confined to Bucky’s upper body for long, either. Soon, Steve had him sitting in his boxers or standing as Steve painted his legs. One evening, Steve painted the entirety of Coney Island on every bit of bare skin he could reach. There were ten photos of that one, with close-ups on the moon, the Ferris wheel, and the two of them, sitting atop it. Some nights, they would barely finish documenting a painting before Steve would pull Bucky into a ferocious kiss, running his hands over the barely dry paint and getting it all over his white undershirt. They would talk and laugh as Steve was working, relishing this time that was theirs.

It was a brisk evening in January when Steve stomped through the door, expression pained. It was instantly clear to Bucky that something was wrong, “Hey,” he whispered, putting a hand to Steve’s shoulder, “You okay, buddy?”

Steve looked from the hand on his shoulder to Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s stomach dropped. The sparkle that was usually present in his blue eyes was gone. Steve’s eyes were dull, lifeless almost. Bucky furrowed his brow. He didn’t want to push, but this was worrying behavior from someone as upbeat as Steve.

Wordlessly, Steve grabbed the hem of Bucky’s shirt and lifted it over his head. Bucky watched in equal silence as Steve removed his own shirt as well. He reached out, but Steve walked right past him and sat down on the floor in the living room. Understanding, Bucky walked into the room and sat facing Steve. There were five colors between them: black, brown, grey, dark green, and red. And there were no brushes in sight.

“Steve…” Bucky began again, but Steve shook is head curtly, mouth pressed into a thin line. Bucky took that as the cue that Steve was really not in a talking mood. He needed to vent his feelings and Bucky was willing to be the canvas them.

That night, the mood in the air was somber as Steve opened his paints. He dipped his fingers into the different colors and applied them to Bucky’s skin in imprecise, almost angry strokes. He put different colored handprint and smears all over Bucky’s torso, splattering the paint back onto himself. When Steve finally opened up the red paint, Bucky saw that there were tears in Steve’s eyes. Steve put a generous coat of red paint over the palm of his own hand and planted it right over Bucky’s heart. Then, he grabbed Bucky’s left hand, painting the palm of the metal red. Finally, he lifted the hand and Bucky watched, wide eyed, as Steve placed Bucky’s hand over his own heart. He let Bucky’s hand drop limply as the tears in his eyes fell over his cheeks. Bucky was stunned. Steve was just sitting there, sobbing. He looked down at this chest. The mixture looked smokey, except for the green. The green resembled the color of his old army uniform. But, what really drew his eye was Steve’s red handprint. He felt Steve take his hand gently and Bucky looked back up to meet his gaze.

“Sorry,” Steve whimpered, tears still falling steadily, “I’m okay. Sorry for scaring you.”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked softly.

Steve pursed his lips, trying to stop the tears, to no avail, “You fell. Seventy-one years ago today. I don’t know why it hit me so hard. You’re back,” he let out a choked sob, “I have you. But… we were robbed of something, Buck. And we can’t ever get that time back.”

Bucky looked back down at Steve’s handiwork. He could see the smoke billowing from the train, the green of his uniform and the trees rushing by, the pale snow and blood from his arm. It wasn’t until a tear hit his chest that he realized he was crying too. He looked back up at Steve, “You’re right. We can’t get it back. And honestly, we’re both fucked up from all of it. Hell, I don’t remember enough to know that it’s today. Otherwise, I woulda said somethin’ to you this morning. But,” he ran his clean hand through Steve’s hair, “We got each other now and… damn, if I’m not gonna make the most of it.”

Steve smiled through his tears, “I know we usually take pictures but… I’d rather not remember.”

Bucky nodded, grabbing Steve by the hand and dragging him to his feet. They walked in silence to the bathroom, undressing one another reverently. They held one another under the hot water, watching the grey’s, blacks, and red mix into a pool at their feet and wash down the drain. As their lips and fingers traced over the other’s skin lightly, they both felt as though, when the paint was gone, the pain would be too. And they’d only be left with each other, now and forever.