#fcrgedstrcngth

Send “Can I kiss you?” to my muse for their response.

This is so old I literally had no idea it was on my blog lol

Kathryn

“Oh Kathy--I thought you’d never ask!”

The context of the question--Janeway’s sarcasm, the hypothetical she posed preceding those four golden words--were ignored in favor of a more literal approach. Q smoothly stepped in close to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, dipping her low before kissing her softly - and yes, with tongue. It was a calculated risk: do it here, publicly, on the bridge, to make tattoo boy jealous; compromise Kathy’s balance so he could say he had swept her off her feet (and so she would drop if she told him to let her go); and kiss with all the suave technique available to him to show her what she was really missing.

What woman, what captain, could resist?!

Kes

The question caught him utterly off-guard: very few things in the universe, this one or any other, could do that. Q straightened up and observed his latest little pet project, the telepath with the tragic backstory (why did mortals always seem to have such tragic backstories?), as he mulled it over.

“You realize, of course,” he said, taking slow, measured steps around the table between them, “that if I acquiesce to your little request, kissing may very well join the list of things I’ll have ruined for you forever? After all, once you’ve had the best, settling is...disappointing.” He stopped in front of her, but for all the seriousness in his tone, his eyes were quite bright with mischief.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d always be around for you?” Shawn asked, his eyebrows drawing together as he sat down beside her. “I meant it, and I… I kind of hoped you knew that by now. So here I am, just like I will be every time you ask, every time I can at all.”

Maya shrugged at first, knowing he had, but adults made promises all the time, promises they either wouldn’t or couldn’t end up keeping.  She met his eyes when he sat beside her, still playing with the ends of her sleeves nervously.  “Sorry...  I’m, uh, still working on the whole ‘trust’ thing.”

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 /  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒. || for Laura

Loki glanced down at himself where his armor was staining red. “So it seems.” He remarked, a bite of strain in his voice. The otherwise casual disregard with which he addressed his wound was somewhat concerning, but he would have insisted he had enough blood to spare. A delay in addressing the wound would do him no permanent harm, and he could not sacrifice the time.

“My apologies, but I must forgo pleasantries at the moment. We have received word of some of the Titan’s forces moving in this direction. We are evacuating the compound.”

He placed a hand over the severed fabric and blossoming crimson on his side, “I came to ensure you and your children were safely evacuated.”

It struck him that this was some strange, if more desperate, echo of what their lives used to be, when the avengers had been torn asunder by the ‘Accords’. Since the ‘Infinity War’ (as the Midgardian media insisted on titling it, as if it had ever been anything more than a doomed rebellion against the inevitable) had begun they had seen very little of each other. Loki had kept a respectful distance after Barton was back in circulation, less out of any inherent desire to avoid addressing his association with Laura, and more out of an recognition that in light of the circumstances, it was not important. Barton was needed in the fight, not distracted by further hatred. Loki had no longer been needed.

But the state of the Midgardian realm was growing more dire, and his initial decision to avoid a potential confrontation between Barton and himself had become trivial.

Ella was blankly staring at her ceiling, telling herself that she wasn’t going to cry...again. Then the overwhelming sense of loss washed over her again, as he mind struggled to stay afloat the dark place it wanted to go, tears pouring down her already swollen and blood shot eyes. Normally one who could control their emotions, or at least she could be quiet about it she had no ability to stop the heart breaking sob that left her heart. She was laying her back on the couch, looking up at the wall, in a pair of lose sweats. Her hair was a mess, she had no make up, her nose the same colour of angry red as her eyes. She could tell she was dehydrated but she had no will to really get off the couch.

She was on bereavement leave from work, her boss had obviously seen how shaken she was and automatically approved her for extended leave. Up until this point though, a week later she was able to keep it out of her mind. She had Walter to take care of after all, he lost his wife and she’d just lost an acquaintance. Still though the sorrow clung to her dragging her down, Walter and Opal gave her a new life, they were the reason she was able to be a doctor and not some street kid. She’d always made time for them, visited them often when she lived in the city, had kept in contact with them when she moved to California and made even more time for them when she returned. The couple was already elderly when they took her in, now they were even more so, frail and people Ella worried about every day. And now Opal had passed, leaving her husband behind. Ella had taken care of all the arrangements and helped Walter, and managed to keep herself together. Some distant family had come into the funeral and Walter told her to rest as she pretty much was taking care of him and not sleeping the past week. 

With her mother gone, visiting aunt Red for a few days, it was up to her and her father to visit King Frederick and Queen Abigail for their son’s birthday.  It had been nice at first, but it had quickly turned somewhere between boring and annoying, thanks to the suitors who were more interested in her than the prince of the realm. Emma had been expecting it, and had been ready to sneak out - not for the first time from that castle, let alone from a ball - to finish the night somewhere less pompous. But then she had thought of her father. Her poor daddy, left alone if she came up with an excuse of her own. Was it crazy to involve him? Probably. Was she known for being wise? Nope. So she had sent one of the maids to call him outside. “I’m about to sneak out,” she announced to him without hesitation. What the hell, right? “Come with me,” Emma reached for both his hands, “We haven’t had time alone, without maids and guards and friends in such long time. Let’s say I’m not feeling well and come with me. I’ll show you where I usually go. We can talk and have a drink together. Come on.” That was risky, because it wasn’t any princess-like place, but she bet both her parents were curious about it. 

“thanks fer th’ dance, m’lord,” harriet drawled as he walked past her ship, she leant on the taffrail. “it pissed ginny o’ righ’ an’ proper.”

anthony rolled his eyes: “you do realise that i---”

she cut him off, decidedly amused, “---have zero intention tae come ‘tween wha’ever’s goin’ on wit’ me an’ ginny? aye. tha’ dinnae mean ah cannae be grateful fer th’ fact that a) ah had a wicked time an’ b) us dancin’ pissed ginny o’.” 

“was there something you wanted, or...?”

quiet laughter escaped from her lips as she shook her head: “not particularly, no. ‘s jus’ tha’, y’look like yer havin’ a rough day. ah cannae sail away wit’ th’ mourning star, but ah’ve heard people say tha’ havin’ planks ‘neath y’feet migh’ jus’ help.”

“maybe another time,” anthony replied as his feet carried him away from the docks.

“aye,” harriet repeated as she watched him go. “maybe another time.”