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leave a tag or some images and a character - if you don't have any particular character request, then I will fill in with someone who I think fits (that's your warning!)

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can i have pietro please

[zwilling]

[zhivak]

[Here is a secret that nobody knows; when you carry someone's heart for so long, when you carry someone's heart in your own heart, they cannot leave you. That is how ghosts are made. That is how this ghost is made; this ghost of thought and memory and love, and Pietro - what is left of him, the pieces of him that are caught in Wanda's hair and between Wanda's fingers, the part of him that could never leave her - is the ghost haunting his sister.

It is a strange thing, being in this apartment, in Stark Tower, and when his sister enters saying as though he were real and solid and there:]

Should I be upset you are wearing red and not black?

[He's not. He can't be, he could never be. She should not dress in anything but red.

This is the first time he has managed to gather up all the pieces of him, to be seen. He is grinning. He wonders if he will scare her.]

[zwilling]

[ These are the ghosts that follow her wherever she goes. Her mother's light and musical laughter, her father and his smoky scent and calloused hands, the feeling of wind in her hair from Pietro running beside her since they were able. They are the things she carries in her heart and it is one that is heavy when she enters her new 'home', her back pressing to the wood of the door as it closes behind her. ]

You would not have been happy were I to wear anything else. [ She is not surprised. Her wishes are strong things. She does not look at him yet. She is half afraid that if she does he will vanish.

But she had known that he liked her better in red and so she had chosen the plain dress to lay him to rest. It is the only colour on her apart from a single blue thread that she has tied around her wrist and is revealed when she removes her coat. ]

[zhivak]

No.

[He doesn't move from the window, although he knows now that the light passes through him - he casts no shadow at all. What an odd thing to think. Once he was a rational man, but now he is a man who cannot but believe in ghosts.]

I know it means nothing to say that I am sorry.

[He's watching that ribbon; it feels like it ties him to her, as if their entire lives was caught up in a bond that can be defined by a ribbon around her wrist.]

oh you know, you can choose

[brobeforehos]

[caniculares]

[He is a freewheeling free spirit. A roaming, wild, untameable force of nature. A dream. A nightmare.

A lost free spirit.

The truth is that maybe his expulsion from the prestigious and most illustrious house of Black came as a teeny-tiny bit of a surprise; okay, maybe more than a teeny surprise - okay, maybe he thought no, even if his mother hated him, surely she'd never just chuck him out, not before the age of 17, not before he came into majority.

So maybe he's a broke free spirit, too.

It's a very badly lit muggle carpark, and he cannot figure out if he's going north or south, and he's supposed to meet James and honestly, how do muggles get anywhere? Without magic he feels hobbled, crippled. So he's sitting on the low curb, his last fag hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and trying desperately not to gripe too much. People don't respect that sort of thing, he knows.]

you know i've had someone use this pb for nick ryves (aka her bf) once

[brobeforehos]

[Some people drive, and some -- like Mae, whose mother fears the moment she learns how to drive a car she'll drive as far from town as possible -- walk everywhere. It's no strange occurrence.

Only at night, and after a party, when she's split from Rachel and Erica and still has the whole carpark to cross before she reaches her neighbourhood, that's when it sucks.

But she walks with her keys between her fingers as a weapon, and her eyes shifting to check what every little shadow can be. This is the worst part, and not even counting the part where she'll have to sneak up into her first-story bedroom via the pipes.

When she spots the boy smoking -- can't be older than her, maybe younger -- she inmediately tenses up and walks faster.]

Mr. Steve Rogers

[fightlikehell]

[priceoffreedom]

[There are things that Steve likes about upstate; the Avengers initiative, and Sam. That's basically it. That's what Steve likes about upstate.

Really, his soul is in the city, mostly in the winding parts of Brooklyn (although he can't go there, because his heart isn't there, he isn't sure, yet, where his heart is, but he suspects it's being held in a metal fist) but Manhattan does the trick, too. Even now; it's early afternoon, on a Wednesday, and the only people on the subway are tourists, really, or moms (nannies?) taking their kids out. People without jobs.

He takes a seat next to a man with a cane and glasses.]

Pardon.

[His manners are excellent, even now.]

[fightlikehell]

[Or people with jobs that involve going to and fro through the bustling city. Matthew Murdock is coming back from a personal little investigation. And while he will always trust his feet on the streets sometimes public transportation must be endured.

There is so much noise. The children, the nannies, someone is chewing gum, someone is tapping their feet. The chunk chunk chunk of metal around them. So much activity. Some days it's annoying. Some days it is a reminder of how much life is all around so carefree. The city is fighting and healing every day and it's still someone's fantasy. Just like the movies.

Once two Murdocks road a train like this everywhere....

The seat shifts as weight settles next to him. The pull of a memory is gone. Good. Automatically he does his assessment. Male, tall, heavy but it's evenly distributed so likely muscular. ..Polite?]

It's fine. Still plenty of room.

[Matt shifts his cane between his knees.]

Crowded today.

it's your call

[hisheartsdesire]

[unkindled]

[He shouldn't be here.

To begin with, a blind date with anyone is a bad idea. A blind date with a man is a worse one; oh, his great-grandmother wouldn't really care, not on a fundamental level, that he was seeing a man (she never cared about Logan) but not caring was the important thing. But this couldn't go anywhere. It was a stalling moment, a tactic, something pointless and stupid to waste time.

But he can't help it; when Licia had suggested this, when she had said you need some fun, I know just the person she smiled that irresistible smile and Oren shrugged and nodded his head. He hasn't been on a date since Logan left him, and that was almost seven years ago now. And Licia, bubbly and sunshine, she knew, well.

She knew interesting people.

He knows his name (KARGA, it's etched into the most obscure parts of his soul) is a barrier, and he knows that Licia probably told Toby (Toby, his name is To-bi-as, but he likes Toby, Licia had said) that Oren is a Karga, a witch, one of the few real direct links to the most affluent family, the most distinguished.

He knows she probably told but he sort of hopes she didn't.

The fair is going on with a bright, beautiful air, the air of any fair that happens at night, and there's Oren, sitting on a bench, a red scarf around his neck, sighing. Hoping this goes well.]

[hisheartsdesire]

[Blind dates and casual flings aren't exactly his idea of fun, so mutual friends have a lot to answer for. Normally, Toby likes to know what he's getting into, likes to research something and determine whether it's worth pursuing, really. Like with Dorian—he had that man, and they were good together.

Until one day, they weren't. Dorian may have had his reasons, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. And some time has passed, of course, but perhaps not nearly enough. Still, Toby has learned he needs something of his own, something that isn't Dorian or in some way or other related to him. Something blissfully free of Dorian.

So he starts over from scratch, meeting people the way he does and always has, and he soon recalls what it's like to live life freely like remembering how to breathe easy. Yet sometimes, Toby thinks, it's still far too lonely; then, he remembers Dorian, and suddenly the world seems dim again.

Licia wouldn't have any of that. She'd said she knows someone, that perhaps he and Toby could find in each other that something, whatever it was. She'd dropped the name Oren Karga, and Toby... Well, he's heard of their family; there's no way he couldn't have.

Toby reminds himself this doesn't have to be serious, that they may become friends at the very least. At worst, they'll never want to see each other again, much like how Toby will never see Dor—

—see, that's exactly what Licia means. Toby's fine so long as he's distracted from Dorian Gray. And he's a great guy when he can tumble back into old times, old habits, the fun of the way things once used to be. If only the fair weren't so directly tied to Ivar... Well, no matter. It has always been a decadent place bustling with fun and games and curiosities, so there's plenty chance to let loose and simply fall back into good feelings... and memories.

He spots someone on a bench near the fair's entrance and decides to approach, the sweetest smile playing on his lips. Though he himself looks good, Toby's outfit might best be described as unconventional, as if he'd pieced it together in the dark. While he doesn't stick out like a sore thumb or look an eyesore, his getup isn't avant-garde or even close to something one might deem fashionable.]

Hello—ah, excuse me. I don't mean to bother but wasn't sure if you might've been waiting...? I was looking for someone, goes by the name 'Oren', would you happen to know him?

that dumb jerk pls

[kalashnikov]

This one I hope

[priceoffreedom]

[Maybe what Steve is good at isn't change, but then, Bucky has been saying that for years. Growing up in Brooklyn in the eighties should have made them predisposed to it; watching their neighborhood slowly fall to gentrifiers, turn from family oriented to yuppie and chic was hard, but then the hipsters came in-

And then Steve, so frail as a child, went through the SHIELD program at the hospital. It's his first day home, to the studio he and Bucky can barely afford, and he hasn't seen his boyfriend in two months. Everything looks the same, like he was just here yesterday, so he thinks maybe he should nap, but no, he's too nervous. He isn't small and skinny anymore, he's changed completely, he doesn't even own anything outside the sweats he got at SHIELD.

So he makes a cup of coffee and paces, and finally sits on the bed just as Bucky opens the door.]

nah who likes that loser

[kalashnikov]

[ Two months.

Two whole months and he'd had to survive with real letters that made the kids down below them snicker words like old man behind his back. Two whole months with snatches of phone calls and texts and hearing the exhaustion in Steve's voice without being able to do anything about it. He'd known going in that it was for the best. Steve would have been six feet under in half a year if he didn't go to the hospital, but he hadn't thought about how impotent it would make him feel. How lost.

He's cranky when he storms into his studio, his scarf already half unwound around his neck and a whole armful of groceries in his grip. The whole place is open plan and so he's got a good view of the bed and the man sitting on it immediately. Bucky looks startled for a moment, like he's not sure and then he's setting the bags down and stumbling the few feet closer. ]

Christ. Jesus, look at you. [ He'd know those eyes anyway, that worried frown. ] Why didn't you tell me you were coming back today, y'schmuck? [ Why is Steve still holding his coffee, why is he not in Bucky's arms right now. Why, why, why? ]

same

[ladiesthings]

[priceoffreedom]

[He should have called first.

It's a boarding house - oh, Peg, he thinks as he steps foot inside. It's a boarding house and the girls are twittering around him, whispering as he heads to the desk.

He crashed the plane and he swam to shore, washing up, exhausted, in Greenland. From there he managed to keep a low profile, making his way back home, back to New York. No one knows he's still alive, he wanted Peggy to be the first one to get the news, but of course that means that he's been sneaking around for the last two months, trying to find her.

But he's finally caught wind of her, and now he's here in the lobby. The truly terrifying matron doesn't let him pass the desk, let alone step on the first step, and so he waits, politely, in a chair. At least he's had time to clean up, shower, shave, and find a shirt that fits him. He doesn't look like a complete bum.]

[ladiesthings]

[ She's on her way out when she gets the call from her landlady, leaves in a hurry because if it's Howard getting her into trouble again she will bloody well sock him one. It's not a good day, HYDRA are still slivering about and she was up half the night trying to track down the latest cell and do something about it. She and Edwin were run ragged and now she definitely does not have time for billionaires and their whims. Peggy makes her way through the gathering of girls with a sigh, knowing only one thing could make them group up to giggle like that - a handsome man, obviously - and she's about fit to burst.

When she stops.

It can't be. It can't be him and yet she feels her heart give a jolt against her ribcage as if it wants only to break free and fly to him. Her purse falls from her hands and she can hear Angie's quiet English? in the background. She feels weak all over and flushed like she might burst into tears and this is not how she imagined her reunion with him - she hardly imagined any reunion for all that it might hurt - but there he is, a little worn out looking but so alive. ]

Oh. [ Her voice breaks and she crosses the room to where she is standing an inch from his feet, the murmuring behind her all drowned out by the rush in her ears. ] You stood me up.

you know

[zwilling]

I do know

[zhivak]

[Maybe they should not do this.

Maybe he does not care.

He hasn't seen her in what feels like too long - a day, no, barely, not even twelve hours, but after being used to seeing her all the time, after being so used to her wherever he was, that is too long, it makes it feel like forever.

She's in the doorway and he catches her, his arm around her waist, before she takes even a step into the apartment.]

This job is very inconvenient to me.

oops

[zwilling]

[ Wanda doesn't think the same way that he does, not about this and not about them. To her it's something she could not live without, her brother's arms around her and his smile buried in her neck. That's why she turns to him when he reaches for her, her arms winding around his shoulders and a laugh on her lips. ]

Everything that takes me away is inconvenient to you, Pietro. [ Leaning up on her toes to tease her lips against his. ]

Twelve hours. Did you miss me that much?

[prettier]

[instars]

[Fog has been a constant the past two weeks; working its way out of the cracks of the ground, swirling around ankles and stopping traffic, causing a fuss.

And he's been as irritated as he can get about it.

The problem when a person is a serial killer is that people make very specific assumptions about how one hunts, and the more he does it, the more those assumptions grate for being true. So even though this is perfect serial killing weather; it's hard to see, people are less careful because of the blanket of fog than usual, he hasn't actually done any killing.

It doesn't help that it's been seeping out of the Umbra, too, pressing through the tainted places in the Shroud.

He also really hates the term ("hates") serial killer.

The boy is just there, suddenly. He smells like smoke and some kind of musk, and sex, in a way that doesn't necessarily suggest actual sex.]

Light?

[He asks and he knows his accent is foreign. It's misty enough that he also knows the impression, later, won't be strong or lasting. These encounters are always perplexing in that way. They take place in half-realities.]

[prettier]

[It's London: everyone's accent is foreign or faked. Even Freddie's. Manchester is considered exotic by the southern set: girls from his university halls who coo at him to repeat words with his soft vowels. He does, because there's not much of a step between cooing and kissing and he'll talk all they want with their mouths at his throat.

It's still halfway a novelty to him. Not sex, he's had more of that than most of the insouciant teens he shares dorms with could comprehend. But being so free about the fact he's having it.

It's mostly girls, lately. Again, novelty, although one that's beginning to lose the shine of the new. The club he's walking home from now was packed with boys, a crush of insistent flesh, and he's only coming home alone through some last minute second guessing of the thought of bringing someone with him, hands tangled, and running the gamut of his flatmates and their early-morning, questioning smiles. He hadn't drunk enough to brazen it out, maybe.

Though he's started to regret it now, with the fog cool and clingy around him when he could have had something else.

He almost stumbles into the stranger, having missed their approach in the fog of his own thoughts. It's a departure from his usual cocky grace, though that's regained in an instant, a lighter (tucked into a pack of cigarettes) retrieved from his jacket pocket.]

Funny place to be asking.

[Because it's an empty place, an empty time. But here they are. He offers the lighter, striking the flint as he does.

He's handsome, whoever he is, caught in the narrow light of the flame.]