#the answer to the first question is a switch two for the exclusive purpose of mkw

[spacemonkeysalsa]

For context, I’m putting together some training materials for my office, and something like this is going to make it into those documents. Though I will have to change the example to something that doesn’t reference BG3 or sex, since it’s like not appropriate or whatever.

I’m barred in Nevada but then I moved (dummy) and now I am studying to take the bar exam again in a different state because I moved somewhere that doesn’t have any sort of reciprocity (double dummy) and its fine, I’m not worried. It’s just a pain, but as I’ve been studying and remembering what the bar is like, I also have friends who are studying for the EA exam or the CPA exam. It's forced me to think a lot about this kind of test and here's my main takeaway from studying for it:

Say you have a question on the exam like: “Which of these statements is most correct?” and then the statements are:

A) Astarion tops his partner in all his romance scenes in BG3

B) Astarion doesn’t top his partner in every one of his romance scenes in BG3

C) Astarion bottoms his partner in all his romance scenes in BG3

D) Astarion may top or bottom his romance partner in every scene in BG3

And you think to yourself, “hang on, I am overly familiar with the 2023 Larian video game Baldur’s Gate 3 and I love Astarion, I’ve romanced him 30+ times, surely this question ought to be easy, except none of these are quite correct?”

Answer A bothers you because you know it’s possible for him to bottom with larger body types, and this answer seems to exclude that possibility in how it’s phrased. Or does it? We’ll get back to that.

Answer B bothers you because even if you can get a version of the scene when he doesn’t top, there still exists a version when he does, and this applies to all ‘his’ scenes. Circling back to A real quick, you might be able to save yourself some time if at this point you just recognize that with A&B they are trying to get you to fall into the trap of assuming mutual exclusivity where none exists, but let’s say you’re an overthinker like me and your brain needs to keep processing all your options…

Answer C is obviously wrong, but you might hesitate to dismiss it, because what if you missed something? It’s a huge game and if we are thinking about variations, are these options you haven’t considered?

Answer D makes your stomach drop because you realize that three of these questions specify ‘his’ scenes, but the last one says ‘every scene’ and if it just removed the phrase ‘in every scene’ it would be correct, but the fact that it’s the one that’s different makes you fixate on it, even though you know it can’t be right, because it says ‘every scene’ not ‘every romance scene’ and therefore on its face implies every scene in BG3 is a sex scene, which isn’t true.

And you really wish there was an option that read “Astarion can top or bottom depending on player choices” but that’s not there. You have to pick from what’s there.

And, maybe you get distracted for a moment, wondering if by ‘his scenes’ they really mean just the scenes written for his character---that’s what you assumed, at first, but now that you’ve kept thinking about it you wonder if they may just mean a scene that he can participate in, as a player character, in which case B is true, because it implies that there’s at least one scene where he’s always a bottom and you can think of some that would count Also, they purposefully used the similar phrases “all” and “every one of” for A & B because they are hoping you will waste time considering whether these two phrases have the same meaning or not, and if there was any purpose in writing it in a way that was inconsistent. To be clear, the only point in switch up the wording is to mess with you.

Finally, you decide that the phrase “his romance scenes” has to refer to the scenes written for his character. Because anything else would be too unclear for the purposes of this question, since those other scenes ‘belong’ to other characters.

A is the correct answer because even if it’s not the best way to summarize this topic, it’s the only answer that isn’t technically wrong. All his romance scenes show him as a top, even if variations exist where he’s also a bottom. That just means “Astarion is a top in all his romance scenes, and a bottom in some romance scenes,” which would also be another example of the kind of ‘more correct’ answer you might wish was on the page, but it’s not there, and you can’t write in your own answer. Saying ‘all’ doesn’t exclude other possibilities. He tops in all the scenes, and he also bottoms in one of the scenes, and both of these things can be true at the same time. There’s no mutual exclusivity.

They purposefully write these options like this because they want to trick you. They don’t care that you are knowledgeable on the subject, they are barely interested in testing your knowledge, what they really want to test is whether or not they can trick you into making a mistake.

And, on the one hand, I don’t think this is a great way to test people on a subject. Especially a subject that is dense all on its own. You’re not showing that you’re unfamiliar with BG3 if you get this one wrong, you’re just showing that purposefully unclear communication and pedantry can trip you up. That’s nearly totally meaningless.

On the other hand, the meaning that is there has to do with being careful when you read, and understanding common logical fallacies like false equivalence or fallacy of division. You know, the kind of thing lawyers are supposed to be good at.

It isn't so bad if you can stand how tedious these kinds of exercises can be, or if you’re a weirdo who kind of likes tedium, like me. It will make it more likely that you take psychic damage while interacting with normal people, though. And people will think you're a pedant, because in fairness, you are a pedant.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 7 - Spirits, sorrow and surprise

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 6 -- Part 8

Summary: The boys celebrate the beginning of their Christmas break with a drink (or several) at their regular bar.

Warnings: (Vague) mention of blowjob, consumption of alcohol, fluff, some angst? Mentions of domestic violence. Tell me if I'm missing any.

Word count: 4.2k

A/N: This one was fun to write! Lots of interactions between the boys, intro of the next girlfriend, and for anyone who's been curious; by the end of this you'll know how Sy and Dani know each other.

Timeline-wise we're in the weekend after the first 6 chapters. I'd planned for ch7 to be a Charles-chapter, but I have 5 Christmas chapters and a NYE party to write and post (not including this one) meaning I'm hopelessly behind. Please forgive me.

@peaches1958 @keanureevesisbae Sorry if I'm keeping y'all busy ;)

“Fuck me, one more quiz from Laferrier and I’m switching majors,” Charles groaned as he and Walker left the lecture hall. 

“Be glad you missed the last one, that was much worse,” August replied sourly. 

“You aced the last one.” The surprise in Charles’ voice caused August to shoot a confused look at his friend.

“I fail to see how those things are mutually exclusive,” he shrugged, his voice thick with the kind of arrogance only types like Walker or Napoleon could get away with. 

“Whatever, we’ve got two weeks of sweet freedom ahead of us,” Charles laughed. Walker happened to know Charles was hopelessly behind on nearly all assignments for all of his classes, but he couldn’t feel bad. The man couldn’t balance business and pleasure for shit, and all of this was his own fault. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart - he always passed, and with minimal effort - he was just distracted a little too easily. And he was nothing like Mike, either, who was an idiot when it came to most things, but a borderline genius when you put him behind a computer. 

“Sounds like a cause for a celebration,” Marshall turned up next to Charles, somewhat out of the blue, followed by Sherlock, who looked far more awake and confident than his friend. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” Charles laughed, slapping Marshall on the back. He did look tired - not that that was unusual, but today it was striking. 

“Just handed in a ten page psych-paper.” Marshall yawned. From the looks of it, he’d been up for the bigger part of the night, if not all of it.

“Keppler?” Walker asked - he was careful, not sure if Marshall had forgiven him for last weekend’s little episode yet. “Liebermann,” Sherlock said. The reply was accompanied by a groan from both Marshall and Walker. The fact that she was insanely hot didn’t make up for the fact that that woman was a fucking harpy. As the four of them walked home, Walker and Marshall talked about the paper some more - Walker had taken the course as an elective the year before. Sherlock gave up on trying to convince Marshall that his assignment was absolutely fine after about six tries. 

“What’s up with you and the orchestra-girl,” Charles grinned. Making Sherlock feel awkward wasn’t the sole purpose of his question, but it was a nice bonus - and easily achieved. 

For once, Sherlock decided to forego his regular answer (‘nothing’) and tell the truth: “Her name is Elena, and we… kissed.” 

“And last week’s rehearsal went so poorly because you were imagining what her boobs look like?” Charles rolled his eyes. It’s not that he was trying to be a nosy, gossiping git, he was just curious. Inappropriately so, according to some - alright, according to most. 

“I don’t have to imagine, I know what they look like.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d even opened it. Walker and Marshall each raised an eyebrow and half-listened to the conversation between Sherlock and Charles while continuing their own. 

“I’m impressed, Holmes. Mildly, but still. I was beginning to think I’d have to take her off your hands,” Charles laughed. The laughter was replaced by a sharp gasp when five fingers suddenly dug painfully into his shoulder and Sherlock appeared in front of him. Walter and August paused their conversation when they noticed what was going on. 

“You so much as look at her wrong and I swear to you, Brandon, you will not walk away in one piece, do you hear me?” Three pairs of eyebrows were raised at this outburst: It very decidedly wasn’t like Sherlock at all to react like this - emotional and rash. He had a far better handle on his temper than August or even Geralt - in fact, none of the guys had been aware that Sherlock Holmes had a temper. Turns out he did, and it was quite intimidating. 

“Sherlock,” Marshall said carefully, “I’m sure Charles was just joking.”

“I’m quite sure he wasn’t.”

Charles looked at him in disbelief. “You seriously think I’m that bad a friend?”

“I don’t think you are, but I can’t trust you aren’t.” Quite frankly, nobody could disagree with that statement. 

“Solo, you have five minutes to finish up with whoever is underneath your desk right now, we’re going out for a drink.” Leon made a face at Walker’s remark - either he was too predictable, or August knew him a little too well. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t know how to knock,” Leon growled through gritted teeth. Walker barging in unannounced was unwelcome at the best of times, least of all when you were halfway through getting your dick sucked. When August disappeared and slammed the door shut, Leon looked down at the pretty blonde between his knees. 

“Baby, I don’t need five minutes,” she purred, and with a devilish look in her eyes, she returned her attention to what she’d been doing. It wasn’t a lie; barely ten minutes later, Napoleon pulled the door of his room shut behind him. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Mike threw his jacket over the back of the last available chair. 

“No need, we’re grateful,” Sherlock said dryly, “had you been on time, all of us would’ve died of shock.” Everyone laughed at the joke. Nobody seemed to mind that he was the last to get there, but Mike couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about it. 

“Ask Elena what she thinks of guys who come last.” That one earned him a smack in the head from Marshall as soon as he sat down. 

“Don’t get comfortable, you’re getting the next round,” Marshall told him. A round of drinks for the lot of them was usually an odd combination. The beers were the easy part, but the sometimes unusual whims of the guys who preferred something more decadent - usually August, Napoleon, Charles, Sherlock or, God save the poor bartender, all of the above - had on multiple occasions gotten you desperate looks from personnel. Occasionally, some of the more attractive female bartenders had even refused to sleep with Charles because of the tables consistently time consuming orders -  and Charles rarely struck out. 

“I’ll bring ‘em over, Mike, shift’s almost up, anyway!” Anjelica shouted from behind the bar, signaling you to sit back down. She’d been around long enough to know that waiting around by a bar could make Mikey annoying very quickly. He raised a hand by means of a ‘thank you’ and turned back.

“... as terrible as last week, practice somewhere else.” The group laughed at Leon’s remark, and even though Mike hadn’t heard the beginning of that sentence, he could guess that it was about Sherlock’s unusually bad rehearsal from last Saturday. 

“Yeah, what was that all about?” Sy asked. His voice sounded genuine enough, but his face told a different story. 

“Elena, of course,” Mike said - suggestive eyebrow-wiggle included - as he sat back down. Geralt scowled at both of them, annoyed at how immature they were being. Sherlock looked slightly uneasy, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Leon doubled down on the teasing by bringing up the bets that had been made about the situation between Sherlock and Elena. Right at that moment, Anjelica walked over to the table with the drinks and set them down. 

“Can I sit?” She asked. Without waiting for an answer, she sat down in August’s lap and leaned her elbows on the table, dropping her face in her hands. 

“Soooo?” 

“Anjelica, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sherlock, my friend Isabelle is on the volleyball team with Elena’s best friend Lahela’s roommate Susanna’s boyfriend’s sister Joanne,” Anjelica said with a sickly sweet smile on her face. Reactions to that sentence were divided between the Got Its and Got It Nots - as was proved by Sy’s eloquent response: “Huh?”

Leon was the one to answer, because he saw Anjelica open her mouth and she would no doubt try to explain the whole thing: “If she wants to know, she’ll find out.” Anjelica approved the summary with a meaningful shrug and another smile. 

“Angie…” Sherlock rarely used Anjelica’s nickname. 

“For God’s sake, man, you snogged her, you didn’t murder her mother,” Charles chuckled. He often shared the more intimate details of his life a little too freely, so this was getting on his nerves.

“Charles, when were you planning on leaving for Christmas?” Geralt interjected - he was thoroughly fed up with the entire conversation. His one-on-one with Sherlock on Friday had been awkward enough - and neither had had to worry about a whole table (and the rest of a room) full of people then. Anjelica was about to protest, but August wasn’t having that. 

“Ange,” he said softly. When she turned to look at him, he just shook his head. The look in his eyes said it all. Charles also finally took the hint. 

“I’m leaving tonight, Henry’s driving me and his sister Mary back. I’ll be back on the twenty-eighth, though. Can’t miss New Year’s Eve here,” he shared a meaningful look with Leon as he said that last bit. The conversation quickly turned to sharing holiday plans with each other. Leon was leaving the next morning, and returning on the 27th, just like Marshall. 

“August?” 

“He’s coming with me,” Anjelica answered before he could say anything. August didn’t look particularly happy about the whole situation - no one dared to suggest he was terrified to meet Anjelica’s family, though they did all consider that a very valid reason to be afraid. 

“That whipped, huh?” Mike said jokingly, already preparing to duck in the event of flying glassware. It was probably a good thing that the man was on his third scotch and he was generally a pretty laid back drunk. 

“What about you, Mikey?” Anjelica asked. Mike just shrugged and told her he wasn’t going home, indicating he didn’t want to talk about it any further, and despite being incredibly curious by nature, Anjelica felt it best not to press the matter. She moved her eyes to Sherlock and nodded at him to ask the same question. 

“Staying to practice for the concert,” he said simply. Under his breath, but poorly disguised, Charles muttered some remark containing the words ‘snog’ and ‘Elena’, which earned him a swift kick in the shins from August - which in turn earned August an approving nod from Geralt. 

“Sy?” Anjelica was now genuinely curious about the last few people at the table. 

“Long as I ain’t plannin’ on apologizin’ to ma’s son of a bitch boyfriend, I ain’t welcome,” he growled. From the look on his face, everyone could tell he had no intention of apologizing. 

“Apologize for what?” Anjelica whispered to August, knowing she probably wouldn’t get much of an answer out of him. She was right: he just made a gesture that meant something along the lines of ‘ask him yourself’, so she repeated the question out loud, to Sy. 

“You ever wonder why I don’t use my first name?” He asked in return. She shook her head. 

“I don’t even think I know your first name.” 

“Nathaniel Evan Syverson,” Sy said, “Evan’s the name of my uncle, ma’s brother. He’s alright. Nathan’s ma’s boyfriend. He takes a li’l too kindly to beatin’ the shit out of her for my taste, so forgive me if I don’t exactly like the guy. She defends the piece of shit tooth ‘n nail, though. You can take that literally.”

“Shit, Sy,” Anjelica put a hand in front of her mouth. He said it so casually, as if it was the most normal thing. “What about you?” She couldn’t quite find the words to ask what she wanted to, but he understood perfectly. 

“Oh he beat on me, too. Think I ain’t got a single rib that he ain’t broken at some point.” “No one ever suspected?”

“Oh, school knew. Never did nothin’, though.” Sy chuckled grimly. “Kept beatin’ on me ‘til I grew too big for him to take. Tried to hit ‘m back once…” 

“What…” She couldn’t say anything else. 

“Ma protected him. Ended up catchin’ my fist herself. That’s when she told me I wasn’t welcome no more ‘til I said I was sorry for tryna hit Nate.” Sy had been staring at the bottle in his hands for the entire duration of his story, which meant he was surprised and a bit startled by the arms that wrapped around his shoulders all of a sudden. He patted her arm softly. 

“‘S alright, Ange, but thanks.” He was even more surprised when Anjelica pulled in a chair and sat next to him. 

“Is that why you and August…” She had no idea how to finish the sentence she started, and she didn’t have to. Sy knew exactly what she was asking about. Everyone at that table did. 

“Anjelica, what’s that?” Sy carefully grabbed her hand to get a better look at her wrist, where bluish-purple peaked from under her sleeves. She shook her hair back and smiled at him. 

“It’s nothing, Sy,” she said sweetly, “nothing to worry about.” Everything could have been alright, if Mike hadn’t come into the kitchen at that moment, which made Anjelica turn her head. Sy’s eyes went wide when he saw the four spots on the side of her neck, and he grabbed her chin to search the other side for a matching one. When he found it, he stared at her for a while, connecting the dots as he gently raised his hand to her throat and hovered his fingers over the marks. 

“Where is he?”

“Sy…”

“Where. Is. He?”

“Where is who?” Unfortunately for August, it was August who asked.

“You…” What came out of Sy’s throat was more vibration than sound; a low growl, dripping with pure, unadulterated rage. “I’m gonna kill you.” And without further warning, he lunged forward - practically through Mike - toward August, grabbing him by the shoulders and pinning him against the wall. 

“Fuck!” Mike yelled as he jumped out of the way to avoid being tackled. 

“Sy!” Anjelica was on the verge of tears, looking helplessly at Mike as she reached for Sy’s arms and tried to pull him away from August, “Sy, it’s not what you think!” 

“Sy, let him go, man,” Mike tried. From the look on his face, Anjelica could tell he was shocked. August, on the other hand, looked completely calm. 

“Please let go of me, Syverson, so I can explain.” He said it so matter-of-factly it was almost comical in this situation. 

“If you think I’m gon’ let you justify beatin’ the fuck outta ya girl, you’re fuckin’ insane!”

“Sy,” Anjelica tried again, “that’s not…” He ignored her pleading again. When Sy pulled his arm back to punch Walker, Mike grabbed his arm. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the muscle to deal with a guy of Sy’s size, especially not when he was angry like this. Fortunately, they’d been making enough noise for the whole house to check out the situation, which quickly escalated to a full-blown fight between the two. 

It had taken four guys - Geralt, Marshall, Charles and Mike - to pull the two apart, and they hadn’t managed before Sy got a couple of good blows in. Leon had taken care of Anjelica, who had curled up in a corner, scared that Sy would make good on his word to kill her boyfriend - friend, date, hookup… whatever they’d been back then. What had followed the fight was a lengthy and awkward conversation between the guys about the nature of Angie and August’s relationship, which ended with Sy stating very clearly that he neither understood nor supported the dynamic, but that he’d accept that it was their choice and none of his business. He’d never explained, though, why he’d had such a strong reaction to begin with. 

“Yeah,” Sy finally answered Anjelica’s half-asked question. She gave him another hug - letting him know that she understood now - before walking back to August, who pulled her back into his lap. 

“You knew.” It wasn’t a question: The look in his eyes was more than enough for Anjelica to figure it out. 

“I did.” 

“Why did you never tell me?” 

“Wasn’t my story to tell, Angie.” Anjelica replied to that by rolling her eyes and then turned back around. 

“Alright, where were we?” She asked cheerfully with a hint of that thing women did when they told you ‘it’s fine, do whatever you want’ when in reality, it wasn’t fine and you definitely shouldn’t do whatever you want. August knew he hadn’t heard the last of this yet, but for now, they were going to let it rest. “Geralt, your plans?”

“One moment,” he replied while holding up his phone. He answered it at the table, which Anjelica had found rude when she’d first met Geralt, but now she knew exactly what he was going to say. 

“Sol? I’m at the bar with the guys, can I call you back?” He barely waited for an answer before he hung up. 

“Sorry about that,” he said, “to answer your question: Me and my brothers don’t celebrate Christmas, so there’s no real reason for me to leave here.”

“You have brothers?” Anjelica asked, surprised that this had never come up before. According to Geralt, it was rather a long story, but she wanted to hear it nonetheless. 

The other side of the table had moved on to a different subject altogether. Over the past hour, Sy and Marshall had been looking at Mike, who checked his phone nervously every five minutes. He seemed kind of sad. 

“What’s up with you?” Marshall asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“Dani,” Mike sighed, “we’ve barely talked since last weekend, and I have no idea what could’ve happened or if I did something wrong or something…” If there was anything he wanted to add, it was put on hold by Charles asking about the next round of drinks. 

“Sucks,” Sy said dryly - a little too much, even for his doing. 

“Can’t think of anything?” Marshall half-joked. He raised his hands apologetically when Mike shot him a dirty look. 

“Alright, assuming it’s not you - ow! - I noticed she freaked out when she saw you,” he nodded in Sy’s direction, “what was that about?”

“I thought I saw something! Wasn’t sure though…” Mike said almost triumphantly. Sy looked at the beer in his hands, nervously tearing at the label. The atmosphere turned more awkward with every passing second. 

“Look, Mikey…” That didn’t sound good. In fact, it sounded so bad that Marshall’s mouth fell open when he realized what Sy was trying to tell Mike. 

“You fucked her,” Mike groaned in disbelief. Then, he fell silent for an uncharacteristically long moment before he started laughing and wondered out loud why he and Sy always went for the same girls. 

“Dunno,” Sy laughed in reply, “good taste?”

“The most we can say is that you have similar taste,” Sherlock interjected, “that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good.”

“At least now we know that Dani has terrible taste in men,” Marshall noted, “sleeping with just one of them could have been a lapse of judgment, but both of these jerks?”

“We can’t rule out charity,” Sherlock chuckled. 

“Watch it, Holmes,” Mike said, obviously faking the threatening edge to his voice. 

“So, we alright, Mikey?” Sy asked with an apologetic smile on his face. 

“As long as it wasn’t somewhere in the past month,” Mike laughed - he clearly wasn’t mad, which made Sy sigh with relief. 

“Orientation party,” he said, “we’re good, then?”

“Yeah, no big deal!” And he meant it - Mike was easy going even on his worst days. 

The boys got louder with every new round of drinks. August, at some point, even abandoned his extreme aversion to PDA, which the others found quite amusing. 

“God, Walker, keep your hands to yourself,” Geralt sneered. It surprised the others; he was usually the last person to care about others’ inappropriate behavior - and certainly the last to ever comment on it. Anjelica, Sherlock and Marshall were the only ones to pick up on the hint of jealousy in his voice. A gust of icy wind rolled into the bar when the door opened, but other than some shivers, no one took too much notice of it. Charles, Leon and Sy, who were sitting on the side of the table that faced the door, saw and recognized the tall blonde woman who entered the room. She was quick to raise a finger to her lips to signal that they should remain quiet, and then made her way over to their table, until she was standing right behind Geralt. 

“You miss her.” Sherlock said when he heard the tinge of jealousy in the dark voice of his friend. Geralt just scoffed and nodded by means of a reply, not looking up from the glass in his hand.

“You don’t have to,” the blonde behind him said. Geralt jerked his head around so fast that any normal human would have pulled a muscle - or broken their neck. Part of it came from the sheer surprise of being snuck up on - that was a very hard thing to do to Geralt, even when he was a few drinks in - and partly because he recognized that voice immediately. He’d been dreaming of hearing that voice this close to him for weeks. Another fraction of a second later, he stood up - without much subtlety; she had to step aside to avoid taking a chair to the knee. 

“Sol?” He stared at her in disbelief. Was it really her? Was she really here? He reached one hand to the side of her face, slowly and hesitantly. Whoever looked closely enough could see that he almost trembled. It was as if he didn’t trust his own eyes. Until his fingers touched her skin. In a split second, he pulled her against his body and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was far too passionate - and involved entirely too much tongue - to be appropriate in public, but the boys let it slide. Even Walker, who clearly fought with the desire to throw Geralt’s comment from earlier back into his face. These two hadn’t seen each other in months - they deserved this. 

“Solveig,” Sherlock answered the unasked question on Anjelica’s face, “Geralt’s girlfriend of… at least two years, they were together when I moved in.” 

“We’re indulging them because they’re long distance and he hasn’t seen her in four months,” August added. Anjelica chuckled and seemed to decide that that little fact made the entire situation endearing rather than gross.

“Five months and two weeks.” Geralt and Solveig had finally managed to tear themselves away from the other and sat down. Unlike Anjelica, Solveig grabbed a chair and sat between Geralt and Sherlock. “And we’ve been together for three years.”

“Three years, today,” Solveig added, “December twenty-second. Midwinter.” 

“A long night, indeed,” Charles joked.

“Hm.” It was Geralt’s favorite multi-purpose remark. This time, it was mostly a chuckle, while the expression on his face suggested there was at least some truth to the statement. After congratulations from everyone, and a quickly squeezed in introduction of Solveig to Anjelica and vice versa, Geralt got up to get his girl a drink.

“Are you staying with us, Sol,” Sherlock asked. 

“For the holidays, if that’s alright,” she looked around the table; nobody seemed to have any problems with it. 

“I’d have loved to see them do anything about it,” Geralt laughed. Everyone shuddered at the thought of having to deal with an angry Geralt. “You’re staying two weeks, then?”

“I’m staying until I graduate,” she answered shyly - it was clear that this hadn’t been brought up between them before, “I was offered a place to finish my master’s here.”

“You never…”

“I didn’t want you to think I did it for you,” she whispered apologetically, “I didn’t want me to think I did it for you.”

“Did you find a place here?” Geralt asked it carefully, but everyone knew he was praying to any god who would listen that she wouldn’t ask to move in with him. Not that Walker or Sherlock wouldn’t be quick to point out that the lease didn’t allow that, but still. 

“I did, I will get the keys on the second of January,” she smiled. Solveig knew exactly what the intentions behind that question had been. Talk at the table shifted to dinner - Mike and Sy were getting hungry, which meant one of them got jittery and the other cranky. Luckily, the bar served good burgers. 

“Geralt, why don’t you take Solveig home to get settled in,” Marshall said casually, “she looks beat from the flight.” Mike opened his mouth to say something but was shut up by a kick in the shins from Sherlock. 

“Don’t you need to eat,” Anjelica asked Solveig with a hint of concern in her voice. Both Napoleon and August answered, suggesting takeout and leftover pasta from the day before, respectively. 

Solveig and Geralt didn’t linger - as per everyone’s expectations. Anjelica wondered out loud whether the guys had a problem with Solveig, which resulted in laughter from her audience. 

“They haven’t seen each other for nearly six months,” Sy chuckled and, after he finished his beer, started taking orders for the next round.

“We owe it to them to give them the house for a few hours,” Napoleon added with a grin on his face. 

“We owe it to ourselves to stay away for a few hours,” Mike snickered. Everyone cracked up at that; truer words had never been spoken.

-> Part 8

[wordsnstuff]

Guide To Parallel Plot Structure

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Stand Alone, But Work Together

While each plot must be designed to stand alone, they must also be working toward a common goal or endpoint where the reader says “oh, that makes sense now” or “oh, so that’s why the author finds these stories important/compelling”. Design them with the same themes and ending in mind.

Crossovers Must Be Meaningful

When you’re designing a plot convergence, be purposeful in your placement and your significance. Why is it important that the reader sees this interaction between the separate plots you’ve woven? Why did you put the interaction at this point in the story? You should be able to thoroughly answer these questions. 

Tie Them Together With Theme/Motif

All stories with parallel plot structure should be connected (at least) through theme or motifs. If you’re doing a story in parts where each part is a completely different story that all run parallel to one another and connect some way in the end, the reader should see an almost immediate connection in the stories’ theme and/or symbolism and/or big ideas.

Immerse The Reader In Both Plots

Develop each plot line enough that it could exist on its own, but be concise when describing details that the reader may have already heard. If you’re describing a place that exists within two or more of the plot lines, be descriptive the first time and evocative the second. Be clear that we’ve seen this place before, but change the context to match this new storyline. 

This Isn’t A Flashback Story

If pieces and parts of your story take place in the past, that’s a flashback plot structure and should be approached differently than a parallel plot. Parallel plot is specifically two or more fully developed plot-lines that occur parallel to one another, connected by at least one factor that either is or will become apparent to the reader, but not necessarily the characters. These characteristics must be addressed uniquely to this plot structure, and if you don’t supplement each plot line with enough scenes or development, they will fall flat.

Common Struggles

~ How do I transition between timelines smoothly?... It can be as simple as switching stories every chapter. It’s important to make it clear to the reader which plot they’re following, so as long as you feel you’ve accomplished that, approach transitions however you’d like. 

~ How similar or different should the two plots be to one another?... It depends on what you’re trying to say, in the grand scheme of things. If you’re telling a story about a specific experience from multiple points of view, obviously the plots are going to be very similar, but always make sure that the reader never asks “how is this relevant”, unless you’re feeding them info that will make sense later. 

~ Can the two protagonists and/or the antagonists be distinctly different to the other?... Absolutely. In my opinion, the plots need to have some sort of connection, but it doesn’t have to be as obvious as who the villain or the hero is. 

~ What shows, books, or movies should I watch in order to get the idea of a good parallel plot structure?...

Here are some of my recommendations:

Movies: Amores Perros (2000), Timecode (2000), Love Actually (2003)

Books: The Counterlife by Philip Roth (1986), NW by Zadie Smith (2012), A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin (has many plot-lines running parallel to one another)

Other Resources

Plot Structures

Useful Writing Resources | Part II

Pros & Cons of Different Points of View

Resources For Plot Development

Guide To Plot Development

Writing Long Stories Without Filler

Novel Planning 101

Tackling Subplots

Outlining By Chapter

Character Driven vs. Plot Driven Stories

How To Write A Story Timeline

Making A Story Come Together

How To Engage The Reader

Pacing Appropriately

Tips on Introducing Backstory

How To Develop A Distinct Voice In Your Writing

Balancing Detail & Development

Tips on Balancing Development

–

Masterlist | WIP Blog

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[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Six

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 6 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: physical assault; mentions of past sexual assault (brief); abusive parental relationship; canon violence; ANGST; mentions of attempted suicide; mentions of drugs, drug smuggling, and human trafficking; bullying and harassment; SMUT (unprotected sex; hair pulling; ass smack!; ALL THAT GOOD CONSENT; talking a lot during sex lol); 18+ ONLY PLEASE!

Word Count: 21,400+

A/N: ya’ll my timeline is completely fucked (age wise)... like... anything remotely romantic happening between Steve x Female Reader happened AFTER Infinity War when the reader was already 19-20. I just realized that my years were off in a certain flashback......... so yes, everyone knew the reader while they were still in their teens but they’re literally 26-27 present day so don’t think too much of it lmao i can’t really fix it now lol

~

An Avengers Safehouse, 2023, 10:45 pm  

    Every door was closed and locked for the night. You had made sure of it. A distraction now would ultimately destroy any other chance you might get, and this chance was already overdue. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you jogged down the hallways to the common room you knew he was in. He had been catching up on his reading for the past two days now, a small pinch of solace during this hectic week. 

Your feet were heavy, invisible anchors shackled to your ankles and dragging you lower to the depths of that personal hell you had been burning in. Glancing over your shoulder, you measured the distance between you and your room, chest beginning to feel tight as your lungs forgot the taste of air. It was like you were walking to your own personal execution, flesh and bone ready to disconnect from your essence. But you weren’t walking toward anything dangerous - you were walking to him. To speak with him. To be with him. 

You knew you saw it when everyone returned from the heist. He wasn’t himself - he regretted not using the stones for himself, possibly - you truly didn’t know why. You enjoyed the reunions and getting to reconnect with everyone. Grasping and holding Wanda in your arms was outright magical, to touch one of your best friends after nearly accepting the possibility of never doing that again - you had a similar reaction when you collapsed into Peter’s arms with the weight of those five long years. 

And you knew Steve was grateful as well, he had to be, but his exclusion of you hurt. You had shrugged it off the first time - perhaps he was tired, wanted more private time to catch up with Sam and Bucky, to be with his friends as you were with yours. The second time he dismissed you, it was during a dinner. The seat beside you was empty, it wasn’t even that close to you, and he decided to skip dinner altogether. 

But the third time, the most wretched of times, had shown you that something was truly wrong. This wasn’t the Steve you had grown close to these five years. He was distant, cold, a completely changed person that only spoke when absolutely necessary. 

It was a nightmare, one of the worst ones you ever had, and Friday had alerted the only other room near yours - Steve’s. The knocks were loud, frantic in their purpose, and Friday unlocked the door. You were shaken awake, tugged into a chest that wasn’t as firm as the one you remembered, and soft whispers of ‘you’re okay, you’re alright’ drowned out the sounds of your panicked whimpers. You reached out to stroke the person’s face, eyes snapping open when you realized it wasn’t him, it wasn’t Steve. 

‘Bucky?’ you had whispered, hands still stroking his face as he held you. 

‘It’s me. You’re okay, you’re alright.’

‘Where’s Steve? Is he okay?’

Bucky immediately tensed, expression turning somber as he tried to give an acceptable explanation. 

‘He’s… he’s not coming, doll.’

‘What do you mean he’s not coming? He always comes, he-”

‘Doll, hey,’ he shook his head, biting his bottom lip. ‘He’s not coming.’

The broken question of ‘why?’ had tumbled from your lips until Bucky’s rocking had calmed you enough to fall back into a deep sleep. And the next morning, Steve announced he was moving from the safehouse and back to his apartment permanently. 

And it made no sense considering you two were on wonderful terms just a few weeks ago babysitting Morgan. It was like he flipped a switch and erased you from his memory. 

You deserve an explanation. You deserve to have your questions answered, to see the look in his eyes as he tried to explain himself, to witness his fumbling as you caught him off guard. You deserved to know.  

“Why are you avoiding me?”

The common area was illuminated by a soft, yellow light from the lamp in the corner of the room, the moonlight only shining over the kitchen. Steve sat on the lone couch near the soft light, book in his lap and already half-way read. 

No one really snuck up on him - no one had the chance to with his enhanced hearing - but you succeeded. The book nearly fell from his lap, a hitch in his breath alerting you that he really wasn’t expecting anyone. He set the book down on the nearby table and slowly stood up. “I’m not avoiding you.”

You will not cry right now. 

You scoffed, “So, leaving a room when I walk in is just a common occurrence now? What about avoiding me completely? You don’t say good morning, you don’t tell me hello, you don’t even sit near me anymore-”

“It’s late, and these briefings have really taken a toll on me, agent.” Steve sighed and avoided your eyes as he walked right past you and into the kitchen. 

He hadn’t actually done it, but that certainly was a slap in the face. The invisible shackles wrapped around your ankles were pulling harder, drowning you in your grief.

You mindlessly whipped your head at him, watching as he grabbed the milk carton and proceeded to do absolutely nothing with it. You clenched your teeth, “Agent?” 

He did not immediately correct himself. The room was now deathly silent, minus the quick breaths under your nose. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

Your forehead strained from the pained expression you held, tears brimmed and burning as they threatened to fall. You walked towards him and tried to keep a steady demeanor, anger drowning your veins the quickest it ever has. “What is it then? ‘Cause you’ve been calling me by my real name for the last five years! You’re my friend!”

Everytime your name slipped from his mouth it made you like him more. His presence was no longer uncomfortable or forced, but rather calming and needed. This friendship was built high and mighty these five years, walls seemingly strong. You worried there was true vulnerability in those foundations.

Speaking to Rhodey or Bruce just wasn’t the same as speaking to Steve. Helping him take out the trash, buying coffee for one another, asking the other what they wanted to watch on television. But now your name was absent from his voice, restrained and gutted from existence as if to purposely hurt your now healing mind. 

Steve ignored the desperate portion of your argument, “It’s time to focus on the new threats this world faces-”

“What are you talking about? Why are you shutting me out like I’m not important to you?”

His jaw tensed, eyes still distant. “I’m not shutting you out. I’m saying we need to focus on the fights we thought we left behind-”

“You mean my dad? Because I’m pretty fucking sure he’s looking to only kill me.”

“Don’t joke about that-”

You had no physical control now. The anger was at its boiling point, seeping through the corners of your eyelids and corners of your mouth. “Joke about what? Why are you not letting me in?”

Steve gripped the counter, head hanging low but voice powerful enough to shake through you. “Stop interrupting me!”

A solitary tear hit the floor beneath you, voice now wobbly and unsure of its chosen words. “What happened to you?”

Steve remained silent for only a moment, hands still gripping the expensive granite. “Nothing happened.”

He ran his right hand down his face to relieve some of the tense muscles. He continued to speak.

“Now that everyone’s back and the same threats are picking up where they left off, I’ve got bigger problems on my hands.”

You scoffed again, “Oh, so now Scott’s time heist has another negative consequence?”

In a matter of a millisecond, Steve turned suddenly and was now towering over you. Your back instantly straightened. “Don’t be smart with me. You know what this means.”

You just looked up at him, eyes slightly fogging up but the rest of your face still determined. You spoke low, searching his face for any indication that he would swing. No, he wouldn’t. Ever. “Spell it out for me then. I’m still seething from not hearing my first name yet.”

Steve ignored your quip, “Now that your father’s back, we need to finish what we started.”

You stared at him in disbelief, “You don’t think he’s actually going to pick up where he left off, right? Not now!”

“He already has. Fury notified me through a secure channel,” Steve declared, stepping away from you as his mind finally rewired. 

You instinctively wrapped your arms around your torso, “No…”

“Business as usual.”

Your voice raised an octave, desperation now dousing your plea of ignorance, “No, you’re lying. You’re a goddamn liar!”

“Calm down, agent. This isn’t the time-”

It was your turn to crowd Steve, stepping toward him and pushing him backwards. Your mind told you to not touch him, that he never touched you, and that it was horribly wrong. But his blank face prompted another push, your body acting on its own will. 

“Agent? Agent! Steve, what the fuck is going on?”

His voice was deeper, “If you yell one more time-”

“You’ll what?” 

Neither of you spoke. In that moment, you wondered if anyone had heard this fight as you and Steve weren’t exactly being quiet. You knew your voice traveled down several hallways and his strong one practically shook the floors. So you pushed that thought to the back of your cramped brain, head held high and eyes boring into Steve’s.

“Now that you got your old friends back, I’m useless. Is that right?”

His eyes widened, “Where in the hell is that coming from?”

“I’m right, right? You don’t want to be my friend anymore, I was a rebound all these years?”

Steve started shaking his head, eyes closed as he tried to calculate the best possible response. He could feel his lungs burn, almost like they did before the serum, and he realized he was throwing himself into a panic attack. It tickled its way up his throat, clenching the sides and dragging its nails across the sensitive surface.

You were still speaking.  

“You know, you’re still pissed that the first name I spit out to Fury when I went undercover was yours. You never wanted to help me with it.”

“Don’t start-”

You knew you shouldn’t have continued, this argument proved childish since he first called you by an old, nameless nickname. But it seemed he had no intention of apologizing or providing you with an explanation for his sudden absence.

“You’re still fuming about it. You’re still fuming about your image being ruined. Good ol’ Captain America as a secret, undercover drug dealer!”

Steve finally showed proof of cracking, hands gripping his hair harshly. “Y/N, I said don’t start! I’m finished!”

But you persisted, now screaming and countless, frustrated tears tainting your red cheeks. “You can’t fucking stand me because I tarnished that fucking star on your chest! I made you look bad to a bunch of fucking criminals!”

Steve grabbed the nearest object, the coffee maker Tony had bought for their six year formation anniversary, and flung it across the room. It shattered into the wall, leftover cold coffee staining the peach paint, the glass littered over the floor. “That’s enough!”

The sound of its impact made your stomach churn. You were frozen in place, almost certain that Steve would throw you next, and your legs were suddenly cold. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Steve choked out, tears forming in his eyes as well. His chest rapidly raised and lowered, his breathing becoming erratic. Even he wondered why no one had come to check up on you two.

For the sake of Steve’s sanity, you whispered your next reply. 

“You hate me that much-”

“Y/N-”

And you were suddenly overpowered by a sense of calm acceptance. “You hate me so much that you can’t even stand to look at me.”

“Please...”

“I’m finished, too. From now on… you’re my Captain. I’m just an agent. I’ll answer your call to help fight. That’s it.”

You had thought he would drop to his knees and apologize. This Steve wasn’t your Steve - not that Steve or any part of him was ever yours - but it was almost impossible to comprehend such a blank set of emotions from the same man who helped you with laundry, remembered the captions of your photo posts and teased you about them later, or casually sketched your outline in his sketchbook. He began to disregard your kindness, your presence, your voice the moment Wanda held Vision’s face as he whispered his goodbye, as she got her closure, as she had to say goodbye for the thousandth time. 

But nothing could prepare you for his quick acceptance of your offer.

“I think that’s for the best.”

You nodded slowly, arms falling to your sides. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did - hell, you didn’t love the guy - but he was so much more than just a colleague now. You had literally saved the world together. He was your shoulder to cry on and you were his. Did you love him? 

“Just so you know, I wasn’t faking any of it.” 

Steve looked as if he was going to say something but closed his mouth. You swore you could see his bottom lip trembling, but he remained still. He stared anywhere but your face. 

You turned to leave, body ready to give away and tumble into the mound of pillows calling your name. But you held yourself up at the doorway, turning back to Steve and meeting his eyes - he was already watching you walk away. 

You swallowed hard, “And I’ll be the honest one here, tonight - you were the only thing stopping me from putting a bullet in my head for five years.”

Present Day, 2025, 7:02am

     You awoke startled, your gasp a little raspy as it sounded off in the quiet room. Your internal clock was already stressing you out, letting you know that you seriously had to get up now, even before your alarm rang. 

Dread swam in the pit of your stomach, swirling the pound of breadsticks you had last night. Yesterday had been your last ‘in between’ day, the last day to truly map out your next steps before you actually had to execute them. You would see everyone today, tomorrow, and the next - the next the final, the endgame. 

You rolled over and glanced at Steve. His bed was empty, sheets folded and pillows fluffed, and the bathroom was open and empty. 

With a pinch of your eyebrows, you groaned as you flipped your legs over the side of your bed. You stilled, but there was no other sound. 

Steve really wasn’t here. 

For a second, you were angry. You couldn’t believe he literally left you alone, after basically defiling you and you himself, on a day that would for sure strike a major nerve in your crippling anxiety. It was low, like you were left to pick up your heels and proceed with the walk of shame down the hotel hallways.

But then the next second, you were relieved. You could take this moment to relive last night, to hatch out every single detail, to somehow make sense of just what the hell happened. It had been so fucking hot, so fucking overdue, and god, did you want to do it again. Steve’s absence allowed you to squeal in both delight and disbelief. 

You had fondled… had sex with?... humped?... your literal Captain. Sure, you had crossed a boundary in this ten-year friendship and rivalry, a boundary that was now completely exed out and erased really, but it wasn’t literal sex. Right?

It was certainly something if you had learned one thing from Sex Ed 101. Intimacy was intimacy. Yeah, you and Steve shared… intimacy. 

It took all your willpower to shrug off the rest of the blankets and start getting ready. There wasn’t much to do except hope that your guns didn’t jam or Seda didn’t ambush you. Quickly shooting off a text to Wanda, you waited for her much needed call. 

‘Hey, what’s up?’

You let out a long hum, face lifted toward the ceiling as you thought about how you would phrase last night’s events to her. “So, like, I’m gonna kill myself.”

‘Back up. Explain?’

“Ahhhhh, Wanda! I fucked up. We fucked up.”

Wanda’s voice sounded frantic, ‘Did the mission go wrong? Where’s Scott? Steve? Torres?’

You groaned, stomping your foot like the literal child you were. “Wanda, me and Steve did something last night.”

Wanda was silent for a few moments, her quick breaths evening out as she collected her thoughts. ‘Are you trying to tell me, that while trying to tell me you had sex with Steve last night, you made it sound like we would have had to all suit up to save your asses all the way across the country?’

Grateful she couldn’t see you blush, you responded as if you were trying to still keep the events a secret. “Well, when you put it like that!”

‘Did you and Steve actually…?’

“No, no! But we… touched and stuff.”

‘Is this high school? Spit it out.’

It was basic instinct to inspect the room again before you admitted it. “We sort of just, got each other off. Like, handjobs and such.”

Wanda let out a sound that resembled both a groan and a chuckle. ‘High school.’

You threw yourself back into bed, rolling around and throwing pillows all over the place. “It was so hot.”

‘You don’t need to give me the specifics.’

“Who else am I supposed to talk with? Bucky?”

Wanda choked on her laugh, ‘Okay, okay. I see your point.’

“What does this mean?” you asked both her and yourself. 

‘I’m gonna tell you something that you might not like to hear, okay?’

“Ugh, don’t scare me.”

Wanda chuckled before she continued, ‘This doesn’t surprise me.’

You practically strained your back from snapping up from bed so quickly. “What do you mean ‘you’re not surprised’?”

There was slight shuffling on the other line. ‘I owe Peter fifty dollars.’

You huffed loudly, “What do you mean by that, Wanda?”

Wanda sighed, ‘Look, we weren’t here during those five years. We weren’t here to see you two together. But Bruce told us how you two were during that time. Even when you were ignoring each other for months after, you didn’t hesitate to protect each other.’

You shook your head, as if she could see you. “He abandoned me for a good while.”

Wanda interrupted, ‘You saved him at the height of your fighting.’

You rolled your eyes, “He’s my Captain, of course I saved him.”

‘You didn’t have to.’

Your thoughts were flying at a hundred miles an hour, colliding with one another at top speeds. You opted to forgo that memory. It was shelved, to be revisited later. 

Changing the subject to a much less dramatic topic, the phone call lasted for another fifteen minutes before you seriously had to finish getting ready. 

The talk helped. But it didn’t answer any questions you had. The answers lay in the one place you really didn’t want to explore right now. Maybe after breakfast.

      Scott stumbled out of the elevator with very sleepy eyes, fingers still digging into their corners as he made his way to the hotel bar. Steve was seated in the farthest chair from the entrance just casually sipping orange juice. 

“What was so urgent that I had to wake up before my alarm?” Scott groaned as he slid into the seat beside him. 

Steve’s eyes were glued to his drink. He was bouncing his leg wildly. “I’m sorry, I just…”

It didn’t take a genius to know that when someone was nursing an orange juice in the hotel bar, head hanging low and with a massive pout, there was something incredibly wrong. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just cranky when I have to get up early.”

Steve waved his hand, “No, don’t apologize. I get it. I mean it.”

Scott ordered his own glass. He spread his lips into a thin line, “Did you want to talk? I’m a great listener. I could listen to Luis go on for hours on end.”

“I need to tell someone.”

“I’m all ears.”

Steve hesitated for only a second, downing the orange juice as if it was a shot. He ordered another. “I kissed Y/N last night.”

“Are you serious?” Scott’s eyes widened and he gurgled his juice on accident. He didn’t know what to say. Congratulations? 

“And we messed around a little bit.”

Now Scott tilted his head to the side and gave the super soldier an amused glare. “Messed around? What is this, the third grade?”

Steve cringed, “I hope to God no third graders are messing around.”

His juice was long forgotten now. “Then call it like it is, Captain. You ‘serviced the Venus’, you ‘made whoopee’, you -”

“That’s calling it like it is?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Very. We just… touched and stuff.”

Steve’s awkward hand gestures caused Scott’s lip to twitch itself into a weird smile. “You ‘cleaned your rifle’? You did the ‘loop-de-loop?”

“Where in the hell are you getting these things from? You think we actually talked like this back in the forties?” Steve covered his ears and lay his forehead against the counter. 

“Sorry, sorry. I was just having a little fun.” Scott apologized, trying to make eye contact even as Steve’s head was lowered. “Sorry, no fun.” Still, Steve remained sheltered. “Damn, man. Did something else happen that you’re not telling me?”

Finally, Steve turned his head to look at Scott but left it resting against the counter. “I feel like we crossed a line.”

“You technically violated the mission code of ethics, but.”

Steve snapped up and covered his face with his hands, index fingers pinching the corners of his eyes. “But kissing her didn’t feel wrong. Holding her didn’t feel wrong.”

Scott was in the middle of a rom com. He had to be. There was always that scene where one of the partners freaked out because they themselves didn’t know their own feelings. They would cower in their own little world for about fifteen minutes, or at least fifteen minutes of screentime, and then gain the courage to talk it through. Scott was just that random friend who happened to ask what was wrong. 

But you and Steve were his teammates. The two of you had helped him get his family back. You had been so excited to try out the time machine, shutting everyone else up as they bullied him for simply having the idea. Steve risked his life for him more times than he could count in the past two years. He always suspected something was wrong between the two of you. But no one was brave enough to openly speak about what had happened that night. He just knew what Sam had told him - ‘It’s none of our business. They’re both acting like children. But Steve, even though I love him with all my heart, royally fucked up.’

“Then why are you so worried? Steve, I wasn’t around those five years. Only you know your relationship with her.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Steve mumbled.

His ears were playing tricks. He had gone deaf. “Huh?”

Steve explained further, his face falling with each new confession he spoke verbally. He hadn’t even discussed these feelings with his therapist. Granted, he only spoke of you when you were being a pain in his ass, but romantically? “I don’t deserve to touch her, to have her, to be with her. I left her alone at her most vulnerable, and that you were here for so you know.”

Scott shook his head, “But I have no real say in that. Like I said, only you know what you feel.”

He finished his juice and leaned back in his chair. He clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and they both turned their attention to the tiny television mounted on the wall playing the morning news. It was hard to believe that a couple years ago, Scott had completely fangirled over being in Steve’s presence. Now he was one of his closest friends. 

His next thought seemed to register slowly and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Wait, did you leave her to wake up alone?”

Steve paused and bit down on his tongue. “I, may have done that.”

Scott nodded as he received the confirmation. “You know, Bucky and Wanda have a bet going on over which of you will kill the other first. I think you tipped the victory to her, man.”

Steve returned the slap to the shoulder and stood up. “Thanks, Scott.”

He followed Steve out the entrance. “I don’t feel like this conversation is over, but you gotta go back up there. I’m always here if you want to talk.”

Steve sent him a genuine smile as he walked backwards to the stairs instead of the elevator. “Don’t bring it up.”

Scott saluted him, “I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid.”

“That didn’t make any-”

Scott clicked the button for the elevator and waved Steve off, “It’s from a show my daughter used to watch, hey, you know what, forget about it.”

    Steve doesn’t quite know what propels him up the stairs instead of the elevator, but it’s probably the need to burn at least one calorie before facing the music. It was an idiotic move leaving you alone to unravel such a major change, and Steve was tired of running. The amount of times he claimed he could ‘do this all day’ and yet, he let the final battle dictate his life afterward. He was just so tired of running from things that required him to stay, and staying for things that destroyed his mental health. 

Scott carried the conversation as they reentered the room, finding you already dressed and smiling bright. But that smile was directed at Scott, a brilliant smile that Steve had been the recipient of just yesterday. 

God, he really fucked up, didn’t he?

“We got a plan?”

It was like clockwork, movements fluid and known. The three of you were slightly out of it, missions depleting in urgency and all. The last mission you had been on in the last two years, besides the ones your father sent you on, had been to a base in Prague where you ran a two-week surveillance on a doctor who was trying to recreate the super soldier serum. Even then there wasn’t much of a physical fight and you were mainly there to assist Sam and Bucky. 

“We’ll get there by 9. You’ll have to shrink down before we even pass the gates.”

Scott drafted the specifics in his notebook, taking careful notes on what he was to look for inside your father’s office. He was instructed to hack the keyboard to list the most used formations of characters, scan for fingerprints, and work through the paper files your father hadn’t yet had time to put away. Once a password was figured out, then the hacking would commence during the rehearsal dinner. 

“Y/N and I will be led through the estate by Seda, no doubt. Once you hear that we’re seated and enjoying breakfast, you can start your deep search.”

Scott added the finishing touches to his suit - upgrades from both Hank and Tony, before he passed of course. 

“Anything I should know? I’m going in blind while you guys have some experience with this crowd.”

You attached the camouflage mic to the back of your neck as you responded, “His office hallway doesn’t have cameras. Neither does the inside. You, as well as Steve and I, are under strict orders to not kill anyone.”

Scott squinted his eyes, “I wasn’t planning on doing that anyway.”

You chuckled, “These are violent people, Scott. In order to win, we need to play the part. Which means unless we say the safe word ‘widow’, you can’t intervene.”

Scott searched your face for a joke, the briefing you all had before you shipped out replaying in his head. You had mentioned Seda shot you and that your father basically hated you, but to see you serious now - it was a little unnerving. Sure, he fought aliens and faced off against some of the most evil forces in the universe. But this was family, and when it was family with the evil gene, it made everything much more horrible.

“Okay.”

You all gathered your equipment and headed down to the car. Steve safely hid the shield in the trunk, foregoing any additional weapons than those already attached to his person. He couldn’t risk Ernesto’s men randomly searching the car during breakfast. 

You were already waiting in the passenger seat when Scott gripped Steve’s arm as they finished loading the trunk. 

“You protect her, alright?”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew Scott wasn’t doubting his ability to do so, but his trust was being enlisted. There wasn’t even a second option. 

Steve would grip the heavens by their feet and pull for the creation of even more fallen angels just for you. 

“I will.” 

     The drive to the estate was a lot less stressful this time. Only because you knew who to expect now. You wouldn’t be catching up with your sister until tomorrow, and you already had an idea what your father was scheming up. The three of you just drove in silence, Steve at the wheel and Scott in the backseat. 

You thought, maybe Steve didn’t fully regret what happened after all. Leaving in the morning was for sure a dick move, but his attitude wasn’t one of someone who would simply ‘hit it, and quit it’. You took pride in what you knew about your Captain, about Steve as a separate entity, and you always expected the best from him. 

Anyone who thought or assumed otherwise was an idiot.

Scott had shrunk down and prepared his own mics as Steve drove onto the deserted dirt road. There were dozens of cars parked outside, but it looked as if their owners were all workers. Considering the wedding was only two days away and the rehearsal dinner was tomorrow, the workers multiplied and were working overtime. Leave it to your father to make the finishing touches at the last minute. 

Once again, Seda stood outside to greet you and Steve. He looked extra chipper this morning, his aging face contorted into an almost painful smile. And you knew that whenever he smiled at you, he wasn’t harboring the greatest intentions. 

“Good to see you again!”

You slung your arm through Steve’s, unconscious to the fact that Scott stood on your shoulder and hid behind strands of hair. You responded, “Careful, you’ll get cavities with that much sweetness.”

His smile fell slightly, and he looked away to roll his eyes. “Must be contagious considering you’re so full of sugar!”

“You’re weird when you’re nice.”

“Now, I was just about to say the same thing.” Seda held his hand out to Steve, delighted in the strength of his grip. “Captain.”

Steve smirked, a dangerous glint settling in his eyes. The longer hair and beard really did make him look like the anti-Cap. “Sir. Are you joining us for breakfast?”

Seda turned to walk through the open doors. “Of course. Ernesto’s business is as much mine as it is his.”

You let out a tiny snort, “Don’t think he would agree.”

Seda rotated on his heel so quickly the sound of the squeak echoed through the vast mansion. He held his finger out at you, that famous scowl you had grown accustomed to finally making its appearance. “Bite your tongue.”

In an instant, Steve gripped your cheeks and chin with one hand, holding you still to look at Seda. He hated this. He wanted to fight them now.

While you were held in place for him, Seda stepped closer. You could feel the heat of his breath. “I carried this empire while he was dirt.”

Steve’s hand was loose, but his wild look could easily be mistaken for anger toward you. 

Seda’s eyes were cold, filled with an undeniable amount of hatred and selfishness, like he wanted to see you beg for forgiveness. No matter the countless times when any other human being would be crying for mercy, you never did. And Seda despised this skill with all his tainted soul. 

“And look where that got you. Right back in second place.”

For the second time this week, Steve wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

Seda’s facial muscles flinched, but he kept his composure. There were too many outside workers wandering around, instructed already to keep their mouths shut about who employed them and were to be paid under the table. With his own tongue bitten, he muttered almost achingly. “Breakfast is this way.”

Letting go of you after Seda turned back around, Steve gently massaged the sides of your chin for a few seconds as you walked. Turning your head quickly left and right and passing a room with no traceable cameras, you caught his hand and pressed your lips gently to his knuckles. Before he could truly enjoy the gentle gesture, you pulled away. And he knew you had to. You had to.

Scott took his leave, jumping onto the nearby potted plant and connecting back with Torres. 

Breakfast was served on the large patio near the west side of the estate. It overlooked a massive man-made lake, rocks circling the bank, and multiple lake chairs facing it. The estate was well hidden away in the forest, tall pine trees enveloping the illegal nature of all that was said and done. The clouds were creating a dark overcast that meant it was going to rain later, maybe soon, and it was going to be heavy. The crew outback had constructed a massive wooden canopy ‘tent’ that extended from one side of land to the other. So if it did rain on the day of the wedding, the only evidence of it would be the wetness reflecting off the soft violet lights they were just now hanging. The tables were set up, minus the chairs and wall decorations, and the staff were barely constructing the floor. 

By instinct, you had already clocked the easiest exit routes and hiding places. The warehouse near the lake looked sturdy - two windows wide enough to shoot from. Steve would have to crouch down low though, so perhaps the wooden table could serve as a temporary shield. 

There had to be a way to casually bring that shield to both the rehearsal dinner and wedding without raising red flags. 

Seda paused and excused himself. While Steve entertained the questions of some of the men casually strolling through, you reached into your pocket and pulled out some new tech you had been dying to finally use. Tony had messed around with so many personalized gadgets for everyone. Peter had his flying spiders, Clint had his flying stars and arrows, and you had your flying butterflies. Little metallic wonders with life-like wing speed that recorded its surroundings and transcribed for your report later. 

It flew gracefully, circling around the tables and even stopping on the window’s edge for a natural effect before flying near Seda and whoever he was talking to. It fluttered and settled, a small light emitting from its antennas. It would fly back once the subject chosen finished speaking. 

While you waited, you wandered. You hadn’t really explored this estate since you were a child but from what you remembered, there was always something new to discover. As a kid, you had asked whoever was present, ‘Is this real?’, ‘Was it alive before?’, ‘How old is this?’.

Roman busts, paintings hanging and stored alike, the ivory tusks. Didn’t seem like your father was collecting much these days. Dust was settled and undisturbed and the stuffed animals needed a serious scrub. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if your father had stashed away the damn tesseract at one point or another. 

“Oh, yeeesss,” you whispered, scurrying to the trunk hidden below the pile of discarded tablecloths and curtains. No one else ventured to these rooms, and although there were priceless items stashed away here, they normally functioned as the children's playrooms. There was more money to be made selling drugs than selling ancient artifacts. 

Just like many of the other rooms, this room was basically abandoned. No evidence of swiped fingers or anything. Your attention was drawn to the black trunk, scratched up on the left side and lock practically useless. If you remembered correctly, your iPod shuffle and middle school diary should be in here. 

As corny as that sounded, perhaps the diary had something inside you could work with and use to help aid in the mission. 

The trunk creaked and moaned as you lifted the lid open. You blew the excess of cobwebs away, scanning the corners quickly for any live spiders. Just in case. 

You did, in fact, find the diary. But only the first ten pages were filled out and dated, detailing the story, and quote, ‘2011, what a stupid number! Can’t anything but violence happen?’

Yes young Y/N, you thought to yourself, 2012 was one hell of a year and infinitely worse than stupid little 2011. 

The mountain of miscellaneous items was astounding, swirling up the childhood emotions you seriously missed. There was just something about random, mix-matched, old items that made you giddy. 

When Shield returned Steve’s belongings that had been locked in storage or in the museum when he was pronounced KIA, you were the one bouncing up and down behind him as he opened the boxes. He’d inspect the old watch, pencil set, photographs, clothing item, whatever and then pass it over to you. And he’d pretend to act annoyed by your interest, but the fact that you wanted to learn more about Steve and his life before the war - it was humbling. 

‘Hey, Y/N. You want to know how much porn I just found on Seda’s personal laptop?’

Your whole body was overcome by shivers. You nudged the mic to turn it up louder. “Scott, what the fuck?”

He tried to contain his laughter. ‘My mission is to hunt, gather, and hack. You’ll be pleased to know I got more than just their internet history.’

“Ew.”

A small, red velvet box shoved in the upper left hand corner caught your attention. It’s engraving showed none other than ‘Oxford University’ and that was enough to conclude this too was stolen. You chuckled at how ridiculous this all was. 

Believe it or not, the most legal things in the estate were the stuffed exotic animals and tusks of ivory that had been collected before the nationwide bans. 

This small box contained a few dozen coins from ancient Rome, all of different faces and years. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mumbled, finger-fishing through the box. You made a mental note to instruct your team to also seize and catalog everything that was stolen here. Give Fury more of a headache. 

The figurehead on one of the coins made you pause for a second. The artwork was not as professional as much larger engravings found on the other coins or artifacts, but the features were proud. It was of a man, curly hair and beard to match, with a prominent and strong nose. If you squint hard enough, the hair and beard were Steve’s, absolutely as he had it groomed right now. Last time Steve had grown his hair out this long he was on the run. Guess he really missed the rugged look. 

But that nose. Strong and long and definitely punched to the brim many times before. The last person to set it had been Clint - and the reset had left it looking slightly crooked. Just like the man on the coin. 

“What a beak you got on you, Rogers,” you smiled. You shut the box after pocketing the coin. Making sure everything else was in place, you exited and checked your mic for any unusual activity. You could hear Steve casually speaking and Scott humming under his breath. 

Your little butterfly was spinning in a large circle until it spotted you. It reattached itself to your belt discreetly. 

Seda marched back, looking more annoyed than when he had first greeted you. “Shall we?”

Similar to how he was situated back in his office, comfortable and relaxed in his element, your father sat closest to the lake around the round table, no doubt enjoying the breeze aimed in his direction. The table was full of various foods - mostly fruit and drinks - but there were sides of meats and bread hidden in the pile. 

Ernesto looked like an innocent old man bathed in the colorful array. He was eighty-two (if you count those five years, then he’s only seventy-seven), and it wasn’t just the fruit that made him seem innocent - with the absence of a scowl or a gun in his unbelievably steady hand, he looked like every old man on the planet. An old man with a secret. 

“It’s not everyday you get to dine with the Captain America!”

Already his voice annoyed Steve. But as eloquent as ever, he responded lightly. “It’s an honor, sir.”

Your father sipped his juice, waiting until you were both seated to continue. “So polite, I remember how it used to be.”

Steve shrugged, “The good ole’ days.”

“Exactly. You see, I’m hoping to bring those good ole’ days back.”

“Gonna run for office?” you quipped, reaching over to pop a grape into your mouth. 

Keeping his eyes trained on Steve, your father retorted. “Your jokes aren’t that funny, Y/N.”

“I think I’m pretty funny,” you mumbled through a funny frown. 

The sooner you get some valuable information, the sooner you could leave. At least, that’s what Steve had been reciting in his head as he bit his tongue at your attempt at being funny. “What did you have in mind?”

Ernesto stretched, motioning for the men behind him to pass him some documents from a nearby table. He passed them to Steve, completely ignoring you. “You see, I’m thinking of expanding business. Not just here in the U.S and in Mexico, but across the Atlantic.”

You resisted the urge to sneak a peek at the documents. So you opted to keep him talking. “Woah, you’re not thinking of toppling White, are you?”

Ernesto scoffed, “You think I have a death wish? No, I’m thinking of joining forces.”

You played dumb. “What?”

Seda squinted, stepping forward and gripping your wrist mid-air, evidently stopping you from popping another grape into your mouth. Steve turned his head to stare at Seda with a real and deep grimace, basically instructing him to let go of you as soon as possible. Acting like an asshole when your father was the instigator was one thing, and he hated that he had to bend over for him. But Seda wasn’t in charge, nor would he ever be again, and his hand on you didn’t have to be tolerated. Yes, he knew to keep up the asshole act, but obsessive and protective boyfriend fit the bill as well, he assumed. 

Reluctantly, Seda got the message and let you go. He answered your question after a few awkward seconds, “Expanding into Europe means we dominate the world. Everyone knows that. Europe is the epicenter.”

Oblivious to the whole stare down, you resumed your questioning. “And we come in, where?”

“Your missions - they take you across the ocean, yes?” your father chimed in. 

“Sometimes, sir. We’re away pretty often.” Steve answered. 

“Then that’s perfect. All those opportunities to smuggle my product on your company planes.”

You scrunched your eyebrows in deep thought, almost like you were doing the math in your head. “I doubt the quinjet would pass a weight inspection, Father.”

Ernesto raised his hands in mock offense. “Your Captain here should be able to pull some strings, no?”

Hiding his discomfort, Steve shrugged like it was no big deal. “It would certainly be a difficult task but we can pull through.”

No. Steve has never handled the product, he has never seen the product being moved, he has never signed off on anything pertaining to said product. Fury did - Fury set up everything, he made sure to keep Steve out of it, he protected the shield, he protected Steve. On your word.

Ernesto knew you were the one handling it. He knew Steve wasn’t anywhere near it since you made it abundantly clear that he only green lit the passage routes. 

He was doing this on purpose. Testing Steve’s loyalty in a way. Tying any Avenger’s gadgets to the smuggling, especially transportation methods that were rarely, if ever checked when entering a foreign country, was a violation.  And this violation would then make every Avenger a drug smuggler - a real one - and no one, not even Torres could back you up.  

Blinded by this possible reality, you countered with the best argument you had. “He’s ‘Captain America’. Which means he stays within our borders.”

Ernesto paused mid-drink, a grin forming. He stared at you in surprise, “I’m sorry, did you just give me an order?”

You backtracked, breath still steady. Steve tried to mask his worry by also drinking. “No, I’m trying to help you. What about Ramirez?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

It was silent for a long while. Steve knew better than to come between the uncomfortable glares you and your father were sharing. Ernesto’s answer was confirmation enough for your proposed theory.

He ventured a glance at Seda, who was already looking at him. Confusion rattled him to the bone, but before he could dissect any possible assumption as to why, your father snapped his fingers. 

Seda moved too quickly. He always followed Ernesto’s orders like they were holy commandments, but he had seriously wanted this. He was the muscle after all. 

Seda picked you up out of your seat with the force of one hand, fingers gripped under your chin and squishing your cheeks painfully. With his other hand, he pushed your back forward and held you down on the table. The impact of your body had shattered the plate beneath your chest. But that pain was minimal compared to the elbow digging in between your shoulder blades. 

Almost as quickly as Seda had pounced, Steve was standing. The sound of every gun on the patio cocking rang in his ears, but god forbid that be louder than the sudden squeal that had left your mouth from the force of your assault.  

“See? I give the orders,” Ernesto said, still sitting casually in his seat. “Now, test me again.”

      “There are worse ways to go.”

Natasha was always so calm during these types of situations. A blank face that disguised the true fright she really felt, a mask in other words. But Steve knew the only reason she did that was for the benefit of those around her, regular civilian or superhero alike. She would always keep such a calm demeanor, voice steady and eyes boring into one’s soul as if to transfer whatever inner peace she could find. 

When he had found out Bucky was alive, unresponsive and an empty shell of a man HYDRA had made him, he crumbled into the panic attack he had long awaited. Being thrust into the 21st century without a lick of his past was one thing. But to barely start getting used to this new world, only to be handed the most crazy plot twist of his life, well, it was enough to destroy whatever progress he thought he made. 

And while he rocked himself through it, massive shoulders poking his jawline uncomfortably as he curled in on himself, Natasha had simply laid a cup of tea in front of him and retreated to the other corner of the room, no words exchanged. Good, because he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Is everyone on?”

The planes were being loaded at the fastest rate they could, the only remaining Avengers on land being him, Natasha, and Clint. From what he could see.

“I gotta go get Banner. You head on over to Clint.”

And they functioned like that for the next few minutes, grabbing civilians along the way and praying they themselves would make it to one of those planes. The sudden shower of bullets crushed the hope of that, and Steve stared down at Pietro with an immense guilt about not getting there sooner. 

Losing a teammate, even if that teammate was recruited just a day ago, always hits hard. But they were the Avengers, and if any comic book or superhero movie had been right, then no one ever really died! Yeah, fat chance. 

Steve counted as many heads as he could. He saw Natasha off to the side, and Clint had just stumbled on, and Y/N was-

Wait, where were you?

Steve grabbed his shield and hooked it onto his back, running off the plane and back onto the floating land, ignoring Clint’s yells of ‘get the fuck back here, Rogers!’

“Does anyone have eyes on Y/N?”

The responses were no help; Rhodey had circled the city twice over searching for you, and there was no sign. Maybe you were with Wanda, maybe you were on another plane, maybe you were with Thor and he promised to pick you up and protect you once he catapulted himself - 

‘I’m gonna need you to get your ass back on that plane, Capsicle,’ Tony yelled, interrupting himself as he made painful contact with falling debris. 

Steve was on autopilot, scared out of his damn mind. He never wanted this job, he never wanted to continue working for the government, it was just war after war after war. He just wanted to find Bucky, he just wanted to settle down with a fucking cat or something, he just wanted to live the life he missed out on. But he was also hell bent on saving everyone he could. A sick satisfaction of using the serum’s gifts for what he was built for, a science project and weapon of war. He hated it, he wanted to shrivel back down to his ninety-pound self and pay a goddamn penny for a movie screening again. 

But he had a job to do and he was one of the few people on earth who could actually accomplish it. So, no - Steve will not quit when people need him. He’ll just have to bear it some other way; belt in between his teeth as he clenches down. Because Steve would literally destroy himself for any of his teammates until he was nothing but a pile of discarded remains. 

“What the hell are you still doing on land, Captain?”

He whipped his head to the side and found you, holding a frightened looking dog in your arms, smudges of rubble covering your cheeks and bodysuit. “Oh my god.”

You stomped over to him, the dog clutched to your chest and a tiny limp in your step. “Answer me, Rogers!”

Steve only stared, blinking quickly until an invisible boot kicked him back into gear. His voice was high-pitched as he screamed at you. “You went back for the dog?”

Your face contorted, “Of course I went back for the fucking dog!”

A ridiculous thing, an utter masterpiece of work you were, a vice that gripped him by the throat and would always press down tighter until he was gasping for breath. You went back for the damn dog, and he was about to break down crying not knowing where you were. He just lost one teammate - he couldn’t lose another.

“Well, let’s go!”

Your voice seemed to shock him back into Captain America mode, and as the city leveled and the ground started to break apart, he hoisted you up and onto the plane while making the leap himself. 

     At this point, Steve would blindly agree to anything. If it meant pulling you out of this, he’d do it. He found himself negotiating instantly, like any other hostage situation he had dealt with. “I’m sure our planes can handle a few extra pounds.”

Made sense for Steve to agree - wasn’t like it was going to happen anyway. But the mere thought of having him take the fall for this entire mission going sideways, well, it had ignited the stupid part of your brain. You could have blown this whole mission. You could have blown it all because your father had been doing what he does best: taunting you. And you let it happen. 

“I have already sent word to White that your Captain will be working with him now, too. Anything to topple Ramirez from the top three.”

You lifted your head to glare at your father. “Why didn’t I get a say? I’m as influential as you two!” You grit your teeth. “You did this without consulting us first. So, then what was this?”

Seda applied the full force of his weight, his elbow now pinching into the muscle and causing you to see black spots. You tried to restrain your scream, but it escaped. A few birds left their perch, flying away from the high-pitched noise.

Steve saw red. Bursting flames that climbed and licked up to formless heights and blurred his vision to the point he was pre-serumed, standing small and physically weak again. And pre-serum Steve would happily accept the punches he had coming if he dare intervene. But even if this red was bolstering hot and clawing at his flesh, stepping in now would mean chaos. He couldn’t do anything, he was restricted, strapped down by your own rule, and helplessly watching as your face twisted in pain. 

He felt his heart tearing in two, and yet his face remained calm. Calm and collected. 

“See this as a means to inform you.”

If Seda were to push down again, you figured you’d go out fighting. “A coup? Father, you shouldn’t have.”

“Do we have a deal?” 

If he hooked his arm under the left side of the table and threw it at the correct angle, he would blindside your father and throw Seda off balance, allowing you to take him down. But there were men posted to both his sides and behind him, guns already cocked like they had suspected Captain America to react negatively. 

Scott had to be hearing everything, the poor guy, but you had also instructed him to let you be thrown around like a ragdoll, that you were used to it. Knowing Scott, he would honor your word as scripture for the sake of the mission.

Steve couldn’t stand to look at you in pain anymore. A small part of him wanted to yell, ‘Well stop talking and he’ll get the hell off you!’, like it was ultimately your fault, but he swallowed that shallow thought and bargained instead. “I’ll be needing a copy of your word. For insurance purposes.”

If there was one thing Ernesto respected, it was a man with his own personal agenda. “I knew I liked him, Y/N. A man who knows what he wants and how to make sure it lasts.”

You reached over discreetly, finding Steve’s hand to squeeze tightly. He squeezes back.

The next few minutes were a blur, really. You passed it with pinched eyes and a few uncomfortable moans as Steve and your father wrote up a formal agreement. 

Seda removed himself after Steve signed. You tried not to think too much of it; the contract can be considered void. Torres would look into it. Steve will not become truly involved. 

Your father excused himself and Seda after the pen left paper, leaving the both of you alone.

Steve wanted to hold you, to shield you with his own flesh and bone, to remind you he was on your side. That he would always be on your side. 

The men who escorted you were deep in their own conversations, guns still raised but minds momentarily distracted. So he reached for your hand, an involuntary chuckle escaping him as he saw Scott’s miniature self hiking up the arm he had just grabbed. Your grip was loose, like your mind was elsewhere. 

You all entered the car and buckled up without alerting the men of any wrongdoings. Scott waited until you drove past the cameras and the estate grew smaller in his eyes to return to his normal size. 

They were both worried, eyes meeting in the mirror as if to communicate it. You were so silent, so still, simply looking out the window. Their voices were slightly distorted, far away calls for your attention and you were drowning, suffocating and forgetting that when caught in a riptide, you need to swim sideways and not directly to land-

One quick sob was all it took for Steve to check his mirrors and turn the car into the crowd of pine trees, burying the three of you in their depth and providing temporary solace from the outside world. Your throat burned and itched with the need to cry harder, but you stopped yourself. 

This had happened before. You’ve been subdued and taunted before. Hell, worse has happened to you and you always seemed to hold in the tears until you were in the comfort of your own room or in Natasha’s arms. 

But there was no single room for you to run off to and there was no more Natasha-

It took a moment to register that your seatbelt had been unbuckled, Steve had exited the vehicle, and Scott was already tugging you by the underarms and into the backseat. You were then squished between the two men, with Steve manually tilting your head to rest on the expanse of his chest and Scott with his arms wrapped around your waist to mimic a massive bear hug. 

They let you ride out whatever broken sobs your body produced. There were few tears and your breakdown was amateur at best, but you still broke. There was no point in trying to diminish its importance. You were here, and you had both fresh and dry tear streaks, and it was important to feel. 

At least that’s what Steve had been reciting for the past two minutes as he ran his fingers through your hair. 

You sniffed and wiped your cheeks, rolling your eyes at yourself. “I’m sorry, this is really embarrassing.”

Scott leaned back to stare at you in pure disbelief, “You have every right to scream, to cry, to tear this world apart. You have a right to feel.”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him. 

If Scott wasn’t here, perhaps Steve would allow himself to cry with you. His masculinity was intact, thank you very much, but Scott didn’t need to console two people at once. So he swallowed his pain, secured it back into the safe within his heart that was specifically constructed for you, and held you tighter. 

Out of nowhere, Scott patted your thigh multiple times like a child begging for attention. “We need comfort food. We’ve all had a rough day and it’s not even two o’clock yet! Nothing some french fries and burgers can’t fix!”

It had slipped your mind how little you had actually gotten to eat. Just a few sips of coffee and some grapes. Wasn’t your fault there were more important things to focus on. 

“Can we get, like, a massive tray of fries?” you smiled. 

Scott’s eyes lit up. 

Lots of things are so simple. Or, in theory. Boiling water is simple. Doing laundry. Pumping gas. 

But then there are those simple things that are just not so accessible to everyone. Like, it was simple for Bruce to learn and teach theoretical physics. It was simple for Peter to catch a bus with his bare hands. It was simple for Thor to call upon thunder and lightning and for Loki to cause some mischief. 

For Steve, eating his body weight in fries was simple. 

For Scott, opening the ketchup packets without his thumbs sliding was simple. 

For you, stealing Steve’s fries was simple. 

Maybe because he didn’t stop you. 

     It’s crazy how just a few hours with some close friends made every problem in the world seem nonexistent. You were replenished, in a sense, ready to put any embarrassment and self-hatred behind you in preparation for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Everything up until now was child’s play - now, there were no restraints. You were instructed to strike on the wedding day as that was the day the shipment was moving, but if anything truly dangerous occurred tomorrow, Fury had given the green light to shoot.

It would have been a blessing to just have one more quiet night in, maybe enjoy some more special alone time with Steve. There was a conversation to be had, feelings to be discussed, an argument to start. There needed to be screaming, and crying, and eye rolling - all needed to happen. 

Yes, that would have been great. 

Steve launched the shield across the room the second Scott pushed open the door, the crack of bone and vibranium sounding off. Scott had already unclicked his gun safety, weapon pointed directly at the intruder - who had collapsed to the floor with a bleeding shin clutched in between his hands. You didn’t even realize your gun was also out and cocked. Instinct - skill you had acquired from Natasha and Rhodey. 

Sometimes you wish you could forget how to hold a gun altogether. 

Ramirez was on the floor, having only released a loud howl when the shield connected. He just panted lowly, eyes squeezed shut. He desperately tried to raise his hands. 

“Please… don’t shoot.”

Steve stepped forward, shield braced and covering both you and Scott. You stayed near the door in case Ramirez had any other friends visiting. 

You turned on your mic and hoped it patched through. “Widow.” 

“How did you get past security? How did you know which hotel we were at?”

Ramirez looked over at you, eyes pleading for help from Steve’s questions or from the physical pain. You really couldn’t tell. 

“Answer the questions, Omar.” You used his first name - that told him you were serious. 

“Someone took their smoke break.” He breathed in uneven cycles. “I followed you the first day you arrived.”

Completely baffled, you looked to Scott for some answer he clearly didn’t have. 

“That’s not possible. Our people swept the area, we had eyes on you and-”

Ramirez interrupted shyly, “You had eyes on me. Not my connections.”

“Your men were followed, too.”

Although he was groaning, he still responded as softly as possible. “Connections, mija. They aren’t all a part of the mob.”

Every guest who checked in and out of the hotel were screened for that week. Every employee was vetted. 

“If you’re wondering who it was, I’ll save you the time and say it was simply a passerby who didn’t even enter the hotel. Just followed, then made a U-turn.”

Scott scoffed and lowered his gun, “If it really was that easy…”

Steve kneeled to be eye-level with Ramirez. “Then that means Ernesto already knows about Scott and Torres.”

As quickly as Steve declared this, Ramirez shook his head. “No! I’m not on Ernesto’s side anymore. Haven’t been for a long time!”

“Prove it.”

Ramirez stared at you, eyes pleading for trust. He didn’t look all that intimidating. Short black hair, wrinkles minimal and clothes well-pressed, slim and dark skin clear of any blemishes - he looked like every guy who you would see at the bank. He remained pleading even after Steve patted him down. 

Still kneeling and leg slightly extended to relieve some of the pain, he started to explain himself. “I know when people are acting.”

“What?”

“When you pressed the gun to her chin,” he motioned his hand between you and Steve, “you held her hand.”

Lowering your gun and dropping your shoulders, you released a deep sigh. “You were behind us.”

He agreed, “I was behind you.” He inspected the room with a small smile, glancing at all three of you in amusement. Once his sight rested on Steve, he tipped his chin up and smirked. “I heard you could pick up Thor’s hammer.”

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, annoyed, and turned to check the hallway. Your mic was muffled, but you swore you could make out the voices of Torres and Sam.

“Any man who can do that is good, right?”

Scott nodded, “According to legend-”

Steve blinked at him, “Scott.”

“That little gesture of care, plus the cell phone videos I saw you in from two years ago-” Ramirez started, but was interrupted. 

Steve squinted, “Saw us where?”

“The phone videos on Youtube.”

You stepped back into the room, stuttering over your words. “What phone videos? Be clearer.”

“You defended that child. The - the spider child,” he pointed at Steve, wincing as he shifted his leg. “And you got into that bar fight, busted someone's head into the floor.”

“No, PR made sure they were deleted. Hill said there was no trace of them-”

“My two youngest daughters were fifteen at the time. They knew about the video the minute it aired. They saved it.”

Scott sighed, shaking his head at the memory of having to bail both you and Sam out of jail. It was a nice turn of the tables, though. “...We didn’t factor in the possibility of teenagers screen recording?”

Ramirez chuckled, “Seems not.”

     It was certainly an eventful night for PR. A complete disaster they had to cover up and twist for the media. There were four Avengers mixed up in this chaos, and since the perpetrators didn’t quite succeed in kicking your asses, PR might just finish the job for them. 

On one side of town, Steve was responding to an urgent call from Happy asking if he was in the vicinity. Peter had been visiting a study group in Brooklyn, careful as ever, but still stumbled upon bullies. Steve lived close and instead of ringing the whole team, Happy put his trust in the person Tony would have also called. 

It was a scene he hoped he would never have to witness again. To see such cruelty months after the final battle, a battle everyone knew the kid played a major part in, it tore Steve apart shred by miserable shred.

Peter was crouched against an alley wall, shielding his face with his arms as five boys around his age pounded away. He appeared to be clutching his phone, the line still connected with Happy, and he was begging them to stop. 

Steve had never run so fast. He dodged a few cars and strollers along the way, mind fogged with desperation and anger. He now knew how Bucky felt when he saved Steve from all those alley fights back in the day.

It didn’t even register in his mind that he had pulled at least two of the boys away and threw them into the opposite wall, or that he had clutched one's throat so tight that Peter’s thumbs were now digging under his clenched palm with the plea of ‘Cap, let him go!’.  

He dropped the boy, no more than seventeen, on the ground and stepped away to inspect Peter. A busted lip, what looked to be two purpling eyes, torn clothing, and bruises along his ribcage that showed through the new holes in his shirt. The five boys all stood and cowered backwards. 

They shouted and name-called, spit on the floor and taunted the two superheroes. It wasn’t until Peter leaned into Steve’s chest and pushed him back that Steve realized one of the boys was recording the whole thing. 

Against his better judgement, he let them go. There wasn't anything beneficial to be done besides file a police report - not that it would do much anyway. 

He took Peter back to his apartment and called Happy himself. He stitched the nasty cut on the kid’s forehead. He fed him some soup and crackers. He gave him some spare clothes that had shrunk in the washer. Peter’s smile was so broken as he interrupted the silence while Steve cleaned away the dry blood, a simple explanation of ‘I obviously couldn’t fight back’. 

And fuck, Steve knew the kid was right. 

On the other side of town, the night had started pretty nicely. Two beers in and your conversation with Sam was littered with constant laughter and childhood stories. The bar wasn’t that crowded for a Thursday night, just a few regulars and a small office party.

Your conversation was interrupted by two men who had clearly been holding their tongue. First they harassed you for being Avengers and destroying the city every other week - which granted, was a pretty reasonable argument. You let that one slide. But then they hassled you on who you employed: an ex-con who was clearly only abusing his influence on Hank Pym, a mental woman who took an entire town hostage because she was obviously evil at heart and a witch (‘fuck her children, what about mine?!’), and a teenager who had murdered a true superhero who was only trying to warn and rid the world of him. 

You and Sam remained seated, jaws clenched and hands wrapped tightly around your drinks. If you ignored them long enough, they would go away. The bartender will surely throw them out, they were becoming too rowdy. You were better than them and there was absolutely no need to freak out over words. They were just words. 

“I say we head on over to Queens and pay that sweet Aunt of his a visit!”

Sam let out a quick and prepared sigh, “Shit.”

He threw the first punch, launching himself at the biggest of the two men and hitting the ground. You leaped over the bar counter and tackled the second guy before he could join Sam’s fight. He was clearly caught off guard, arms fumbling wildly as he tried and failed to keep his balance. But your sudden momentum caused his decline, and you were hammering your fist down onto his face like your life depended on it. 

Sam quickly took his gun from his pocket and threw it across the room. He couldn’t risk either of the guys getting a hold of it. He rolled onto all fours before sweeping his leg to trip the guy as he attempted to stand. He shuffled and grabbed one of his arms, legs wrapping themselves over the dude’s shoulders and squeezing his neck. If there was one thing Natasha had taught her friends, it was how to subdue a man with just the thighs. 

The brawl lasted maybe a good two minutes before other customers stepped in and separated you. Out of anger, you kept kicking and struggling. It wasn’t until the doors burst open and police drew their batons that you realized you royally fucked up. Everything was eerily silent and out of pure personality, you scooted away from the remnants of the fight as discreetly (but most obviously) as you could. 

You were booked, charges later dropped. Sam’s mugshot showcased a thin smile, like he knew the record would be expunged within the hour. Yours displayed a cocked eyebrow and slightly pursed lips. 

Yeah, PR didn’t have a nice night.

     “What about the videos, Omar?”

Ramirez gave you a sincere look, “No one on Ernesto’s team risks their reputation like that. You have his rage, but he doesn’t have your morality. Save the next question, I know what you two were fighting about.”

Even if you did get caught and the videos went viral, there was no way the world could know your connections. “The world doesn’t know about my family connections. Fury made sure to never input it into Shield’s database.”

“Imagine how terrified Ernesto was when the Russian spilled all their secrets.”

“Natasha,” Steve asserted. “Her name was Natasha.”

Ramirez bowed his head, “Natasha. I’m sorry.” He turned back to you. “You were barely starting out when that happened, no?” 

You were getting impatient with no backup. “Your point?”

“You’re working against him, aren’t you? You’ve always been working against him.”

You raised your gun again and stalked toward him. “Choose your next words carefully.”

Again, he raised his hands in defense. “I’m not with him. He doesn’t know I’m here, neither does White.” 

There was a long pause as you all pondered over his admission. Even though you vouched for him just yesterday, there was still so much to consider before jumping to his conclusion. “I think they’re plotting to kill me.”

Steve chuckled under his breath, “We know.”

Ramirez reacted like he was just slapped in the face. “You know?”

After a long train of thought, Scott interjected with his own idea. “That plot of land you bought - it’s not for drugs, is it?”

“I mean, half of it is for drugs.”

“Omar,” you demanded.

“Yes, yes. But the other half is entirely unrelated.”

Scott motioned for him to continue, “Enlighten us.”

And the small, proud smile on his face gave you the feeling he really was telling the truth. “It’s a refugee camp.”

Steve stuttered, “Drugs and refugees?”

Ramirez pushed himself toward the nearby chair and hoisted himself up. “I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know.” He let out a pained hiss. “But the Mexican government has already approved it. Well, if you can call it a government. They’re one of the few who still haven’t recovered from everyone coming back.”

“So, what? Are you making the refugees work for you?” you questioned. 

Ramirez widened his eyes. “What? No, no! The drugs are for income. For food, shelter, medicine, todo lo demas!”

Steve huffed, “Let me guess. The drugs aren’t real and anyone who finds out the truth will turn a blind eye.”

“Exactly.”

It was obvious why Ramirez wanted someone to know about the possible scheme. But why that someone happened to be you and your team, you honestly didn’t know. By logic, if you had been playing your father all this time, wasn’t it reasonable to assume you had or continue to play Ramirez?

“And you’re telling us for what? To save your ass?”

Ramirez countered with a question of his own, “Why are you here? After what Seda did to you, I can’t believe it.”

“Stop, just stop.” You were about done with all of this.

“You’re here to arrest us, right? I’m assuming I’m included.”

You raised your head, trying desperately to depict true regret in the stare you gave him. “I’m sorry.”

He sadly shook his head, “Don’t apologize. I know why you’re doing it.” He turned to Steve. “I’m just asking for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Protect my daughter.”

Your jaw dropped lightly as you heard his selfless favor. “Your daughter?”

“Her name is on the deed. I think Ernesto wants my land.”

“And once you’re taken out, she’s the only thing standing in his way.”

“Either he marries her-” he took a long pause to breath in deep. “Or he kills her.”

“Take her off of it?” you stated with confidence since it was more of a suggestion than a question. 

A deep frown etched into his face. “She’s somewhere in Asia right now. I need her signature. And all the forgers haven’t called me back.” He sighed and reached down to grip his bloody shin again. “She won’t make it back in time for the legal route.”

Steve nodded in understanding. He surprised you by setting the shield down on the couch. “Then we won’t let anything happen.”

“Promise me.”

You started to express remorse about the situation but were immediately cut off. “We aren’t in the business of making pro-”

“We promise.” 

You turned your head sharply, eyes round and mouth dropped. It was all you could muster up to show Steve your shock. He ignored your judgement, even if he did just break one of the top ten rules on the ‘what not to do as a superhero!’ list. 

Finally, uniformed officers scrambled into the room with their weapons drawn. Torres led them, hair all disheveled and cheeks pink.  “I’m so sorry. The connection was hacked and the cameras were delayed-”

You moved to stand near him, “It’s okay. Hey, we’re okay.”

Torres kept eye contact with you for only a second more, not really accepting that his tardiness should be casually swept under the rug like that. He immediately signaled for his officers to arrest Ramirez. “Get on your knees.”

Ramirez raised his hands and tried to stand. “With all due respect, your Captain might’ve broken my leg. I can’t kneel again or else I might cry.”

You tugged at Torres’s jacket and whispered. “Joaquin, just take him in for questioning. But you gotta release him-”

His eyes rounded. “What? We finally got him!”

“You have to release him. He has to be at the wedding.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered after a long pause and internal struggle. 

Just like that, Torres and his officers hoisted Ramirez up and dragged him from the room. For him to risk coming here, with no backup (according to security cameras and his word) and trusting his gut that you weren’t dirty - he must have been telling some truth. Steve followed Torres out, leaving you and Scott to report back to Sam and Bucky. 

Steve had only made it down the hallway when Ramirez stumbled into the wall. “Stop here, please.”

Steve was immediately defensive. “I’m not going to apologize for protecting my team.”

Ramirez didn’t seem to mind that he would be having trouble walking at the wedding. Granted he didn’t play a major role in the actual wedding, but he still needed to be present during the shipment transport. He inwardly thanked the fact the rehearsal dinner was only for close family. “Captain. Joaquin, is it? I know you heard everything I said. Mexico is your homeland. Your people.”

Torres allowed Ramirez to lean on the wall without his help. “I know my roots.”

“I wasn’t lying about the refugee camp. And I know you’ve done a lot in that area of work.”

“How do you-” Torres stammered, eyes flashing to Steve with worry. 

“Mijo, I have connections all over the world. And because I’m not an evil son of a bitch, I tend to keep them.”

Torres looked from Steve to Ramirez debating on whether to entertain this conversation any longer. But if training taught him anything, it was that if the suspect is talking, keep him talking. He motioned for his officers to leave them. 

“What are you getting at?”

“Ernesto knows about the camp. He knows the size of land. He knows my connections. He will kill me for it.” 

Steve mumbled, “Ernesto doesn’t seem like he’s much into the business of helping the less fortunate.”

Ramirez takes a grand leap here, Steve thinks, because the next words out of his mouth completely blindside him. It seemed like even saying them also left a bad taste in the criminal’s mouth. “You have to swear not to tell Y/N.”

Stepping forward and looking down at the injured man, Steve had to restrain himself from yelling his response. “Excuse me?”

“We can’t let her know right now.”

Torres held the same expression as Steve.

“You expect me to keep a secret from my partner? About her own father?”

“For the sake of your mission - yes, I know you’re planning on intercepting the shipment during the wedding - you cannot tell her until the day of the wedding.”

Steve hates that his reasoning is valid.

“Can’t tell her what?”

“The shipment isn’t a ‘what’. It’s ‘who’.”

“A hostage?” Torres almost yells because this changes the landscape, the game, the whole entire mission. 

“Multiple.”

“No, he’s not - he can’t be,” Torres is stuttering now, phone in his hand and about a dozen numbers he needs to call. 

Still, Ramirez seems like he’s telling the truth. Or at least, that’s what his body language tells Steve. “I would not lie about this.” 

Ramirez takes a deep breath before hanging his head in what looks like shame. “Ernesto is planning to kill me, marry or kill my daughter, and use the land to traffic humans.”

It immediately clicks with Steve. The reason why Ramirez was being edged out, the reason why your father wouldn’t tell you where the shipment was currently located, the reason business was going to boom in Europe. 

Ramirez continued, “Drugs are big business, Captain. But the sale of human lives…”

“The shipment - where is it?” Steve asked. 

“He wouldn’t tell me or White. That’s why we have to wait until the wedding. We can’t risk-”

Torres ended a phone call Steve hadn’t even known the kid had been on. He hooked Ramirez’s arm around his shoulders. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

Ramirez accepted the help, limping a few steps down the hallway before turning back to Steve. “Trust me when I say I know your partner, Captain. She can’t know right now. She’d kill him.”

But wasn’t that what you all wanted?

Flustered and quite overwhelmed with everything that had happened this morning and afternoon, Steve took a few minutes in the quiet hallway. 

There wasn’t much for him to do. Except set up security - because if there was one thing Steve was definitely going to do, it was see this whole mission through. 

The rest of the team back home would be briefed in the next few hours. And since Torres would be giving the briefing, everyone would know that this was a major secret kept from you. It would eat away at everyone, especially Steve. 

Digging into his pockets for his burner phone, he dialed the one number he thought you would be satisfied by.

“Maribel, hey. It’s Steve Rogers. I need a favor.”

     It wasn’t hard for Steve to conceal secrets. He was trained in code, intercepted Nazi messages during the war, and negotiated the safe return of hostages more times than he could count. 

Not telling you this would perhaps bite him in the ass in the long run, and there would most certainly be a dreaded argument in his future. But when he truly thought about it and what it could possibly mean if you seriously went out of your way to end this mission quicker than it was planned - the best possible choice was to keep this secret. 

Either he could tell you right now and have you do with it what you will, or he could tell you on the day of the wedding when all bets are off and the mission could be a success. 

That’s all the both of you have ever wanted, this he knows for sure. Getting rid of these people, getting rid of your father with help from the Avengers and their close connections, was worth more than a petty argument with the top crime boss who would never change his ways. It was best to stick it out, and tell you when the time was right. 

Because he will tell you. He promises himself that. 

After discussing the day and the rest of the plan over video chat, it was concluded that Sam and Bucky would be flying out a day earlier than planned. Having Ramirez simply waltz into the hotel when someone was having their regular smoke break was much too insane to ignore, and the more backup you guys had tomorrow and the next, the better. 

Scott took his leave after triple-checking if you were alright. He even offered to have a couple drinks with you down at the bar. You declined, excuse being that you would drink tomorrow at the dinner. 

Shrugging off your jacket and shirt was more painful than you hoped. It felt like someone had punched you with all their strength smack-dab in the middle of your fucking spine. Which, come to think of it, kind of happened? The pressure Seda applied was meant to subdue in the most awkward and painful of ways. He was trained to do so. Still, removing your bra should have been a simple task and instead it hurt like a bitch. 

The warm water from the shower relaxed the strained muscles as best as it could, and you only suffered minimally while applying your shampoo and conditioner. It was the hair drying and brushing of the hair that would prove difficult. 

Giving up halfway, you opened the bathroom door and peeked through, hoping Steve decided to stay in for the night. He was simply lounging on his bed, back pressed against the headboard as he watched Finding Nemo on Disney Junior. He was already dressed for bed.

“Steve?”

He glanced at you, worry etched on his face as he took in your embarrassed expression. “What is it?”

You opened the door fully, pajamas already on and a wet towel in your hand. You blushed madly. “Could you help me dry my hair? It hurts when I raise my arms.”

Steve was out of bed the second he heard the word ‘help’. “How bad is it? We can always fly in Dr. Cho to get you checked out-”

You giggled, passing him the hotel hair dryer. “I’ll just pop some advil every few hours and annoy you for a massage before tomorrow’s dinner. That sound good?”

He didn’t want to agree. If you were actually in severe pain, it wasn’t helpful to you or the mission. He cursed himself for not relieving you of Seda’s elbow sooner. 

“If you say so.”

You turned back to the mirror and gripped the counter, fingers tapping away as Steve grabbed the essentials. He used one of the hand towels to squeeze the excess water from your tips and separated your hair into sections. He blow dried your hair for a couple of minutes before deciding to alternate with the brush. 

The brush was shaped like a cylinder, the bristles much softer than that of other brushes he’d seen. 

“Just use it like any other brush. But once you get close to the tips, start twisting it. It’ll make my hair wavy.”

Steve nodded, doing exactly as you instructed. It was fifteen minutes of pure laughs and jokes as Steve styled your hair like some seventies movie star. He had always enjoyed the culture from that time and even if the show wasn’t actually set in the seventies, it was one of his guilty pleasures to watch That 70’s Show with Wanda. 

     Once finished, the two of you brushed your teeth and finished the rest of the movie in comfortable silence. He didn’t want to become distracted by something new so he shut off the television and turned to you, all snuggled up and scrolling through your phone. 

It was now or never. 

His voice was tinier than he hoped it would be, “Do you regret what we did?”

You were lying on your side facing Steve, phone plugged into the charger. You looked up, voice as equally tiny. “Oh, we’re talking about it now?”

Steve smiled, “You haven’t exactly brought it up either.”

“Well,” your chuckle came out as a huff. You put your phone back onto the bedside table.  “No, I don’t regret it.”

“You don’t?”

“Did you want me to?” you sounded surprised, but Steve knew you well enough to know you were only teasing. 

“No, I just-”

“Do you?”

“You gotta stop interrupting me,” Steve sighed. You raised your eyebrows. “I don’t regret it.”

You bit your lip and sat up straighter so your back was also leaning against the headboard. “So we both don’t regret it.”

“God, you annoy the hell out of me, you know that?” Steve admitted, kicking off his sheets and presenting what looked to be both a sad and honest grin. 

You laughed, kicking the sheets off as well and dangling your legs over the side. “Do I! You only remind me every damn day!”

Steve softened his voice once more, grin still present. “And yet, you never take a hint.”

You craved this playfulness and if you could continue like this for the rest of the night, for the rest of your lives, you would. But you remembered that there was a real conversation to be had. About the last seven years, the last two years, the last couple of days. Whether that conversation remained civil or evolved into an argument, it had to happen. 

“I guess we both act like everything is past us when it clearly isn’t. What should we do?”

Steve hesitated, “Do you want to fight?”

You shrugged, “I think we need to. I don’t plan on not speaking to you for months after if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

He huffed an involuntary laugh, body leaning forward slightly, “I hope not.”

You shared small smiles from your sides of the room, the air growing thicker but not uncomfortable enough to leave the room altogether. 

Steve decided to speak first. “I was stupid. And I made the wrong fucking choice. I was the biggest goddamn idiot on the planet to do that to a friend.” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Yeah. All of that’s true. But you still haven’t told me why you did it. You just gave me a half-assed apology because Sam forced you to, and you wonder why we never had our nightly girl talks again.”

“When I apologized, I hardly meant it.”

You nodded sarcastically, “Good start, Steve.”

“No, I-” he laughed, getting up to sit beside you. “I realized that I was truly, actually sorry… when you gave me your blood.”

You cringed, looking away from him and at the random monitors. “It sounds horribly cryptic when you say it like that.”

He smiled big, “It wasn’t even a mission. And if I recall correctly, you told me you would only help me again if we were on a mission.”

“Oh.”

He scooted closer to take your hand in his. “No, not ‘oh’. I was in and out of it but I can clearly make out when I’m getting a blood transfusion.”

“You weren’t gonna die-” you rolled your eyes, absentmindedly drawing circles on Steve’s knuckles. 

“Recovery would have been a hell of a lot harder.”

“I wasn’t the only volunteer-”

“You were the first.”

“So you’re interrupting me, now?”

Steve's smile never faltered. He leaned in and squinted playfully. “How does it feel?”

Pursing your lips, you surrendered. “Go on.”

“You won’t believe me when I say that I truly don’t know why I quit on you. I was just tired.”

“Tired of me?”

“God, no,” he responded quickly. “Tired of myself.”

“Steve…”

He stood up again. Running a hand through his hair, he took tiny steps back and forth. “We brought everyone back and they didn’t know they had been gone for years. I had to tell -” 

He swallowed hard, holding back tears. “I had to tell everyone Nat sacrificed her own soul for theirs.”

“Steve, we could have done it together. I was by your side,” you stood up as well, reaching out to grip his forearm. 

“And then Nick told me about your father. And how he was just picking up where he left off. Like Nat’s sacrifice meant nothing. Like it still means nothing.”

You sighed, a disappointed pout on your face. “So you took it out on me?”

His shoulders fell in defeat as he gently slapped his arms down over his hips. “I have no other excuse.” 

He didn’t try to sugarcoat it. It was the truth. No matter who asked the question, no matter how much he thought about it, the answer truly was that Steve had no excuse. You were the one thing connected to the evil of the past that he so desperately wanted to leave behind. “And then the world was just… we didn’t fix it.”

“How can you say that?”

He explained further, “People moved on. Five years was a long time and we just mucked it all up again.”

“Do you feel like Nat’s sacrifice wasn’t worth it?”

“She died for us. And the world was so chaotic the first few weeks. There were no breaks, there was nothing we could do but… watch.”

You could see where he was coming from. “Pepper has donated so much money. Created foundations. Bruce is locked in his lab all day trying to help slow down the sudden CO2 emissions. Bucky joined the Avengers for a fresh start. And Wanda-”

Steve pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Oh, god, Wanda.”

“Steve,” you stepped in front of him and tried pulling his hands away. He let you guide his arms back to his sides. “You can’t just blame yourself for something we all did.”

A tiny puff of air left his lips before he forced a smile. “Can’t I?”

“You tell this to your therapist, right?” you teased, happy to see him break slightly as he rolled his eyes. “You blame yourself, but I’m saying you don’t have to.”

He traced his index finger down from your shoulder to your wrist. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

And you believed him. The world could explode and erase you from existence and you would still believe him. 

“I feel like saying ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it.”

“I’ll work with whatever you can give me.”

And God, Steve thinks about how beautiful you look in the muted light of his bedside lamp, hair still a little frizzy from the hair dryer and the most radiant smile. So… soft. Again, the only sound besides your easy breathing and slight whistle was that lamp, the most annoying, fuzzy sound. Everything just felt so hazy, so tranquil, so… and yes, he’ll use the word again: soft. He could stay in that moment forever, where you were his and he was yours. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Steve shakes his head, wonder drowning out all other senses as he focuses on you. He steps closer, enveloping you in a tight hug, mindful of your bruised back. Before he could overthink this moment, to ruin it with the side of himself he was trying to lose, he leaned in to capture your lips in a most chaste kiss. 

It had been a long time since Steve had kissed anyone. The kiss you shared yesterday was the catalyst, but this was a promise. His last kiss was before the snap while he was on the run and trying to avoid responsibility. But it wasn’t like someone before wanted to bask in the warmth of Steve Rogers - no - there was actual emotion to this kiss. 

An ache swelled in the middle of your chest, hammering surely and true. Your mouth falls open the same time Steve inches his hand up your neck, allowing for the kiss to deepen and last. 

His heart was breaking and repairing itself all at once. Breaking for the time he had lost, repairing for the time he had gained. He needed you, wanted you, lost himself in your touch. That same ache in your chest grew in his, pulsating and heavy. His fingers crept into your hair, curling themselves in the loose strands.

He swears you were born for this - to be willing and wanting and breathtakingly good at kissing. He’s so desperate to feel more of you, to taste more than he thinks he deserves, and he almost whines when your fingers also start to tangle in the hair near his neck. 

“Steve, are you sure we should be doing this?” Your voice prompted him to kiss deeper, apply more pressure in the fear that you would change your mind - change your mind about him. 

Almost immediately, red flags propped up and he had to force himself away. He didn’t know your dating history, he didn’t know if you ever emotionally recovered from your assault, he didn’t know. He cursed inwardly for last night, keeping a respectable distance as he checked. 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. I promise you that.”

His voice was thick like honey, smooth and true in the honest words he was saying. 

You had been hesitant for a long while after what had happened to you. You couldn’t stand the simple touch of anyone besides Natasha. But she helped you through it, she shared her own experiences from the early Red Room days, and she had never officially recognized your recovery - she didn’t have to as long as you knew in your mind and body that you had. 

‘The dreadful experience will be a part of you, but it will not ever control you.’ Her words were like prayer. 

But Steve’s touch was natural and wanted. You never shied away from him, not ten years ago and certainly not now. He would never hurt you, you knew this, and he was double-checking to confirm it. 

“I only want you.”

His face resembled a literal question mark, like he didn’t quite accept your admission. Like it was hard to believe you wanted to be with him after everything he put you through. “Do you want me?”  

“Yes. Honest to God, I’m just going with what feels right.”

“That’s just a nicer way of saying you’re thinking with your dick.”

Steve couldn’t contain the burst of laughter that left his lips and hit yours. He pulled back and smiled, eyes crinkling at the sides. “I promise you it’s not that.”

You cupped his face and drew tiny circles on his flushed cheeks. “Hm, so you don’t know what you’re doin’? Thought you always had a plan.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “And apparently I’m always brave.”

“And righteous.”

“Downright patriotic.”

You grinned up at him, your toes sore from how long you had been bending them to hoist you up. “So, your plan?”

Steve kissed you once, twice, three times. “I don’t have one.”

“Pretty brave of you to admit that.”

Steve’s smile dropped slightly to showcase a more serious emotion. Still, his eyes held the most genuine quality. “I just want to be yours.”

You pressed up against him, tiptoes straining and fists clutching his shirt. The kiss was desperate now, as were the both of you. You gasped in between each long peck. “All this time? Why didn’t we say something?”

Embracing you once more, Steve led the two of you to the foot of his bed and fell forward. He landed on top of you, weight nowhere near actually crushing you. His legs were slightly parted, his knees touching the lateral sides of yours. Accepting that the both of you had played a role and delayed this portion of your relationship - Steve was a coward, he knew this, but hearing you say that you also realized your mistakes made him feel weirdly glad. Like he wasn’t alone in this.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” Steve breathed in your neck, kissing the depths of your collarbones and the points of your shoulders. 

“Never,” you whispered, gasping a moment later as he sucked particularly hard. You reached below and tugged the end of his shirt upward. He took it off quickly and before resuming his conquest on your neck, he tugged yours off as well. 

It functioned like this for another ten minutes, strong kisses and gasps and whines, before you were both down to your underwear and simply petting each other higher up on the bed. 

Steve pulled away abruptly, a blush spreading along his neck and down his chest as he thought about the best way to phrase his next sentence. “I didn’t really pack any condoms.”

You actually snorted, pushing away loose strands of your hair as you looked up from beneath him. “Woah, how far did you think you were going to get here, Rogers?”

He was used to the sarcasm, but oh my god did it do something feral to him while in bed with you.  He suddenly flipped you over, holding your hips above his as you settled yourself. It was like a case of whiplash, and before you knew it, you were placed on top of him to grind down and do all the work yourself. 

“Seriously?” His voice was light but raspy, both a sweet question and a warning. 

You grind your hips down on him, feeling the way his hard cock rubbed against your clothed core. Last night was different - you could feel the heat of him, the initial size not lost on you whatsoever. But here you were actually seeing the thick outline in all its glory, a small wet patch forming on his briefs near his twitching tip. “Years of sleeping in my bed only to want to fuck me now?”

He rolled his hips up, his palms beginning a slow and steady pace smoothing alongside your stomach. You relaxed right away, even though it felt like your insides were going to turn upside down, and you rested your hands over his to help guide him. 

“You gonna let me?”

 And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing in the whole world. His palms continued their tracks, reaching up to cup your breasts through your sports bra.  You got the message, giggling as you lifted your arms up. He lifted it up and over your head, throwing it to the other side of the room. Steve immediately attacked, lifting himself and readjusting your hips as well. He sucked your left nipple like a goddamn professional, swirling his tongue around the tight nub and using his teeth only briefly, delighted in the sharp hitch in your breath as he did so. He moved on to the other one, repeating the same process and grinding your hips down on him to match. He trailed quick pecks along your chest and up your neck, his hand finding its way back to your hair. Just below your occipital, so very sensitive, and he tugged your head back at an awkward angle. He kissed his way up, stretching your neck out, and you adjusted to the burn as quickly as the pleasure from it came. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out, mind scrambled but still coherent enough to remember you were on birth control and clean. “I have the shot.”

This had Steve reeling, balance now off as he flipped you once more, hips coming down to meet yours as you thrust upward looking for some relief. The thought of spilling into you with no barrier had to be one of the kinks he didn’t know he had. 

“Safe word?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder playfully, “Really, Steve?”

“Safe. Word.”

It wasn’t like you were about to tie each other down for your first time together, but you knew what was flying through his mind. He needed to know you felt safe during whatever the two of you did tonight, make sure you felt calm and at ease and relaxed. Steve would rather die than hurt you physically. 

“Widow.” You paused, smirking up at him as he accepted your decree. “Great, now I’m thinking about Natasha and that time she entered the compound in just that little, red bikini-”

Steve thumbed your bottom lip, then carefully shoved it into your mouth and placed it over your lax tongue to get you to stop talking. Your jaw instantly relaxed and you waited a few moments before locking eyes and enclosing his thumb in your lips. You sucked and swirled your tongue around it, pushing slightly so it rested on your puckered lips. Steve rolled his hips down again, his heat meeting yours in a mash of uncoordinated thrusts. You spread your legs to allow him more room. He had to remove his thumb in fear he would come right then and there.

He inched down lower, hands reaching down to cup your ass and lift you up slightly. He kissed all along your thighs, up to your hip bones, expertly avoiding the one area he knew you wanted him. His beard scratched and poked on your delicate skin, tickling you as he moved closer to your center. This would most certainly hurt in the morning, but nothing a little lotion and vaseline couldn’t fix. You mewled embarrassingly loud, a long drawn out sound that caused Steve to involuntarily rut against the mattress. It had been so long since he had been with someone. But this someone was you. He honestly didn’t know if he could hold out for as long as he wanted. He slowly peeled off your underwear. 

“Where do you want me?”

You lifted your head from the pillow to look down at him, eyebrows furrowed and cheeks incredibly red. “Games, Rogers?”

Steve growled and hoisted your open legs on his shoulders, pulling you closer so that you could feel his stuttering breath. “I’m the one playing?”

His question didn’t quite land considering his sudden manhandling had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and momentarily blinding you. After such a harsh day, the roughness of this particular situation shouldn’t have been so well received by your body. But it was consensual, it was with someone you trusted, and you were also in control. Just knowing that made you crave it. 

“If you don’t get your mouth on me-” you started, trying desperately to move your hips closer to his mouth. And god, did he want to dip lower and suck your glistening heat under his waiting mouth. You were positively dripping, all shiny and welcoming. He hadn’t ordered dessert with dinner, and hey, this would do nicely. 

But your quick quips ignited the Steve that would pick you last during training line-ups. He would leave you for the end, without a team, foot tapping rapidly on the floor as you glared at him with an amused smile. Then he would act like you were the last choice he just had to pick, which you were, and you’d lose the first match on purpose to ruin his scoreboard. It always worked like this, he knew, but did he ever pick you first the next time? No, your bothered attitude excited him too much.

Now, with an impatient attitude bolstering underneath his body, he found himself raising his hand a few inches up in the air. “Stop sassin’!”

The slap echoed after it connected against your bottom, the angle at which it impacted clumsy and inelegant. He smacked the side, surprised by the sharp scream you exhaled. As quickly as he acted, he pulled back. “Oh my god, I should have asked first. I’m so sorry.”

You opened your eyes, the soft light illuminating the room still too bright. You shook away the white spots from your vision. You seriously didn’t know if that was an orgasm or simply a tidal wave of intense pleasure. Still, you were sort of out of it as Steve’s voice tried to draw you back in. 

You looked down at him, “Do that again.”

Steve blinked quickly, unknowing if he truly registered your words correctly. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t think I’d enjoy that. But oh my god, do that again.”

Steve hesitated and to ease into it better, he decided to not keep you waiting any longer and attached his eager lips to your gleaming ones down below. You fluttered your eyes shut, surprised by how quickly he found your sweetest spot, and you rutted against him harder as the minutes flew by. He swirled his tongue in tight O’s and figure eights, teeth barely scratching but when they did, sent you flying upwards. But he just gripped onto your thighs and readjusted you on his shoulders, fingers digging in almost painfully. His beard burned the inside of your thighs, rubbing deliciously and uncomfortably. He shifted his soft and wriggling tongue to that special spot on the inside of your left lip, his fierce grip not allowing you to shift away as he ate. The hands that were clutching the bedsheets now flew onto his scalp, gripping his hair tightly and you pushed him in deeper. Steve groaned from the pleasant sting, cock straining in his briefs as he rutted into the air. 

The pressure was too much and you wanted him off of you and on you at the same time. Moaning so loud it was deafening, you didn’t notice he lost his grip on one of your legs to connect his palm back to the side of your ass. 

“God!” you yelled blissfully, one hand leaving his head to slam back into the headboard. He repeated the action, his own moans vibrating on you and sending you to a different plane of existence. Each slap grew in strength and he alternated sides, his mouth never leaving your sweet center.

He was sweating now, dying to touch himself and get you off at the same time. He circled his hips mid-air, the friction against his briefs not enough and all too much. 

“Fuck, I can’t believe you like that,” he whined. 

You chuckled through desperate moans, “Are you judging me right now?”

“I’m judging how fucking wrecked it makes me,” he admitted, mouth now working overtime and ready to lead you off the edge. He worked faster, tongue now assaulting your clit eagerly. Steve can feel both his pulse and your pulse gaining momentum, thrumming away inside his skull and vibrating deliciously as he brought you closer. He suspects you’ve got a few good seconds before you’re coming on his mouth. 

“Steve… Steve!” you begged, hips bucking awkwardly against him. He wrapped both arms around your thighs again and headed for the finish line, humming against you and basking in the glory of your end. You broke around him, the scream you let out causing the heat in his stomach to tighten and spread to his own thighs. You wiggled fiercely, attempting to get away from him as he continued to lick you. He made sure to leave some of your release behind, even if his lips and chin told another story. 

He set your legs back down on the bed with him still in the middle. He could still see how shiny you were in between. Selfishly, Steve maneuvered to get himself out of his briefs and settle back in the middle. There, he took pleasure in simply viewing himself, strained and practically purple with desire, at level with your wet mound. 

“You’ve been practicing, huh?” He snapped from his dirty thoughts and looked back at your blissed out face. You also had a soft luster on your skin.

Steve chuckled, hands gripping the sides of your hips to massage them. “Not recently. But the USO girls were just as tuned up as I was at the time.”

You grinned wide, “Now that’s something I didn’t know about you. You fuck ‘em?”

Steve reached down to grip the base of his cock, the pressure building and he seriously didn’t want to blow his load before you both took the next step. He willed himself to calm down before he responded. “Yeah, but please don’t go tellin’ everyone.”

“Who knew you were such a slut?” you teased, voice dripping with such intensity that Steve shut his eyes to drown in it. You wrapped your leg around his waist and tipped him over, coming back to rest your hips atop his. Hands sprawled along the expanse of his chest and unclothed heat now rubbing along his bare cock. Steve tipped his head back, a deep groan rising from the middle of his chest as your drenched lips parted to swallow the thickness of his cock. You rocked back and forth, your sensitive clit nudging his tip every so often. You had already come once, and you reveled in the simple fact that this must be torture for Steve. “Tell me, Steve. How do you want me?”

Steve short-circuited. 

“Doll, I want you in every imaginable way,” he whined, bucking his hips. He grinned when his short movement caused you to whimper. “I want you on top of me, doing nothing, as I fuck up into you.”

You let out a ragged gasp, hips moving faster. You were practically dripping along his cock. Steve continued, “I want you underneath me as I fold you in half and your ankles are dangling in the air. I want you on your stomach as I use your hips how I want.”

Your eyes were wide, the blush on your cheeks extending all the way down to your naked chest. This was so surreal. Just last week you switched his special sugar for salt and watched him literally sob and almost throw up as he sipped his morning tea. 

“But I also want you to hold me down and fuck me however you see fit. I want you to steal my control, I don’t want it. I just need you.”

His voice was wrecked, choked whimpers caught in between his syllables and eyelids fluttering slowly. You shot down to kiss him hard, hands tangling in his hair and hips grinding long and slow. You were rewarded with a sticky bead of pre-come from his sensitive slit. You were already milking him and he hadn’t even entered you yet. 

“Y/N, are you sure?”

You detached your lips, forehead now resting on his and your breaths intermingled. “I’m sure.”

He didn’t know what willed him to flip you over so fast, whether it was the serum or his desperate need to sink into your tight warmth, but he succeeded. His gaze was intense, like he was trying to find any hesitation he so didn’t want to find. But there was none. Your eyes were bright and happy, and he had only seen this look a few times. He felt incredibly lucky to experience it now. 

“I’m sorry I lost you,” he spoke without thinking. Because he truly was sorry, he was so fucking sorry. But to have you here, so vulnerable and allowing him to see you so defenseless, he felt like he didn’t deserve it without telling you once again that he was sorry. 

You gave him a toothy smile, cheeks rising and causing the skin by your eyes to crinkle. You guided his head down to plant his lips on yours again. It was innocent enough for the circumstances, just a gentle press with slow movements. 

You pushed him back to meet his eyes. “I probably should have held on tighter.”

He knows the color of your eyes, but never in this lighting. He knows the sweat of your body, but not when it mixes with his. He knows your talkative mouth, but never pink and swollen in a pleasant pout. He knows your voice, but never when it calls out his name while you writhe underneath him. He knows you now, all of you, open and vulnerable for him.

Steve presses one more deep kiss on your lips before positioning himself better in between your legs. He lifts you up slightly, bending your knees and spreading your legs so your feet are planted on the mattress. Then he slowly guides himself into your tight heat. 

It’s incredibly overwhelming for both parties. He hadn’t exactly prepared you with his fingers and his size is a little much. He was thicker than anything you were used to, and the sting left you wanting him to move already and pause to settle for maybe an hour. It’s like he read your mind because he moved even slower as he pushed deeper, head dropping to the curve of your neck, gasping against your skin. You tried to encourage him, rolling your hips and hooking one leg around him. The sting still overpowered any sense of pleasure, so you rolled your hips against his to try and better adjust for yourself. 

He grasped onto the side of your hip tightly, “Doll, if you don’t stop doing that I’m not gonna last.” 

You blushed, slightly embarrassed, “I was just trying to get comfortable quicker.”

Steve groaned and planted a few sweet kisses to your heated neck. “Do you want to stop? I can work you out one more time before we do this?”

You turned your head slightly to kiss across his cheek. “I want you now. I just need to adjust first.”

Steve nodded quickly, pressing in more and pausing to let you roll your hips. He bit his lip harshly, a cracked gasp escaping every so often as you worked yourself on him. Once he was fully seated inside of you, he closed his eyes and just held you. 

He tried not to think of anything else other than you. How you felt, how you smelled, how you sounded. Who you were, who you became, who you will be. He was swallowed in you and he didn’t ever want to leave that abyss. 

A rush of heat settled inside your stomach, maddening and burning with such intensity it was practically speaking to you. “Steve, you can move. I’m ready, please move.”

He’s as deep as he can go and you’re both breathing hard and he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. As far as declarations of love go, this was perhaps the most graceless, but he knew it was sincere and real. Steve felt a moment of unrelenting panic, like he had just accidentally verbally admitted it. But he hadn’t, and selfishly enough, he would keep it to himself for as long as he could until he himself could come to terms with it. 

There are definitely going to be marks on your skin once you’re done here, but you couldn’t care less - not when Steve just let go of his worries and started to thrust in and out of you, deep and slow. He meets you with a long kiss, hips picking up their pace as you match his rhythm. His hands grip your hips tighter, every thrust working deep into you and prying desperate moans for him to savor. 

The drag as he pulls out leaves you lightheaded. And as he pushes back in, it leaves you with a burst of satisfaction at the base of your spine. You can’t even form words as you’re reduced to a stuttering series of ‘uh-uh-uhs’, fully in the moment and fucked stupid. All you could do is push your hips forward and up to meet him halfway, match your moans to his, clench around him to draw out that choked sob from his throat that he tries and fails to contain. You tried your best to ignore the slight pain in the middle of your back, and the sting and stretch down below made sure of it. 

He was stammering around every syllable of your name. Breathy moans followed. 

“Steve, faster, please baby.” Steve stuttered in his movements, eyes squeezed shut as he registered your request. He followed through, however, lifting your hip in one hand and turning you at an angle that made him hit deeper and in a special spot you didn’t know you had. No one had reached it, not even when you played with yourself, and your squeal of delight alerted Steve of his accomplishment. Each pleasurable noise encouraged Steve to maintain whatever rhythm he had going. So he hit it over and over again, working at it hungrily, ignoring his shaking arms and praying the serum could be useful for more than just bullets and super speed. 

“You feel so fucking perfect. So fucking great,” he panted, watching your face as it contorted into a silent scream. You were coming again, hands braced on his biceps as your voice failed to warn him. You clenched and unclenched around him, head thrown far back into the pillow as your chest ripped with the sound it was harbouring. 

You had never come from penetration alone and you bet the fact it was Steve bringing you to climax was definitely a main factor, but it was so damn intense that your legs gave out and simply flopped onto the mattress. Steve stopped hammering into you for a minute, breathing heavily as he allowed you a cooldown. 

“I didn’t feel that coming, I’m sorry,” you laughed, arm coming up to cover your eyes. 

Steve chuckled and removed your arm, “You good?”

You were still seeing white spots and your head was slightly cloudy, but the knowledge that Steve hadn’t yet come fueled you. And the possibility of him coming inside you kickstarted another wave of desire in each of your vertebrae. 

“Yeah, I just have one favor,” you stated honestly, wiggling uncomfortably. “Could you flip me over? In this position, you’re really pushing down on my bruise.”

He moaned shamefully from the greedy thought of having you on your stomach. The angel on one shoulder chastised him, telling him to flip you over for the sake of your comfort. But that little devil, greedy and seeking his finish, told him to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress. He compromised. 

He flipped you over and helped you place a pillow just below your hips. He watched as you threw your hair to one side and bent your arms at the elbows. Hands now placed below your head and hips wiggling in front of him, Steve parted your legs and sunk into you again. 

“Yes, fuck, yes…” you mewled, hips raising ever so slightly to drag him in deeper. Steve watched the area where you were connected, wonder clouding his mind as he dipped deeper, deeper, until his hips connected with your bottom. He wasn’t used to this position and he never really thought that he would enjoy it so much. It was like he reached new depths, your pleasure could only come from the way he rolled his hips - yeah, he needed to put you in every position his mind could fathom. 

His jaw went slack as he pulled out and pushed back in, hair sticking to his own forehead and mouth feeling dry and watery at the same time. 

He fucked you in earnest, hoping he could draw out one more orgasm from you. You were putty beneath him, hair now mangled and sticking with the sweat on your neck and back. You were a repetition of ‘yes, yes, yes’ and ‘fuck please, fuck, please!’, sloppy in all senses. He didn’t slow down because one: he was chasing his finish, and two: you didn’t tell him to. 

You were a whimpering mess, a tiny pool of drool forming beneath your mouth and on the sheets. It wasn’t like you didn’t try to swallow it - you physically couldn’t. 

Steve was growing erratic now as his end neared. He fell over you, none of his weight actually on you as he wrapped one arm under your stomach and the other hand sneaking its way to your clit. His cheek was planted on your back and in that moment, he remembered your growing bruise. So he lifted his face back up and planted several wet kisses over, inbetween, and alongside your shoulder blades. The soft gesture had you tearing up from both adoration and heat. You fisted the sheets underneath you and met Steve’s ruts as best as you could. 

He rubbed quick circles over your clit, relishing in the feeling of your velvet walls pulsating around him. “Come for me, doll.”

You didn’t know if he could hear himself begging, but he repeated that sentence several more times before you spoke. It was like you chose for him. “Come inside me, Steve. Please, please, please!”

That strung-out whine of yours did it. Steve pressed his mouth against your skin with a breathless groan as he spilled into you in long spurts. Simply feeling him coat your walls with what sounded like a painful cry had you coming for the third time tonight. You didn’t have enough energy to vocalize it so just pushed your head into the pillow and prayed you could still walk tomorrow. 

Steve’s heartbeat is in his ears as he comes down from his high. He enjoys it for a few more seconds before finally snapping back to reality, lifting himself from you and slowly pulling out. He groaned deeply as he watched his spent drip from you and onto the pillow hoisting you up. He wrapped a hand around himself to milk whatever else he had as he watched. 

You two lay beside each other for several minutes, chests heaving and blood settling to its normal speed again. 

You glanced to your left and giggled as you witnessed Steve’s blissed out state, tip of his nose still pink, eyelashes creating such a lovely shadow on his cheeks, cock giving a few spent stutters as the rush of blood found another body part to supply. 

He turned to you as well, a lazy smile greeting you. “We’re good at that.”

This time you laughed loudly, throwing yourself over his chest and hugging him close. He laughed with you and kissed the top of your head as he enjoyed the feeling.

After another couple minutes, you both decided it was time to clean up. He resisted the urge to laugh when you stood up, legs wobbly and chest still trying to catch full breaths. You looked drunk, eyes glossy and hair disorderly. The look suited you, really. 

You thought the same about him. 

Steve swore he was about to crumble when you both returned from the bathroom and you headed for your own bed. It was a betrayal for only a millisecond before you commented on how you were not sleeping in soiled sheets and that he could ‘obviously’ join you in your bed tonight. You kept talking, telling him how you weren’t necessarily a cuddler but you would sacrifice one night for him. But ‘do not be alarmed when you find me on the other side of the bed in the morning!’, and the good ache in his chest swelled once again. 

     Once, in 1935, when Steve was seventeen and too weak to breathe in a lick of clean air, the pneumonia eating away at his lungs and taunting his mother, who was rotating between cold and hot rags; that 1935 sickness was one of the few times he was hopeless. Sure, he pulled through because he’s Steve Rogers. But not being able to breathe really scares a person, and so he didn’t feel hopeless - he was hopeless. His own body betrayed him and made his mother, who nursed him while Bucky worked extra shifts at the dock to help her with groceries, cry like a blubbering newborn - well, Steve was forced to put his faith in God. It’s what his mother would have wanted him to do.

And when he couldn’t reach far enough to grasp Bucky’s trembling hand, when he watched him fall into that icy ravine to his supposed death in 1944, he was hopeless. Completely obliterated from the bottom of his heart, up. 

In 2018, when he lost the ultimate battle and saw half the world disintegrate, and the itchiness spread itself far and wide to all the crevices in his crumbling soul, pouring into crack after crack after crack - there was no need to even label himself hopeless anymore. He hadn’t had hope in anything after he caused the destruction of one of his only true 21st century friendships; not since he dropped that shield at the feet of one friend while he walked away with another. There was no hopelessness - simply less. 

But now, with you in his arms and treading lightly along his second chance, his heart was bursting with the possibility of relearning the definition of hope, craving to feel human again - to feel like Steve Rogers again. Sure, he may still believe his glass is half empty instead of half full, and he was pushing the ideals of that shield far too much down the line, but Steve swore the awe in your eyes was the hope he had lost. 

He couldn’t believe you were the host of it all along. 

So he settled in his new home, in his new hope, praying God would let him have it, and closed his eyes. This Steve, who was asleep for over seventy years and was robbed of the life he was supposed to live. This Steve, who wished he could erase all the lost time filled with stupid tantrums and half-assed apologies and pretend it never happened. No lies about ‘maybe it helped you two grow!’ He had poisoned his happiness years ago and god forbid he would let himself do it again. 

This Steve, who only wanted to protect and be protected. Steve, with all his heart, his mind, and his soul, burning brilliant.

~

A/N: man i know this is long but i literally write the chapters in sections and i don’t realize until I paste them together omgggg xxMoni

Taglist: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​ 

[breadoffoxy]

Magic Hands

Summary: Two of your best friends come over for game night, but mother nature has other plans in mind. Being a woman sucks, but your friends offer you their talented hands to help you feel better.

Pairing: Jimin x f. Reader x Taehyung 

Genre: Smut, NSFW

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, threesome, sexy sandwich, pre-period symptoms, sexy massage, language, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), kissing (fxm and mxm), overstimulation kink, begging kink, hinting at Taehyung having a foot kink but there is no actual foot action, I’m sorry Taehyung is just so kinky in this, Princess pet-name, lots of breast action, maybe something considered food play and cum play, dom Jimin and Taehyung (slightly switches towards each other).

Word Count: 4,242

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent and it wrecked me writing it. Thanks grammar god @rougebangtan​ so much for beta reading this! I appreciate your help so much. I’ve learned so much from your feedback, and you’ve really helped strengthen my writing. Thanks friends in the ghostie discord who helped inspire me and hype me up to write this. I appreciate all of yall!

-> next

It was almost that time of the month.

The one that you felt served no purpose except to biologically torture you.

Yes, that time of the month. You absolutely hated it.

Despite the extra pillows you added, the chair was doing no favors for your aching back. You groan as you shift in your desk chair, leaning forward to better massage the lower muscles causing you pain, and your breast brush against the table in front of you. The groan deepens as your oversensitive mounds press lightly against the hard surface.

You’d think you’d have your period down by now as an adult, but no, your body loved to keep throwing curve balls at you. For the last few months, the pre-period symptoms have been worse for you than the period itself. The week before your period, you would suffer from lower back pain, which at first had worried you, but you figured out, it was a normal part of PMS.  

Your breasts also suffered more now than they used to, as well. They would easily become oversensitive, with your nipples always erect, and trying to poke through the clothing you wore over them. It doesn’t help that your breasts were stuffed into your tight-fitting bra. The mounds swelled in size, increasing in both firmness and tenderness, despite all logic.  At this point, you worried you may have to go shopping for a new bra size exclusively because of those symptoms.

Oh god, all the extra hormones made you always horny too. Not that you weren’t normally, but now you were extra horny all the time. The sound of your phone vibrating angrily on your desk makes you stop your weak ministrations to check the message.

     Jimin: y/n, we’re here!

     Jimin: Why aren’t you answering the door!

     Jimin: Let us in!

You see the three dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen, meaning Jimin is adding more messages to your chat. The man was always impatient and desiring attention.

     You: I’m coming!

After standing up, you put your arms up above your head in order to give your back a good stretch before you make your way out of your room, and towards your door with quick steps. You swing the door open to see your two friends, who you had invited over for, which had now turned into, a poorly timed game night. You kind of wanted to ditch and just make a nest in your bed, but you’d feel bad canceling on your friends.  

Jimin is leaning against the wall next to your door. Phone in his hands, he looks up excitedly when you open the door. He does his little habit of running his hand through his blonde hair, and his long earrings sway at the motion. Jimin is dressed smartly in his black shirt with a deep V-neck, with a necklace falling slightly below his exposed collarbones. Despite his shorter stature, compared to your other guy friends, his legs look endlessly long in those black jeans and a black belt wraps around his thin waist.  

Taehyung, the other friend invited to game night, had his head tilted back to look at the sky as he waited for you to open the door, his Adam’s apple prominently displayed. He sported a peaceful expression as he glanced at you. His light caramel hair peeked out from his red snapback. His lithe form was hidden underneath a large cozy white shirt and dark pants while a combination of studs and rings lined the lower part of his ears. Two large plastic bags could also be seen hanging from his hands by his side.

“Finally.” Jimin huffs at you despite a smile being on his lips.

He pulls you into a hug which you gladly accept. You turn your head to make a face at Taehyung behind Jimin’s back, trying to distract yourself from the sensation of your chest smushed up into Jimin’s. The tall man laughs at the both of your antics. "I'm going to set this inside.” Taehyung holds up the bags when you try to peek in them, and you spot a variety of snack, chips, drinks, and box of strawberries.  

“Thanks, Tae.” You coo fondly when you see your favorite snack. Just the distraction you needed. Taehyung nods, and walks past you and into your home comfortably, heading straight for the kitchen.  

“Jimin.” You tap his back trying to signal the hug had been going on for a little too long. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, at least. “Time to go inside.”

Instead of letting you go, the blonde man tightens his grip on you. He starts waddling you backwards and into your house.

“Jimin, let go.” You giggle happily.  

“But what if I don’t want to?” He retorts and laughs as the two of you backtrack into your living area slowly.  

“How are we going to beat Tae at videogames if one of us can’t see the tv?” You question after you finally come to a stop. You can hear the sound of crinkling plastic bags behind you as Taehyung placed the assorted snacks behind you, on the kitchen counter.

Jimin pulls a fake look of seriousness that makes you laugh. “You have a mirror somewhere we can use, right?”

“Do you know how hard that would be? No way.” You hit his chest as you lean back from his hold. He just grins at you.

“Well, you know I can’t let you go until you say the magic words.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I am not saying that.” You roll your eyes.

“Well, then.” His fingers flex against their hold on your sides in warning.  

“No, don’t you-” Your retaliation turns into a shriek as the man tickles your sides.

“Say it.” Jimin continues.

You can barely say anything with how much you’re laughing and squirming. It’s unfair.

“Oh, sweet Jimin–” You get out somehow between laughs. “The cutest angel– ow, ow.” In the midst of your squirming, your back turns just the right way for spasms to rack across it.

Instantly, Jimin stops his tickling and unravels his arms around your form. He takes a tentative step back to give you room. “Are you ok, y/n?”

“Jimin, don’t kill her.” The sound of rustling plastic stops as Taehyung turns to look over at the two of you. He frowns as he sees you leaning slightly to the side, trying your best to ease the spasming muscles on your back.

“I’m fine.” You strain out. “My body’s just been hurting for a couple days now. It’ll go away soon.”

“y/n, I’m so sorry.” Jimin laments sadly. His hands are still frozen in the air, wanting to help inspect you as his eyes roam over your form instead.  

“Did you get rid of that crappy chair yet?” Taehyung questions, the sound of bags crinkling once again, as he resumes his task.

Just how many snacks did he buy?

Jimin’s face turns serious as he goes to move around you and towards your room. “I told you to get rid of that piece of junk.”

“No, no, no.” You reach out and grabbing Jimin’s wrist quickly.

He stops immediately at your touch and glances back at you. Despite the chair being a piece of junk, you don’t want him to throw it out. You have other things to spend money on. Plus, it’s not really the problem this time. “It’s not the chair, Jimin, I swear. Don’t throw it out.”

Jimin eyes you critically. “So, if it’s not that, then what?”

“Errr…” You avoid eye contact as you quickly try to think of a lie and avoid Jimin’s skeptical face. “Wow, Taehyung sure bought a lot of snacks. We should help him out.”

You quickly let go of Jimin’s arm and, in order to seem nonchalant, you try to brush past him in the same manner he did earlier to you. But, of course, he won’t let you escape so easily and moves to secure you by the wrist.  

It's your turn to look back at him now. The look he gives you makes your heart pound. It’s so caring, but there is a touch of sadness in his eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, Jimin.” You sigh as you look at the ground, suddenly so much more interested in your feet now. “It’s just… I’m… about to start my period.” You stumble through the words and just decide to get it over with. It may be awkward, but your friends are good at saving a good time.  

“…Oh!” Jimin drops your arm, and runs his hand through his hair nervously. “I’m sorry I was pushing.”

“It’s just parts of my body aches right before my period.” You start speaking quickly. “It’s quite normal for the lower back to hurt before it starts.”

Oh god, why won’t the words stop now.  

“It’s only started happening the last few months so I’m not quite used to it yet.”  

Why are you telling them all of this unnecessary information?

“I would kill for a massage.” You finally end with a cringe.  

“If you want…” You look back at Jimin who speaks up with slight hesitation. His hands are clasped together nervously, “…I could give you a massage?”

“He’s got quite the magical hands, you know.” Taehyung shouts from across the room. Jimin wiggles his fingers, gaining confidence at his friend’s words.

“…If you wouldn’t mind?” You tilt your head after pondering the idea, smiling sheepishly at your friend. “I’d appreciate it Jimin, thanks.”

“It’s not a problem.” Jimin twirls a finger, signaling for you to turn around. “I wish I could have helped you earlier.”

“If your hands really are magical, I’ll text you my period tracker.” You turn around, chuckling.

You feel the warmth of Jimin’s body move closely behind yours, and his breath tickles your neck giving you goosebumps. Warm hands are placed on your shoulders and start kneading, slowly working their way down. You hum appreciatively, his hands do feel nice.  

Now facing the kitchen, you gasp as you notice the crazy number of snacks lined up on the counter. “Taehyung!”

“It’s not enough, isn’t it?” Mumbles Taehyung as he looks at the pile. An open box of strawberries is in his hand, a couple already devoured by the strawberry lover.

“It’s too– oh, Jimin, right there.” You practically moan as you become putty in his hands.  

“This good?” He asks as his hands rest at the base of your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the center of your lower back.  

You nod your head up and down quickly to show your appreciation.

“Good.” He hums as he maneuvers your bodies so you can lean against him, and rest your head back on his shoulder. His hands fit between your bodies, pulling lightly at your shirt. “Is it ok if I reach under?”

“Yeah.” You jump slightly when his skin touches your own, making him chuckle.

You are suddenly all too aware of the position the two of you are in. His thighs grazing yours, feeling every inch of his hard chest against your back, his fingers circling pleasantly into your tired muscles, and his breath sweeping over the side of your face as he looks down at you in concentration. You close your eyes and hide your face into his neck, everything becoming just a little bit overwhelming for your over sensitive body.

“Want one?” You turn your head, and open your eyes to see Taehyung holding a strawberry in front of your face.  

“Thanks, Tae.” You mumble. lifting your head from its resting place on Jimin, but before you could reach up to take the offered fruit, you feel it brushing softly against your lips.

Taehyung is eyeing your lips intensely before they move up to make eye contact with your own. He prods the strawberry against your lips a little harder, and you open your mouth in response. He smirks as he slides the strawberry into your mouth until it reaches the base. You close your mouth around it and bite the fruit, the sweet flavor filling your mouth.

Taehyung’s thumb swipes at your bottom lip, wiping off the strawberry juice, before he slides the digit into his mouth, sucking it clean. “Tasty, isn’t it?”

You whimper at the ache you feel between your legs. Thighs rubbing together unconsciously, you realize how wet you at that moment, from the slickness that coats your panties, smearing your upper thighs.  

Taking a deep breath, you to try to clear your mind. “O-Ok guys, I think I’m good. Thanks for the special treatment. So, I’ll um, go set the games up now.”

Jimin grips onto your waist before you can bolt. “You’re still so stiff though. Are you sure?” His hands prod at a sensitive spot making you tense as he works the muscle out. It’s slightly painful, but pleasurable at the same time.

“I have magic hands too.” Taehyung mimics the hand wiggle Jimin preformed earlier. “You said ‘parts of your body ache’,” Taehyung air quotes, “Where else hurts? Are your feet sore?” He questions almost hopefully.

You turn your head to the side indignantly, “No, they’re fine. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough today, though. So, don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself.” Jimin reprimands, pinching you lightly.

“Ow.” You tilt your head back again to try to give him the best glare you can manage, but instead it looks more like an adorable pout which makes him laugh. “Don’t laugh, ok? I’m not going to ask you to massage my breasts.” You blurt out.

Jimin’s hands freeze and you feel his form stiffen behind you. The atmosphere around you changes. It feels just as heady as you feel when Jimin looks at you with dark eyes.

“If you want me to do that, I can.” Taehyung replies casually and confidentially.  

You whip your head back towards Taehyung, your eyes wide with surprise. He’s rubbing his hands together before intertwining his fingers and stretching his arms out in front of him.

“But we– I– is this ok?” You squeak out, somehow. Your nerves are haywire as your brain runs through all the scenarios.

Will this make things awkward later? What does all of this mean?

Taehyung looks over your shoulder to the man behind you. Nodding after their silent conversation, Taehyung steps forward until he’s directly in front of you, barely standing an arm’s length away.  

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine.” Taehyung shrugs. “I’ll pull out the Mario Kart, and feed you more strawberries, but if you do-” Taehyung finishes his sentence, closing the distance, and effectively sandwiching you between him and Jimin.

Your breath hitches as Taehyung slides his hands up your side, stopping just before the curve of your breasts to purr, “I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

Those words break the dam of your lust, and causes warmth to spread all over your body. You whine pitifully, words lost to you. Your back arches automatically, chest desiring the sensation of touch.

“Use your words, y/n.” Jimin whispers huskily into your ear, making a shiver go down your spine. You feel the smirk on his lips as they skim your lobe.  

Screw the fucking consequences.  

“Please.” You beg quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Touch me, make me feel good.”

Both men make noises of approval. You feel the sounds rumble from their chests on both of your sides. Large hands reach up and cup your breasts over your clothes. Taehyung’s fingers knead your breasts carefully as you whimper, both out of pain and pleasure.

“It’ll be ok, Princess.” Taehyung reassures, “Just have to work out the kinks.”

“Just relax.” Jimin leaves a light, feathery kiss behind your ear. His lips skim down to your neck, nose brushing at your jaw encouragingly. Your head tilts to the side automatically to give him more access. He continues pressing his thumbs into your lower back. “We got you.”

With weak legs, faint pants come from your parted lips. You lift your arms to wrap them around Taehyung’s neck. It’s all too much, but, at the same, you still need more. So, you brush your lips lightly against Taehyung’s who immediately reciprocates. It starts off slow, but turns hungry quickly.

You moan into his mouth, and Taehyung uses that moment to invade your mouth with his tongue, passionately exploring. Your hands reach into his hair, knocking his hat off in the process, and weave into his soft locks. His lips only leave yours after you tug his hair slightly, your breath heavy as you try to regain some oxygen.  

“Can I take my shirt off?” You pant out, your voice coming off a little breathless. “Need to feel more.”

Taehyung’s hands leave your chest. “Raise your arms,” He commands.

You untangle your hands from his hair, now sticking up in different directions, and you raise your arms above your head, just as you are told. Grabbing the ends of your shirt, Taehyung slowly pulls it up, exposing your skin inch by inch. Once it is off, he throws it off to the side.

Jimin looks over your shoulder to ogle the sight of the cleavage spilling out of your bra. “You’re so much bigger now.” His hands slide up your back up to your bra strap. “Do you want this off, too?”

“Yes.” You croon, sighing contently as Jimin’s fingers nimbly undo the claps, chest now free from its constraints.

Taehyung slides the straps off your shoulders before tossing the garment to the side, as well. His hands return to your chest making the both of you moan. You do it out of sensitivity, but he cramps up at the sensation of his fingers kneading into the soft yet firm flesh. Cleavage spills around his large, splayed out hands, and he is fascinated at the sight.  

Jimin’s hands rub lower down your back, more so than they were before. His fingers dip slightly under your pants and brush along the top of your ass. You moan wantonly and unashamedly when Taehyung brushes your erect nipples, and circles his thumb around them almost lazily.

“What else, Princess?” Asks Taehyung, licking his lips in anticipation.  

“My ass.” You whimper and Jimin hums in response, eager for you to continue. Which is exactly what you do. “Want you to grope it, Jimin.”

Jimin’s hands slide as much as they can into your pants, but they hindered slightly by the clothing. “Tae...” He whines miserably.

“On it.” He grunts and the coldness his hands leave behind after they’re removed from your chest makes you whine.

Taehyung chuckles at how needy you are as he unbuttons your pants and slides the zipper down. Jimin’s hands now slide freely down to your ass in-between your pants and underwear. He starts groping your ass, just as you requested.  

“I need your mouth on them, Tae.” You arch your back even more to better display your breasts.  

Taehyung eyes your breast heaving up and down as you do your best to breathe. “On these?” He teases as one hand comes to pinch and pull a hard nipple, the other moves to your waist and rubs circles into your skin.

“Ah!” you keen and your hips rock unintentionally, making both men moan at the friction. “Yes, there Taehyung, fuck.”

Licking his lips hungrily, Tae quickly descends onto a nipple. Your moans become louder as he sucks and bites on it, while the other continues to get pinched and pulled between his deft fingers.

The fingers on your ass slide down between your legs and feel the slicking gathering on your thighs. “You’re so wet.” Jimin moans, hips swiveling into yours. The action causes yours to rot rut into Taehyung’s, who returns the action with a moan of his own.  

“You’re so spoiled.” Jimin chuckles darkly as he feels more of your essence drip from your panties. “Do you want us to take care of this too, Princess?” He asks, adopting Taehyung’s pet name for you.

“Fuck.” The feeling of Jimin’s hands teasingly tracing your underwear is driving you mad. “I want-” You murmur shakily before you rethink your sentence, and inhale sharply. “I need you to.”

“Need me to what?” Jimin continues to tease, hand now sliding gently over the wet fabric and right over your core.

“Jimin.” You whine, hoping he would just push the soaked clothing aside and touch you where you desire it most, but he continues his feather touches.

“Please, touch my pussy.” You beg. “Rub my clit.”

“Your wish is my command.” Jimin moans with you as his fingers slip past your underwear finally, and feels how truly drenched you are. His finger swipes at your entrance, up your slit, and begins to rub your engorged clit.

“Ooohh yes, fuck yes, Jimin.” You chant over and over, hips rocking into his hand and thus also into Taehyung.  

“Fuck.” Taehyung groans as his mouth leaves your breast. His blown-out eyes look down between your bodies to see your exposed panties peeking through your unzipped jeans. The thin material does nothing to hide how Jimin’s hand is caressing your cunt and clit.

Tugging on the top of your jeans, Taehyung kneels down in front of you, pulling your pants down with him. His eyes are now level with your core, and he watches Jimin’s hand work before he loops his fingers into the tops of your underwear. Slowly, he pulls the material down, a rope of slick coming down with it.

“No, don’t stop.” You whine as Jimin stops rubbing your clit.

His fingers find your lower lips and spread them open with both his hands, fully exposing you to Taehyung. Taehyung’s hands come to rest on your slick thighs, pushing on them to encourage to spread yourself more, which you comply to easily.  

“Fuck, soon you’ll be begging me to stop.” Taehyung looks up at you as his breath ghosts your cunt. “Switch, Jimin.”

Jimin’s fingers let go of your lips and reach up to your breasts aching for attention. His wet hand gropes your swelling boobs, rolling your nipples under his slick palm.

You watch as Taehyung’s mouth closes the distance between him and your pussy, his hot, hard tongue following the same pattern of Jimin’s fingers. The muscle teases your entrance before sliding up and down your slit a few times until he reaches your clit. He gives the bundle kitten-licks as he savors the way your face fleetingly twists in pleasure, his eyes carefully catching each expression.

“Ooh, Tae,” You tangle your fingers into his hair once again, encouraging him to get closer, to go deeper. He envelops your clit in his hot mouth and sucks hard, making you scream. “Tae!”

Your moans never stop, instead, they only increase in volume; especially as Taehyung slides one hand further up your thigh, and gathers your fluid with it before sliding his fingers into your tight hole.

“You’re so fucking tight.” Taehyung groans between your legs and his voice sends vibrations through your very core. He moves his finger in and out of you, stretching you before he adds a second. His wrists flick rapidly as he fucks you with his fingers. “Such a needy girl.”

You cum quickly with a scream. Stars line up your vision at the powerful orgasm. Jimin holds your twitching body up as Taehyung continues to fuck your clenching hole with his fingers while licking the cum clean that drips from his fingers. Your orgasm ends, but Taehyung keeps going, now sucking and nibbling at your clit again. “Too much, too much.” You pull at Taehyung’s hair, trying to pull him away. He doesn’t relent, intent on keeping his word from earlier.

Strong arms from behind wrap around you, and pull you away from the kneeling man, whose face glistens from your cum. “Taehyung, you need to give her a break.”

Bless you Jimin, you beautiful angel.

“It’s my turn next.” His grip on you tightens, almost possessively like a child holding their favorite toy.

Wait, what?

“Fine, but I really want her to hear her beg more.” Taehyung stands up and stalks toward the both you.  

“If she’s up for it,” Jimin shrugs, “it’s fine by me.” You’re not sure if he’s supporting you or signing your death warrant.

Once Taehyung reaches you, he grabs your chin between his fingers to hold you still as he kisses you deeply. His tongue easily slips into your mouth, and you taste yourself from his mouth.

He ends the kiss, wiping the back of his hand along his mouth. “Tasty, isn’t it?”

Jimin’s head suddenly reaches over your shoulder, pushing you in between him and Taehyung, as his lips reaches the other man’s. It’s a messy kiss, Jimin practically eating out Taehyung’s mouth. You stare at the scene, heat once again pooling between your legs.  

“Divine.” Jimin says as he breaks the kiss and licks his lips. He starts waddling you backwards towards your room in the same fashion as he did earlier.

“Now, I’m going to fuck you so hard into that chair of yours. it’ll break. Then, you’ll have to buy a new one.”  

Taehyung laughs as he follows along, eyeing your form now being practically dragged away by Jimin.

“Jimin, nooo.” You whine, not pleased at the prospect of buying another chair, which they seemed hell-bent on turning true. “The bed works perfectly fine.”

[vanillawaiver]

i tried to figure out the enneagram types of dream smp characters

have you ever wanted to know the enneagram types, and therefore motivations and fears, of your favorite dream smp characters? that’s a rhetorical question. don’t answer. this post contains a quick explanation of the enneagram and an analysis for every included character. i’m just gonna put it all under the cut.

i’d absolutely love to hear your thoughts!

ENNEAGRAM EXPLANATION

a quick low-down on the enneagram, for those who don’t know:

the enneagram actually refers to a funky circular graph, numbers 1-9 on the outside that depict 9 different personality types. each type is adjacent to two other types around the circle (see image for clarification). the two types on either side are the possible wings for that specific type, a wing being an additional set of personality traits alongside the main personality type. an enneagram type is written as [type]w[wing]. for example, my enneagram type is 4, and i have a type 5 wing, so my enneagram type is 4w5.

(the lines through the inside of the enneagram won’t be mentioned in this post, but you can find more information on them online if you’re curious. i won’t link anything because links can be sketchy)

the nine enneagram types are mostly easily explained by their basic fears and basic desires. the enneagram is intended to explain the “why” behind someone’s actions, which is why it’s so hard to type someone else. you cannot get inside their head to find out their true motivations. however, today i am working with entirely fictional characters and not the content creators themselves, so i give myself a free pass. please don’t go around psychoanalyzing your friends or people you don’t even know and jumping to conclusions without their input lol

also all of these are just what i think ! if you (respectfully) disagree, i would actually love to hear your opinions - you are probably right and i am probably wrong.i don’t watch every stream or even know of every event, and my reasoning is probably weak at best. enough rambling, here we goooo

the grouping will be by type, just because… idk how else to organize this.

again, /rp /rp /rp ! i don’t know these ccs in real life and will not pretend to. i’m talking about minecraft roleplay.

(also, i didn’t proofread this. sorry fnjakdfda)

type 1: the reformer

principled, purposeful, self-controlled, perfectionistic

desire: to be good, to have integrity

tubbo - type 1w2

tubbo is a classic example of a type 1 being put into the worst possible situation for their current mental state. tubbo was the moral and sensical anchor for tommy’s more eccentric and self-centered actions, and they functioned as this duo UNTIL tubbo was made the president of l’manberg. tubbo’s more self-critical tendencies were amplified because his actions had so much weight. tubbo is quick to turn against and polarize those he sees as “evil”, making broad generalizations like “technoblade is wrong” and “tommy is good”, regardless of all the moral gray areas, and even changes his mind drastically between them as he seeks the right answer. (ex: exiles tommy, but then decides it was the wrong idea, and now seems to agree with everything he says again.) i think part of his flip-flopping comes from a sense of people-pleasing and generosity, again amplified by his position as the (now former) president of a nation.

type 2: the helper

generous, demonstrative, people-pleasing, possessive

desire: to feel loved/appreciated

quackity - type 2w3

(as far as i know) quackity’s first major action on the smp was to run for president. wilbur and tommy wanted quackity (as part of swag 2020) to share the votes of the two parties in order to ensure a victory over schlatt. however, quackity acted out against them because he felt used instead of appreciated for his ideas. schlatt promised him at least some amount of respect, so quackity switched sides regardless of what was better for the smp at large. i believe quackity kept looking for approval from others, but also some sense of accomplishment, by founding mexican l’manberg (is this even canon…idk but i liked it), starting the butcher army, and trying to bring schlatt back to life. quackity even fought technoblade despite being grossly unqualified and i believe this is due to the martyr mindset that often comes with unhealthy type 2s. 

type 3: the achiever

adaptable, excelling, driven, image-conscious

desire: to feel valuable

nihachu - type 3w2

(at the time of writing this, niki hasn’t had a ton of canon screentime, so this is mostly based off of the doomsday stream.) when in emotional distress, niki applies her type 3 ideas of being the best she can be to others, hyperfocusing on “teaching them a lesson” by destroying l’manberg. unhealthy 3s also tend to become jealous of other people’s happiness and success to the point they attempt to destroy it, perhaps explaining how niki’s character felt that no one wanted to listen to what she had to say about the political state of things. i see niki as a character that values her image in relation to others, hence the 2 wing. when fundy showed her respect, she became even more sure of herself, and this seems to be the kind of thing she is after.

schlatt - type 3w4

much like ghostbur (as mentioned later), schlatt is a very exaggerated character. it’s hard to type him, because the enneagram focuses around people who behave in the way real people do, and schlatt is a larger-than-life villain. i’ve typed schlatt as a 3 because of his narcissistic tendencies. schlatt not only wanted to be but believed he was integral to l’manberg’s continued function. unhealthy 3s tend to be devious and manipulative in order to hide their own wrongdoing, like how schlatt exiled the main opponents of his rule. schlatt doesn’t have the emotional introspection of a 4, only the temperamental self-absorption, but i think this is the best i can do lol

type 4: the individualist

expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, temperamental

desire: to be significant, to find identity

tommy - type 4w5

most of my reasoning for tommy’s typing comes from his time in exile. tommy displayed an impressive connection to his emotions, maybe just out of necessity because he was alone. his constant cry was that no one cares about him, but not in the way a 2 may fear the same thing. tommy feared he had faded from significance. when he felt this way, he was quick to make rash conclusions and decisions. he is self-centered, caring more about his discs than about anything on the server. the 5 wing is there because of tommy’s constant assertion that people pity him when they show basic human kindness. he dreads others viewing him as incapable.

type 5: the investigator

perceptive, innovative, secretive, isolated

desire: to be capable and competent

awesamdude: type 5w6

is sam incredibly important to the plot? not as i write this. but i don’t want to leave type 5 empty. sam does cool redstone and built a cool prison. he’s super swag. i’m too lazy to attempt to do an analysis. this is just what i believe to be the objective truth on his character. give sam your primes.

type 6: the loyalist

engaging, responsible, anxious, suspicious

desire: to have security and support

wilbur (alivebur) - type 6w5

(pls disagree with me on this. this was so hard and i didn’t start watching dream smp until after the original “it wasn’t meant to be” moment sjkdfadkl) it’s right in the l’manberg national anthem. a place men could go to emancipate the brutality of their rulers. wilbur created l’manberg for what i interpret as security reasons. a peaceful land without americans. as an american, i understand completely. wilbur demonstrates the tendency of 6’s to shun outsiders and to turn to hysterical violence in times of distress. wilbur’s final action before his death was to blow up his safe place, because he believed the security had been tainted. i have typed wilbur with a 5 wing almost exclusively because of the intentionally radical beliefs that unhealthy 5s exhibit, becoming obsessed with blowing up the place he once called home.

type 7: the enthusiast

spontaneous, versatile, distractible, scattered

desire: to be satisfied and content, to avoid pain

fundy - type 7w6

fundy grew up in constant distress, what with his dad kinda losing it and the constant political turmoil. fundy has acknowledged that there is nothing that comes from conflict except for personal gain. fundy is selfish (taking netherite meant for everyone, hardly taking other people’s feelings into account) by nature of the society he was born into. like most distressed 7s, he has mood swings and comes off as demanding. i gave fundy a 6 wing because of what i see as the origin of his issues: a lack of support and stability. because of this, fundy often seeks external solutions (material possessions) instead of internal ones (fucking THERAPY OH MY GOD).

badboyhalo - type 7w6

“l’manberg? pogtopia? who cares?” :D

type 8: the challenger

self-confident, decisive, willful, confrontational

desire: to protect themselves, to be in control of their own life

dream - type 8w7

(warning, a lot of this typing is based on my own theories about the smp, because dream doesn’t stream rp to give us his own perspective.) dream claims that his motivation, at least presently, is to cause as much chaos as possible, but this has to come from a more philosophical place. dream is the one who started the server, and, i believe, canonically created the world they all populate. dream’s rule was originally questioned by the creation of l’manberg, which he interpreted as a personal attack. as a type 8 would, he is attempting to destroy all that does not conform to the vision he has for a peaceful, unified server. this may make it seem like dream should have 9 wing, but i don’t believe stability factors into his reasoning. dream seeks fun, for himself and others, and also finds this by causing chaos, as mentioned before.

technoblade - type 8w7

now, just because techno and dream have the same enneagram typing here does not mean they are at all similar. techno also lashes out at things that do not conform to his vision (anarchy) but has a stronger connection to his 7 wing. he wants to protect himself because of the comfort and happiness that would provide, not exclusively to be in control. he cares more about the pain and suffering caused by the government. still, i don’t think techno’s primary motivation is to be happy, as he still causes harm and puts himself in danger in order to achieve his goals. when a type 7 would become depressed and isolated, techno decides to spawn six withers. to each their own.

type 9: the peacemaker

receptive, reassuring, agreeable, complacent

desire: to have inner stability, to avoid loss

ghostbur - type 9w1

more than anyone on the server, ghostbur is a two-dimensional character. (absolutely not meant in a negative way. i adore ghostbur as both comic relief and a consistent character. ghostbur simply doesn’t behave like a normal person, and that is the point.) this makes it difficult to type him, but i tried my best. ultimately, ghostbur cares about others, but not in the way a 2 does. blatant negativity from people he interacts with doesn’t affect him in the slightest. he hands out blue because he is good, hence the 1 wing, and not to be loved. the only time (i can remember) that ghostbur has expressed anger was when friend the sheep was killed in techno and dream’s terrorism upon l’manberg. loss is the only thing he seems to be afraid of, and he applies this to all people within the smp. 

philza - type 9w8

to put it nicely, philza is a mediator. to put it not-so nicely, he doesn’t give a fuck. philza has actually achieved much of the goals a 9 has, making him an anomaly on the smp. (most every one of these characters expresses extremely unhealthy characteristics of their type.) philza is accepting of others, and does more listening than speaking. however, philza still feels the effects of loss from murdering his own son in cold blood (just minecraft things <3) and presumably fears losing something else important to him, thus forming few attachments (ex: didn’t care his house in l’manberg got blown up, didn’t react much to tommy’s betrayal.) i typed him as a wing 8 because of his healthy self-confidence and confrontationalism.

please keep in mind that this is all referring to the dream smp characters these streamers portray. i don’t claim to know anything about their deeper philosophical reasoning for whatever they do irl. not really on that parasocial type beat, ya feel me? i would love to hear your thoughts.

 thanks for reading!

[ichigo-daifuku]

Biblical Sense

Obey Me! Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

Angel!Lucifer/Succubus

Frustrated with the state of affairs surrounding his father's rule in the Celestial Realm, Lucifer the Archangel descends to the human world with a purpose: to commit a transgression against the Most High and soil his virtuous hands.

There, he meets a succubus who leads him to engage in a different kind of corruption altogether, one defiling the virtue of chastity.

Explicit | Pre-Canon, Introspection, Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Loss of Virginity, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Blasphemy

Contains references to Lucifer's Devilgram Story, The Glory Days. 

Word Count: 7k

To know someone in the biblical sense is to have sexual relations with them.

In the beginning, the Morning Star descended from the Celestial Realm.

Engulfed by the brightest of the lights, he came down from the night sky like a shooting star. A thud resounded from his feet the moment they landed on the human world’s soil. He folded his wings, their brilliance fading as he switched from his armor of light to his casual clothing and assumed his human-like form. Alone in a garden, the darkness brought by the current time in this realm made him blink a few times, his eyes adjusting to this change for a moment while the chirping of crickets filled his ears.

Lucifer the Archangel stepped out from the shadows, fallen leaves crumbling under his feet with every step. Rumors had brought him to this place—rumors angels weren’t supposed to hear yet he was privy to due to his status. A wishing fountain stood in the middle of the courtyard, a little demon in its zenith wearing a hat and holding a pot that trickled the water down to its base. Surrounded by trimmed hedges, the scent of red and white roses hung in the air in the most intoxicating way possible that he could imagine the taste of rosewater on his tongue. Though calm and composed on the outside, the normalcy of this wicked place took him by surprise. He expected something more… sinister.

Beyond the maze of the courtyard, a mansion that could only be described as lavish stood. Its exterior’s grandeur was all he needed to see to know that whoever was residing in it was far from impoverished, but he supposed that would be the case for this was a territory of demons, the creatures of indulgence. He made his way closer to the mansion, noting no sign of anyone except for the lights illuminating the windows. His hands balled into fists, he stood in front of the tall doors, unable to bring himself to swing it open and be done with his purpose in a minute. However, his dilemma was short-lived as the lock clicked, the door creaking as it opened.

A woman revealed herself from beyond the wood, her stature barely reaching his shoulders. Long tresses cascaded over her back, the straps of the cotton white nightdress she wore hidden by the locks of hair falling on her shoulders, the hem reaching the middle of her thighs. Barefoot, she cradled two objects with her hand and separated them when she had let go of the knob.

“Apple?” Unfazed by his sudden appearance, she offered the fruit inside her outstretched palm to him, taking a bite of the half-eaten apple on her other hand.

It was unlike any regular apple he had seen before; a considerable portion on top of it purple while the bottom looked a regular green. Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you think I should be the one asking you that question?”

Lucifer shot her a glare to which she responded with a sly smile curving up her lips. 

“A premium item found exclusively in the Devildom, Princess’s Poison Apple. Despite its name, it’s safe to eat,” she took another bite, the crisp sound an evidence of its freshness, and swallowed before adding, “and delicious.”

She loosened her fingers on the apple and shifted her wrist sideways, the movement leading his attention to shift from her face to the movement of her hand. On reflex, he reached out his palms and set them together to catch the fruit, the gravity of his actions dawning on him the second the deed was done. Pleased with the turn of events, she chuckled and raised her own apple as if she was saying a toast for their meeting and chewed on another bite.

It wasn’t Lucifer’s first time to encounter food from the Devildom, and it wouldn’t be his first time to partake in it. He brought the fruit closer to his face and inhaled. No strange scent emanated from it. He parted his lips and took a bite, the sourness of the apple and an unexpected sweetness blended perfectly with it satisfying his palate.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked and spun around without waiting for his answer. “Come inside.”

Her nonchalance and her every action so far irked Lucifer, but he couldn’t complain when they worked in his favor for he would never admit to this strange apple being delicious. He bit into the apple once again and stepped inside the house, sealing the door shut behind him.

With quiet footsteps, she led him up the staircase and into a series of corridors. Portraits of females, both in demon and human-like forms adorned the walls, a variety of depictions of horned women performing illicit acts with mortal men alternating with them. He shook his head and sighed, finding these poor excuses of art tasteless.

“Ever been to the Devildom?” she asked out of the blue, neither looking back nor slowing down her steps.

“That’s none of your business.”

In truth, Lucifer had been to her world. Darkness prevailed in the Devildom, and he could still recall the way mud went flying everywhere and soiling his armor when his feet touched its ground. Up to this day, it was one of the worst experiences he has ever had, and he made sure that this fact was known to his hosts. Still, he had no reason to share the experience with this stranger.

“I’ve never been to the Celestial Realm myself,” she told him.

“For a good reason.”

“What was that?”

“Demons such as yourself have no place in the Celestial Realm.”

“I see. So, you really are an angel.” She faced him but continued walking backward, the spring in her steps an indication of her liking the confirmation of her suspicions.

He had just spit out an insult directed to her and her kind, so why and how was she, at the very least, unoffended? “How did you know?”

“I can feel it, the purity radiating off you.” She halted in front of one of the rooms, turning from him and opening the door. “It’s impossible to ignore and so… enticing.”

It was the same for him. An aura of evil radiated from her presence, masked by the fragrance of roses. He was unsure where it emanated, from her body or from the garden outside, but he recognized the sweet scent of it all too well: temptation.

She ushered him inside a drawing-room that matched the lavishness of the house’s exterior. A candelabra chandelier illuminated the space together with the lamps on the walls, the fire in the hearth contributing to the light and providing warmth to the space. The giant mirror hung menacingly by the bookshelf caught his attention at once. On the corner of the room, a sleek grand piano rested, an untouched chess game across it. An intricate table with matching plush seats served as the room’s centerpiece.

“Welcome. Feel free to sit wherever you like,” she said and exited the room, leaving him to observe the place for himself.

Out of curiosity, he wandered around, passing by the mirror and getting a glimpse of his reflection. He looked quite weary, he thought, but nevertheless, alert and ready for anything. Casting those thoughts aside, he strode to the bookshelf and scanned the spines for their titles, judging the residents of this house through them.

Before he knew it, she returned with a tray of refreshments and arranged them on the table. Swirls of steam flowed from the matching pair of teacups as she poured the fresh brew inside them. Beside each cup, a slice of sponge cake waited while other baked goods were also in the middle of the table, ready to be eaten.

“What is that?” Lucifer marched over to her direction and asked, his tone both cautious and accusatory.

“You might have already heard of it, but it’s called black tea.” She paid no heed to his unfriendly behavior and continued, “Teatime wouldn’t be complete without pastries, don’t you think so?”

He set his half-eaten apple on the tray and sat down. “There better be no strange ingredient in this, demon.”

An amused laugh bubbled from her lips. “I promise you, there isn’t.”

After serving the refreshments, she took her cup and saucer with her hands and sat across him, blowing the steam for a second before taking a sip. It was only when she had begun indulging in her slice of cake that Lucifer sipped his own tea, assured that he would not drop dead if he were to partake in whatever she had served him. He couldn’t help it; her hospitality left him unsettled. The brew was flavorful, yet he held back compliments and set the cup down. The lightness of the sponge cake would be the perfect pair for it, and he picked up his fork to take a portion but was halted midway by her query.

“You’re not going to say grace?”

“No,” Lucifer threw back irritatedly. It didn’t cross his mind to say grace at all, and the small victory on his part satisfied him.

“Interesting,” she commented and indulged on a forkful of sponge cake, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin.

Lucifer disliked how she was treating him like a spectacle. He was no creature for a demon’s amusement, and he had an urge to let her know of this fact, seeing how unguarded she was acting around him and how pleasant she was treating him. With complete sang-froid, this demon was underestimating him, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake. He sized up his opponent and weighed in his options.

She picked up her teacup and leaned back in her seat, still as relaxed as ever. “Why are you here?”

“And if I told you I am not here for anything?”

“You wouldn’t have found this place if you weren’t. This mansion is a succubi’s den,” she stated and sipped her tea. “And in the human world, too.”

“A succubi’s den?” The rumors proved to be true; this was a place established by demons, but the fact that it was by the succubi was an unknown tidbit to him. He refused to imagine why the succubi needed a place like this in the human world, but with one of their kind sitting in front of him, images of these female demons—including her—preying on unsuspecting mortals made their way into his mind so vividly that he had begun to wonder if the incubi had established something similar.

“Yes. Every being that comes and goes from this place is here for life’s carnal pleasures.” She crossed her legs, giving him a glimpse of the skin on her upper thighs, which he couldn’t decide if she intended to do or not. “So, tell me, angel, what is it that you are here for?”

Angel. She spoke the word in a way that it was almost like an affectionate pet name. He hated it. The implication of her statement sparked wrath within him. “You have no right to speak to me that way, vile succubus.”

To his surprise and further vexation, she didn’t even flinch at his tone or insult. “Do you want to leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He would not. He wasn’t going anywhere until he had accomplished his goal. Once he had set his eyes on something, he would consider it done, and this wasn’t an exception.

“Alright. Let’s enjoy our tea?”

For a while, nobody spoke. The clink of the ceramic as she set her teacup down accentuated the pin-drop silence. He started eating his food in an attempt to collect himself and think rationally, as he always did. She let him be, filling his cup once she noticed it was empty and doing the same to her own.

As she placed the teapot down, Lucifer found himself saying, “To begin a rebellion.”

“Hm?”

“You asked what I am here for,” he replied, “that is my answer.”

He clenched his hands, the forlorn faces of his younger brothers etched inside his mind, the memory of the tears streaming down his sister’s face so crystal clear to him. So much has happened, and though his siblings were a messy bunch at times, they didn’t deserve this. It was the last straw. It was time to put an end to their suffering.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Shameless creature. Why don’t you stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“True.” She chuckled and placed her elbows on the table, folding her fingers together and setting her chin on top of them. “An angel is going to sin. How lovely.”

There it was again, her fascination with him that bothered Lucifer so much. It made him want to expose her true colors—her nature as a demon—and push her buttons to make her lose her cool.

“Aren’t you concerned for your well-being?” he challenged, giving her a hint of his intentions.

“That depends. Are you here to kill me or are you here to sleep with me?”

“You seem to be rather calm about the first prospect.”

“I’m not going down without a fight if that’s what you mean.”

“I’d be disappointed if you would.”

She stretched her arms and stood. Wordlessly, she made her way to the piano and picked up a ribbon he hadn’t noticed earlier from above it. Her fingers deft, she stepped in front of the mirror on the wall and gathered her hair. The delicate skin on the nape of her neck as she encircled her locks with the bow and tied it piqued his interest, and she met his eyes through her reflection, unsurprised that he was already staring. “Battle me, then.”

Lucifer had been scrutinizing her every movement, noting gracefulness up to the smallest of things. The challenge she issued took him out of the trance-like state he was having, and he internally chided himself for letting his mind wander.

“How very foolish of you to propose such a thing,” Lucifer replied. But also very bold, he didn’t say. He gestured over the laid out chessboard on the corner of the room. “Very well. Be my opponent in a game of chess.”

“A game of chess? That’s strange, but sure. If I win—”

“You don’t get to make the rules, succubus,” he said with a glare. “If you defeat me, I’ll spare you and leave, but if I win, I’ll choose what I’ll do with you.”

“I didn’t know that angels had it in them to be so unfair.” She turned around, pleasantly surprised. “But since everything about you is so irresistible, I agree to your terms.”

Irresistible. She wasn’t the first demon he had the chance to encounter, but everything she said threw him off. The sight of the hair behind her back bouncing as she strolled to the chessboard attracted his attention, but this wasn’t the time to dwell on his initial impression of her. He followed suit, aiming for the dark crystal pieces he had always favored over the light and clear variations. It seemed she was in agreement with this as she immediately went behind the clear pieces and sat down.

“Ladies first,” he urged.

“My, what a gentleman you are.”

Foolish demon. He was giving her a handicap, yet all she was thinking of was how much of a gentleman he was? She was careless. The two of them sat closer now as compared to when they had their refreshments. Lucifer’s eyes darted from her to the chessboard she examined, clearing his throat the moment he found himself distracted once again. Her dainty fingers moved a pawn forward to another square, and the game officially began. Strange as she was, it didn’t take long for her to ask him questions.

“Is it true that it’s eternally daytime in the Celestial Realm?” she queried once it was her next turn.

“What do you think?” he fired back absentmindedly, deciding on which piece to move. He broke into a pleased smile as he made the first capture and eliminated her pawn, placing it on his side.

“There it is,” she pointed out.

His eyes flickered from the chessboard to her. “What?”

“Your smile. It’s radiant.” She smiled in return and chuckled. “You seemed tense. It’s fine. There’s no one for you to impress here. It’s just me.”

“You know nothing.”

“You’re right about that, I don’t. Are all angels this stoic?”

“Is that an insult?”

“Only if you consider it one,” she quipped. “Well? Are they?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Good to know.”

If there was anything he learned from his loss in another chess game with a certain demon, it would be underestimating his opponent. She might look all innocent and conventionally attractive, but she was still a demon; a cunning creature of the dark who existed to bring disorder and chaos, wreak havoc among the three worlds, and exploit the weaknesses of her enemies. He just knew she was setting a trap somewhere and fooling him, but to his frustration, all she did was continue firing one question after another.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“I have several brothers and a sister.”

“I see.”

Her lips curved into a frown as she calculated her next move. Up until that moment, she had been nothing but all smiles, but the seriousness in her demeanor caught his interest further. She moved a rook in silence. Every time she asked him something, he assumed she would share about herself, yet she never did. How odd.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Hm?” She raised her gaze at him, pausing her competitive train of thought. “You could say my fellow succubi are my sisters, in a way?”

He nodded, considering the thought. In his long existence, his one and only sister has caused him so much trouble, but she was the dearest and most precious angel of all, the one he and his brothers adored and doted on. All that aside, he could only imagine how life would be like with a lot of sisters. At the furrow that made its way into his brows, she began laughing. For an evil creature, the peal of her genuine laughter was similar to carefully crafted notes in a musical piece, and Lucifer found it hard to believe that he was able to make such a comparison.

She proved to be a worthy opponent, he would give her that, but not good enough to beat him. Despite her assumption that she has a chance of winning, he captured all of her pieces with only a few to spare on his own. 

“Checkmate,” Lucifer stated proudly, ending the match.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she stood and sauntered to the tall window, gazing over the courtyard. Lucifer concluded that she must have known the moment he stepped foot on the succubi’s property. His train of thought was cut short as the breeze billowed her hair and the skirt of her nightdress, the curtains in rhythm with them, hiding and revealing her from his sight in flashes. The moonbeam illuminated her form in the most unearthly way, and his throat bobbed as he took in the sight to behold. At that moment, she was far from the horrific creature that he assumed she would be, but the certainty that she was a demon—a succubus—stood out, for she possessed a beauty so sinful that he had no doubt only a being meant for seduction could be so alluring. Like he was being summoned by a siren, he stood and followed her, the air highlighting the fragrance of roses which, right now, in all the senses he possessed, felt holier than incense.

“Do it,” she dared as she lifted her head to look his way, the fire in her eyes telling him that she truly wasn’t going down without a fight.

This night was the turning point in Lucifer’s life. In the clash against his father, his siblings needed not to stain their holiness nor stand beside him; he was prepared to do this on his own. Still, he had a hunch that they would follow him for all of them had always counted and trusted his decisions, but if that were to happen, as their eldest brother, he needed to be the one to take the brunt of everything, especially this initial step. Determined, Lucifer would soil his hands in an act of disobedience to his father. His holiness was one of the main ideals that tied Lucifer to him, and Lucifer would sever it and burn the image his father expected of his son, tainting his purity and showing his father that he was no longer his child. His father, all-knowing and all-powerful, would know at once when Lucifer would appear before him that Lucifer disobeyed. As his father organized the appropriate chastisement meant for him, Lucifer would face him without regret and declare, I will no longer follow you.

Lucifer would scale the heavens, and above the stars of his father, he would set up his throne. He would ascend above the tops of the clouds. In the process, he would leave no stone unturned. Always true to his convictions, he vowed to reach his end goal, and this was a leap in the path he was walking on.

To soil his hands with another’s blood or to defile the virtue of chastity; she had asked him earlier which one he was here for, and though he evaded the question, she was able to tell which was the answer in the end. In truth, he had only had the former in mind. The sin he aimed to commit was murder. A demon would be dispensable, he had decided, and it wouldn’t matter if there were one or a hundred demons in this mansion; he came prepared to destroy all of them with his bare hands, and if he were to be severely outnumbered, he was equipped with the dagger hidden in his coat. It turned out, she was alone. This succubus would be no match against him, a high-ranking angel, one of those who wielded the most power in the Celestial Realm.

But in the game of seduction the two of them played the second their gazes connected, the wide eyes that had stared back at him with intrigue when the door opened held him captive. He was the one who was no match for her.

Lucifer has had enough denying it; he coveted her. She would be his ruin.

He took her by the wrist and pulled her against him, unable to discern what sort of unholy spirit was taking over his body but meaning every word as he whispered, “Sin with me.”

“What?” she exclaimed, bewildered. She was expecting him to strike and fulfill his original purpose, not coax her into giving in to her lecherous desires. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You refuse me?” he clarified disbelievingly. This succubus, a creature who lived and breathed concupiscence, was rejecting him, Lucifer the Archangel, and his proposition. “You dare refuse me?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, angel. This is difficult for me, maybe even more than it is to you.” She glared and shook her wrist from his grasp, staggering backward to put space between them. “This wasn’t what you were here for. You were here for your bloodlust, not your lust.”

He supposed it was correct; she was drawn to his light while he was enticed by her darkness. It was true yet ironic that an angel and a demon would be each other’s temptation, but here they were, the very manifestation of the iniquitous idea. 

His resistance thrown out the window, Lucifer stepped closer and pulled her in again, trapping her body with his by the window. He slowly dipped his head, his heated gaze connecting with hers in a silent challenge while hers searched for an ounce of hesitation in his choice, her resolve faltering when she found none. The tips of their noses brushed, and her eyes fluttered closed, his own doing the same at the first caress of their lips. She kissed him back, pliant and eager when his tongue slid to the seam of her lips and met her own, satisfying each other’s curiosity but awakening another hunger altogether.

She pulled away, close enough that their lips barely touched but still shared each other’s warmth. “You’re actually serious about it?”

“I want you,” Lucifer stated as he traced her collarbone with his fingertips, cradling her shoulder with his other hand.

“I…” She averted her gaze. “I want you, too. Of course, I do.”

“I know. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he stated, the blush on her cheeks telling him as much. “Where’s your room?”

“Right across this—”

That was all he needed to know. He wasted no time and took her hand in his, leading her to her bedroom. Once inside, he removed his gloves and coat and hung them on a chair, his vest following suit. As he loosened his tie and pulled it off, he chuckled at the feeling of her gaze boring into his back and pointed out, “You’re looking at me so wantonly.”

“I think I’ve been doing that for quite a while now…”

He turned around and strode closer to her, giving her a challenging stare. “Show me what’s been running inside that mind of yours, then.”

She reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, taking all the time in the world and savoring the slow pace of revealing his skin. With hesitant fingertips, she brushed over the contours of his abdomen, moving upward to splay her hands over his torso before taking his shirt by the collars and discarding it. She kept quiet and continued to take in his appearance up close. Warm palms reached to cradle his cheeks and slowly moved to touch the hair on the sides of his forehead, coming back to trace his jawline. Her touch was gentle, and her was voice full of reverence as she said, “Everything about you is so radiant.”

A strange feeling washed over him and caused his skin to flush, and he sought her lips again before she had the chance to notice. He carded his fingers through her soft locks and caressed the nape of her neck, his palm sliding over the small of her back to draw her closer. She broke the kiss and pressed her lips on his shoulder, moving down to his chest and his abdomen, worshipping his form. With a glance at him, she sank to her knees, and Lucifer has never seen a more beautiful sight. From below, her hands worked to remove his footwear and undo his trousers, baring his body completely. At first, Lucifer thought that she undressed him for her eyes to have something to feast on, but all he found in her wide-eyed gaze was awe, as though she was a firm believer of a deity and was looking at one. He liked that; it stroked his ego and made him feel powerful.

It gave him a sense of pride.

“Open your mouth,” Lucifer commanded.

She swallowed but responded by doing as he asked which satisfied him, immediately knowing what he wanted. Her lips parted, she took the tip of his hard cock in her mouth and ran her tongue across it. Slowly, she slid his length further, all the while holding his stare, and her head bobbed forward and backward as she sucked him with zeal and innate talent that suggested her nature as a sexual being. He closed his eyes and marveled at the sensation in his groin, her hand that grasped his base running up and down in rhythm to the ministrations provided by her lips and tongue. How could something so sinful feel so heavenly? It was too good in the way only forbidden things could be, he was unsure if he could get enough of this feeling.

Caught in the haze of sensual pleasure, his eyes fluttered open and found her doing something which… displeased him. Lucifer cradled the back of her head with his palm and urged her to take him further, testing her limits. “Are you touching yourself? Who told you that you could do that?”

A strangled noise of surprise and confusion rumbled from her throat, making him release the groan he had been trying his best to hold back. She retracted the hand that was nestled between her thighs and placed it on the floor to steady herself instead. Satisfied, he released her and wiped her wet lips with his thumb, urging a response.

“I wanted to,” she answered haughtily, panting, “that’s why I did it.”

“Come to me, evil one.”

Her legs wobbly, she stumbled as she stood and braced herself with her hands on his shoulders. Lucifer let out a sigh of disapproval but proceeded to take her by the waist and hook her legs around his hips, carrying her to the bed. He undid the ribbon in her hair, leaving it to splay over the sheets like a grand halo, and between the two of them, it was difficult to differentiate who was the angel and the demon. The hem of her nightdress hiked up by the sudden motion, he leaned back, and his gaze traveled downward and was welcomed by the sight of her sex, dripping for him through the fabric of her underwear. After a curious swipe of his finger over the cloth, he said, “All you needed to do was ask, and I would have done it for you.”

She whined, shifting her hips in search of friction, her voice so pleasant in his ears that he yearned to do more to hear it again.

Did she add a dose or two of aphrodisiac in the black tea she served him? In the Princess’s Poison Apple she liked so much? Lucifer couldn’t recall, but he was positive she didn’t. He could find no explanation why he was being like this, his whole body blazing with arousal for this woman. “Or better yet…”

He tugged her underwear and slid it over her legs and feet, discarding it to the side. The longing to see the entirety of her led his fingers to trace her legs and slip the nightdress over her head. He was no stranger to the sight of a woman’s body, but it was the first time he stared at one with open desire. She was a true creature of sin. The idea that he would be a notch on her bedpost ruffled his feathers. It shouldn’t matter. No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t bother him at the slightest. A casual affair was all they were to each other, nothing more and nothing less. Unable to deny his yearning to acquaint his skin with this stranger’s own, he parted her legs. She obliged with a moan, her fingers shivering with anticipation as she encircled his shaft and stroked him before guiding him to her entrance. He slid inside her, groaning, but as he went on further, the tightness and the exquisite clench of her walls around him led him to an unbelievable conclusion. “You… You’re a virgin?”

“Don’t say it like that.” She turned her head away, covering her flushed face with the back of her hand, her chest heaving. “It’s not as if I’m completely innocent. I’m a demon, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Then, why?” he asked, unsheathing himself from her and leaning back, confused.

She pulled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around her naked body, vulnerable at her confession. “You could say that tonight is my initiation. My fellow succubi brought me to this world to lure a mortal man, seduce him, and become a full-fledged succubus.

“It’s all garbage to me. If I fail, I would be deemed unworthy and become labeled as a regular demon, and if worse comes to worst, I could die at the hands of my kind, but then again, I could have done so with yours tonight, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I’m still not going down without a fight.”

As these customs were unknown to him, the possibility of her strange sense of purity being intact was something that never crossed his mind. From the burning need in her gaze to the passion in her touches to the ardor in her kisses… This succubus was a temptress through and through, and yet...

She equated his quiet moment of contemplation with disgust. “We’ve accomplished your purpose tonight, haven’t we? If that’s all, you can leave.”

“No,” he growled, the audacity of her dismissal offensive to him. Lucifer grabbed her by her hips and returned her to where she was before—where she rightfully belonged tonight. Despite her assumption, he found it quite the opposite. To be the first one to bring this creature to the highest of the highs for the first time in her existence, he felt gratification and triumph. He pinned her wrists over the mattress and hovered over her, regarding her with both want and need, intent on finishing what he started thoroughly. “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“But you… I… I see.” Her eyes flickered from his grasp on her to his carnal gaze, understanding. “Do you enjoy that? Do you like being in control?”

“Yes. Very much so,” he admitted.

She nodded, and as if she was repenting for her behavior, he felt her surrender and submission as her whole body went lax underneath him, giving him permission to do as he desired. Lucifer rewarded her with a kiss, an absolution she was more than happy to receive, her body quivering with anticipation for more.

And so, Lucifer knew her.

He parted her legs, aligned himself against her slick entrance, and once again eased his length inside. She shut her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing and moans falling past her lips with every inch of him she graciously received. Once he had fully buried himself inside her, his body tensed as he kept himself from unsheathing himself and thrusting into her again and again with wild abandon. 

Breathless, she opened her eyes and wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to continue. “You don’t need to be so gentle. I’m not one to break so easily. I can handle you.”

At the reassurance, he found no doubt in her capability to do so, and for that he was glad. He was done holding back. “You asked for it.”

Guided by his primal instincts, he slammed inside her relentlessly, the grasp he had on her wrist tightening as his every thrust grew in intensity. It was a connection of two troubled souls: an angel and a devil in an act of consummation outside the sanctity of marriage. As he sank into her and her hips met his every movement, they crossed the line between the sacred and the profane. It was as if both of them were each other’s tools. Tonight, he was saving her by ruining her, and she was ruining him as a catalyst for his rebellion. But at the same time, no event in his existence has ever felt so intimate. A decision made with his free will, this was the night he welcomed the dark side he didn’t know he had, or perhaps, he has always had but laid dormant inside him—too enamored by his light to show up, but now shining in its own in the company of darkness.

At the frenetic pace of the meeting of their bodies, her hands clenched into fists, and she trembled underneath him and climaxed. No painting hung on the hallways did this moment justice: the sweat on her forehead, her reddened cheeks, her swollen lips—everything about her screamed unadulterated lust. Every detail dissolved into white light as he chased his own peak. His eyes shut, his jaw slackened, and his cock pulsated inside her with his release, leading him to loosen her wrists from the restraints of his palms.

As she took him in her embrace, found his lips with her own, and shifted their positions for another bout of their illicit liaison, she freed him from the noose surrounding his neck that was his halo. He should be feeling the darkness of the pit, yet he has never felt so high, the pure bliss that any promised land could never compare to taking over his whole being.

Lucifer had sinned.

And he saw that it was good.

Lucifer strode through the mansion’s courtyard, navigating through the zigzag of the maze as if it was second nature to him. The fragrance of roses stronger than ever, he sped past the fountain with the little demon, the water giving off a beautiful sparkle as the night slowly met the day. Soon, he was at the spot he landed on a few hours ago. As he was about to change into his natural form, a voice halted him and made him turn around.

“Wait!” the succubus called.

She emerged from the exit of the maze and ran toward him, barefoot, wearing that white nightdress again and smiling when she found him waiting for her.

Why wasn’t she wearing any sandals? Did she traverse in the maze with those bare feet of hers? Lucifer didn’t care, but through the confusion, he asked instead, “What are you doing here? Why did you follow me?”

“Here. These are for you.” She waltzed over to him and took his gloved hand in hers, securing the handle of the picnic basket she held in it. “More Princess’s Poison Apples and black tea leaves.” 

“I didn’t ask for these.” He attempted to hand the picnic basket back to her, but she shook her head and stepped out of his reach. 

“You liked them, I think, especially the apple,” she told him. “Who knows when you’ll get another chance to have a taste of this Devildom fruit? You’re welcome.”

He frowned, wondering if she was teasing him for trying to hide that fact. The picnic basket remained in his hand. If there was anything he learned in the few hours that he had known her, it was that she was not one to back down so easily, no matter what the circumstances were, including this one.

She roused him from his reverie by saying, “If you are already this beautiful in your human form, then I can only imagine how beautiful you truly are in your natural form.”

He masked his startled reaction with a sigh. Her assumption reminded Lucifer that she was unaware he was heaven’s most prized. To her, he was an angel who was about to stir trouble, and that was all she knew. He couldn’t believe he had almost forgotten that fact, but he still managed to admonish, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Not if I’m being honest.”

“Vile succubus.”

“That’s me, angel.” She laughed and cleared her throat before continuing, “It’s none of my business, I know, but whatever you’re planning, it’s a big deal, isn’t it?”

He kept quiet, refusing to dignify her question with an answer.

She nodded, neither prying nor asking more. “It’s okay. I wish you the very best of luck.”

“I need no luck to succeed in it.”

“Maybe not.” She ambled closer to him and stood on her tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss on his lips. “Take care. You know where to find me.”

How dare she brush her lips against his on her own accord, those lips he had so thoroughly kissed? How dare she suggest that the night they shared would have a repeat one day? How dare she suggest that he should seek her for another tryst? Though these questions plagued his mind as he gazed at her retreating form, a part of him knew deep down that she was someone he wouldn’t forget. The night he shared with her was a memory that would be branded inside his mind to last until the end of time.

It was the moment he had shifted his life into a new path with the defiance of his father’s insufferable orders and expectations. His transgressions—his blasphemous behavior—were serious matters his father would never let slide, and his fellow angels, the righteous and holy, would condemn his failure against morality. However, things had changed. All of those he had once loved about himself and now hated and strived to get away from no longer rooted his feet to the authority of someone else. He was no disciple who merely followed, and he would say no more prayers and sing no more praises. He existed no longer for his father’s purpose, but for his own. The sheer power of individualism spurred his ambition for he was now the master of his own fate and nobody else. He would no longer be invisible under his father’s shadow for he would assert his own greatness and take pride in his own merits.

“Be not afraid.”

“Why would I be afraid of you?”

Lucifer laughed, assumed his natural form, and spun around, the shining aura emanating from his wings faltering for a second before retaining their brilliance. He turned his head and took one last peek at her awed and stunned expression from above his topmost wings before he lifted his feet off the ground, leaving a beam of light in his wake as he went farther. Against the morning air, he flew high and soared in his own wings, the fragrance of freedom as fresh as the morning dew on the roses and leaves.

As the light slowly faded, she managed to collect herself and waved at him from below, wondering when their paths would cross again, if they ever would. When she saw him no more, she turned to leave, but something swirled down from the sky and caught her attention.

With a smile, she opened her palm and waited for the white feather to land on it.

Dawn had broken completely when the Morning Star ascended to the Celestial Realm. Standing in front of the gates of heaven, a revelation struck Lucifer and led him to stop and stare at the picnic basket in his hand.

He did not even know her name.

Special thanks to @photoproses​ for brainstorming with me and for being the first reader of this story.

And thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to read this! 💙

Obey Me! Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[kingspoetrysoc]

Interview with Basmah Mohamed

Basmah is a first-year undergraduate student studying English at King’s. She writes spoken word poetry as well as free-verse poetry, publishing it on her Instagram account @basthepoet. Basmah is a SLAMbassadors Finalist and Speak Out Regional Finalist, writing for publications like Young Writers CW and Exposure. The King’s Poet’s Ishita Uppadhayay speaks to Basmah about her creative process, the ‘purpose’ of poetry, and more.

When did you first start writing poetry? Was there a specific moment when you felt it became an established interest?

I started writing poetry when I was in Year 8, so quite young. I had experience writing short stories prior to that. There was a defining moment, sort of. At my secondary school, we had an opportunity to do a 2-day workshop with Joelle Taylor, who ran the SLAMbassadors competition, and Deanna Rodger. I had never written poetry before. The competition was on the theme of ‘Identity,’ and we had to write a poem in a day, and then film our audition clips. Two other poets and I were chosen to go on to the next round. Then we performed at the Arts Theatre in the West End.

Can you imagine? At the age of 13, having never written poetry before, I got the opportunity to delve into it on stage. I remember going back to school afterwards and everyone asked, ‘How was it?’ I was just like, ‘I killed that.’ We ended up being highly commended out of three schools nationally, and after that experience, I knew poetry was something I wanted to pursue. I had the pleasure of performing my spoken word poetry for many years throughout secondary school –- moments I’ll cherish forever.

I started off writing spoken word poetry, but for the past couple of years, I’ve gone away from that and started writing lyrical and free verse poetry. As of now, I don’t have many opportunities to perform on the stage, so that’s also why I’ve switched my focus to written poetry. But yeah, I’ve been writing poetry ever since I was 13, and I’m 19 now.

Do you prefer spoken word poetry to written poetry, and do you feel there’s a different process to writing each one?

There’s definitely a different feel to writing each of them. I don’t prefer either one, but I feel more experienced in written poetry as of right now and wouldn’t necessarily say I’m exclusively a spoken word poetry artist anymore. I definitely believe they’re two separate art forms with different creative processes behind them.

I love watching spoken word performances – there’s something so special and unique about the form. I could listen to them for hours and hours. Joelle Taylor once said that spoken word poetry is about showing, and not telling. I think this is completely true – with spoken word poetry, there’s an emphasis on ‘showing,’ through gestures, emotions, or visual imagery.

What’s your creative process when writing poetry? Do you have any writing rituals? 

I tend to write my poems digitally, which isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Usually, I just sit down at my laptop and write whatever comes to mind. Over the years, I’ve compiled a sort of master document full of ideas, scraps, fragments, and shorter lines of poetry I’ve thought of. I split my computer screen into two, and on one side I have a fresh document, while on the other, I have these fragments to use for inspiration that I can just pick and choose.

If I force myself to write a poem, it just doesn’t work out, so I don’t set aside time for it. I just write whenever inspiration strikes me, or when I feel like it. I’ve collected quite a few poetry journals over the years, and write all my poems down to have written copies.

Is there anything you’ve studied while at King’s that’s inspired your writing?

In our first semester, we did the Reading Poetry module, which I absolutely loved. Not only were my tutor group so inspiring and creative, but I was also able to find my new style away from spoken word poetry through the module. It inspired me to write shorter, more powerful poems – a style I’m proud of.

Who’s your favourite poet?

I always get this question, and I never know how to answer it! I feel like I’m someone who writes more poetry than I read. One of my biggest inspirations is Poetcurious, he was my former teacher and writes a lot of spoken word poetry. Poetcurious was the one who provided me with various poetry opportunities throughout my time at secondary school and really helped me grow into the poet I am now. I couldn’t be more grateful!

Some of my other inspirations are Akala, Hollie McNish, Solomon O.B, Zena Edwards, Deanna Rodger, and Joelle Taylor – of course, this is also because I’ve had the pleasure of working with them and seeing them perform live. I’ve also been inspired by George The Poet more recently. I look up to Emily Dickinson and Langston Hughes a lot, I really enjoy reading their poetry. I love Lucille Clifton as well. I read a lot of Middle Eastern poetry too, which has inspired my own poetry that I’d love to share in the future.

Do you think poetry is sometimes perceived as an inaccessible art?

I wouldn’t use the word inaccessible. I think poetry is very misunderstood. I think there should be more opportunities to learn about poetry in secondary school, as well as more of an emphasis on various styles of poetry – going beyond the canon and diversifying into teaching and learning about spoken word poetry.

Do you think poetry is meant to have a specific purpose?

There’s no one purpose of poetry – it can be anything you want it to be, which I find really inspiring and beautiful. Poetry is expressive for me: it lets me share my feelings with the world, and can also be a way of capturing a moment. The significance of poetry is subjective, so it truly can be anything you want it to be.

Does a poet need to have natural talent? How important is constant writing practice?

I think there are definitely good and bad writers. I know I said earlier that poetry is subjective, similar to how art is, but there are some boundaries. I don’t think writing poetry should be a tedious task where you have to write every day. If it helps you grow as a writer and a person, that’s great – it really is up to the poet.

Reading and thinking about what inspires you is the most important thing, across all different forms of media, whether that be painting, reading, listening to music… You don’t necessarily need to be very strict with yourself as a poet. At the same time, you need to edit your poetry and receive constructive criticism for it. Otherwise, your work won’t improve.

You publish some of your poetry on Instagram. Why this outlet?

I’ve been published before, and have done competitions. At a point during lockdown, I realised I had been writing more and wanted a way to showcase it. Instagram is the easiest way to do this. Using it as an outlet feels freeing, but also, I want to keep certain poems to myself. Sometimes poetry feels really personal and posting can feel like revealing aspects of myself.

I’m not looking to go viral. It’s just my hobby, what I love, and I’m really proud of it. I want to showcase it because I know people might feel how I feel, or even feel different. I love getting feedback from them too, it helps me improve my writing for the future.

Do you think publication in a journal or poetry collection is more intimate than self-publication on Instagram?

When I publish poetry online, I choose poetry I’m not too vulnerable about, and usually, work that I’m more open to criticism on. There is a different feel to both mediums. I do question using Instagram to publish poetry because of how exposed it feels. Instagram is freeing, as I said earlier, but it is also restrictive because I don’t want to expose all of my poetry – I’m not ready to share all these different parts of myself with the world.

What advice would you give to aspiring poets?

As cliché as this is going to sound, just write. Just keep writing. No matter how critical you are of your work, just write whatever comes to your mind. If inspiration strikes when you’re outside, or walking, catch it immediately and write it down. As passionate as I am about poetry, it’s not my future career. A lot of people think you can’t do anything else if you write, but you definitely can.

Also, always edit your work. It can sometimes be a difficult process, and no one really wants to do it, but it helps fine-tune your writing and gather inspiration for future work. Poetry is whatever you want it to be, and there are a lot of opportunities to publish or work with poets, so keep an eye out for these on social media. Just keep writing and keep going.

[sineala]

Civil War: Script Book

I finally read something and have a proper review for all of you! In case you're curious about the contents of the Civil War script book, I have some thoughts on it here as well as some excerpts of the bits that are probably most exciting and/or useful to 616 Steve/Tony fandom.

On the face of it, Civil War: Script Book is exactly what it sounds like -- a book collecting the final drafts of the scripts of the main Civil War comic book series. Issues one to seven. Yep. All of them. "But Sine," you might ask, "why would I want that when I have already read Civil War?" Well, there are a few reasons. One is that you might just be the kind of person who finds it interested to read comic scripts and compare them to the published material, to see what kind of directions and detail the artist is given, and so on. The other reason is that it is interesting from a fannish perspective -- there is a lot of behind-the-scenes commentary, as well as Mark Millar's original pitch for the series and his first draft for Civil War #1.

The book is laid out in a way that is about as visually exciting as you could hope for a collection of scripts to be. The script itself is on the verso pages. Occasional significant lines are highlighted in yellow, with red arrows drawn to the recto pages where they've reproduced the art that goes with those lines. The recto pages also contain commentary from Mark Millar (the author of Civil War) and Tom Brevoort (the editor at Marvel who, relevantly, was responsible for overseeing the entire Civil War event).

And there's a lot in the commentary that fandom might enjoy knowing about. Disclaimer: the commentary is not new; it was all culled from various promotional interviews, but this is the first time it has been collected in one place in this form. And, okay, to be fair, some of the commentary is Millar rhapsodizing about how much he enjoys splash pages with large numbers of superheroes on them, and also how much he likes fight scenes, but there's more than that. For example, we learn -- although you might already have heard this -- that in the very beginning stages of planning, they thought Steve would be pro-Registration, but ultimately decided against it because they didn't think Steve would be in favor of arresting his friends.

(And as another authorial-intent tidbit that may be of interest to a few of you, Brevoort says that Millar -- who is also the author of the original two Ultimates miniseries, as I'm sure you know -- says that, in his mind, if Civil War had happened in the Ultimate universe, Ults Steve would absolutely have been pro-Registration.)

(One more note on authorial intent: Millar says Steve would not have brought the shield down in the final fight.)

It's also interesting seeing both Brevoort's and Millar's opinion on issues that have since become controversial in fandom meta -- the smaller question of what the SHRA actually does, and the big big question, of course, of which side anyone is on. Which side the event is on. Whether it was intentionally slanted in any way.

There has been talk in fannish meta that it's hard to evaluate CW as an event because we aren't given a clear definition in canon of what restrictions the SHRA would actually impose on superhumans -- for example, everyone with powers is forced to register, but are they actually forced to work for SHIELD? Well, in case you were wondering, both Brevoort and Millar seem pretty clear that this is not the case. This is what Brevoort has to say:

The SHRA isn't an organization, it's a federal law. It requires anybody possessing superhuman abilities to register themselves and those abilities with duly appointed agents of the government. Additionally, if an individual intends to use those super-normal abilities as an independent peace officer, they must qualify on a training evaluation, be licensed and submit to some level of oversight in terms of their activities.

I hope that's helpful to someone in fandom, the next time you want to know what the SHRA does. So the answer looks like, yeah, SHIELD has to know about you even if you're the guy whose power is that you can barf up anything you can imagine (I am still not sure why this is the deus-ex-machina ending that Secret Empire went for but that's the subject of another post), but you don't have to join the Initiative unless you actually want to be a superhero.

And then there's the question of the balance of the event. While fandom as a whole generally seemed to perceive Tony as having been on the wrong side, Brevoort says he thinks that they came off as pretty equal in the main series, but that a lot of the tie-ins may have been slanted in favor of anti-Reg because he wanted to let the writers of the tie-ins "tell the truth as they saw it," and that furthermore a lot of the anti-Reg-favoring issues came out early in the event and helped solidify the opinion. He does say that if he were to do it again he would have rearranged the order of some of the tie-ins and asked some of the writers "to perhaps rein in their depictions of Tony a little bit."

So there. That's the word from Marvel, on both of those topics. On to the rest of this book!

The original pitch by Millar, plotting out the whole event, is also an interesting read, in terms of what changed and what stayed the same. They were originally throwing around a lot of ideas with the Hulk, which as far as I can tell mostly got recycled into Planet Hulk/World War Hulk slightly later on. The inciting event (the Stamford incident in the final version, obviously) hadn't been completely settled on, and they knew they'd have to kill someone (so as to make the event have an impact), but they weren't sure who; later on, they obviously decided on Goliath. What's more, it's clear from reading the rest of the commentary that Millar and Brevoort consider Goliath's death the turning point of the narrative, where the stakes are really raised. I find that interesting; in the parts of fandom I hang out with, the big turning points that come up in conversation tend to be pretty much (a) the EMP and (b) the final fight.

The other thing that's really weird is that... Steve doesn't die. What happens in the original pitch is that there's an evil senator with technology to depower all the superheroes, and Steve basically takes one for the team and stops the final fight by destroying the technology and in the process, losing the serum. There is then some discussion about who should be Cap after that -- whether it should be Bucky or Clint, for example. But skinny Steve basically heads off into the sunset at the end as Registration takes hold, and they plan to keep him deserumed for a year or two until the movie comes out, for that sweet sweet MCU synergy.

Is there anything in the pitch I would have loved to have seen? Hell, yeah. Check this out:

The whole situation is getting nuts and there's a clear war now going on between the super heroes, both equally convinced that they're doing the right thing. It all builds up to a big climax at the end of the fourth issue as Tony wakes up in bed to find Cap sitting on his chest and warning him to call off the dogs. He has to release these super-people from prison or Cap will have to take action. This is a last moment of sanity before all hell breaks loose in issue five and, since Tony believes with all his heart that they need licenses, he tells Cap to go [fuck] himself. Thus, the war is on and both sides are playing for keeps.

Would I pay CASH MONEYS for an emotionally-fraught conversation between Steve and Tony that takes place in Tony's bed with Steve sitting on Tony's chest? Boy howdy! I sure would!

So, you know, I'm sad that that didn't make it into the final draft. The rest of the pitch is pretty meh other than that.

The final bit of content exclusive to this book -- other than the pitch -- is the original draft of the script for Civil War #1 and, well, it would have been... slightly different. First off, there's no Stamford incident. There is an inciting event in which the New Warriors are in a fight for the purposes of reality TV and it gets out of control -- so that part is the same -- but it takes place in Bellport, Long Island, and the sole victim is Happy Hogan, who gets shot in the head and dies.

Naturally, you can see how this would bring Tony on board to the pro-Registration side. Also ardently pro-Registration in this draft is Simon Williams (yes, Wonder Man), who is running for political office and is leveraging this to boost his popularity. Being as Wonder Man isn't particularly popular, I have to say I'm glad that they took that out.

The big-impact scene of Steve's confrontation on the helicarrier -- you know, the one where he jumps out the window and rides a fighter jet down? -- is still there, but in this draft, Fury is still running SHIELD, though Hill is present. The commentary indicates that the role was switched to Hill for the final version because they felt that Fury would be too pro-superhero and specifically too pro-Cap to fill the position. I understand why they did this, but I think the first-draft showdown has a lot more impact coming from people who have been comrades as long as Nick and Steve have in 616:

CAPT AMERICA: I AM NOT RATTING OUT MY FRIENDS! FURY: Fingers on your triggers, boys. Any sudden moves and I want the captain tasered. CAPT AMERICA: Damn you to hell for this, Nick. FURY: Damn you for for making me do it.

See? So much more emotional!

The issue wraps up essentially the same way as the published version, with Tony in a Cabinet meeting with the president, explicitly endorsing Registration -- so, yeah, the main themes are mostly there, but a lot of the details are different.

Overall, I have to say that if you're interested in the details of the Civil War event, and you like behind-the-scenes information and extras, this book is worth a purchase, but not necessarily to the point where you should go hunting it down. I think I got mine for $5, which seems reasonable, and I have definitely gotten $5 worth of Civil War informational value out of it.

[mysidekickisaukulele]

The Charlie Test, or, “Am I Unintentionally Making My Writing Sexist?”

1. Does your writing (story, novel, script, etc.) center around, or involve as a large plot point, a character’s gender identity? (For example, a play about a woman facing discriminating because of gender, or a character coming to terms with their gender identity, etc.) If so, ignore step 2.

2. Can you swap the genders of your characters and have everything still makes sense? (Allowing for some small tweaks, like a line about going through menopause being switched to a cis male character). If the answer is no, or you try this and it feels wrong, there is a chance your writing could be unintentionally sexist, or relying on sexist tropes!

This is something I use a lot when I’m writing, because there are so many harmful, sexist tropes that different forms of media rely on again and again, and it’s hard not to let that permeate your own writing unless you are being active about it. Using this tool has made me a much better, and more confident, writer!

I call it the Charlie test because of what happened the first time I unofficially used it. I had given a script to a friend to look over, and I could see as they were reading that they were very confused and disconcerted. As we talked through the scripts issues, it became clear that she had thought my one character, Charlie, was male, when I had in fact written Charlie as female. Her face instantly cleared up when I explained this to her, but then it hit me that this information shouldn’t have impacted my friend’s ability to follow the story. As I combed through the script, I found dozens of small microaggressions, throwaway sexist remarks, and unchecked applications of sexist tropes to Charlie. All small things, that when removed changed nothing about her character, but did change everything about how this character was seen. Small things like other characters constantly asking “are you sure?”, her own self doubt. Things that seemed so natural to include when writing Charlie the woman, but seemed unnecessary and forced when reading it with Charlie the man. Reading that script the way my friend had, I realized how common it was for me to include all of these sexist microaggressions in my own writing. And how they were not only unnecessary, but actually made my writing worse. So I started doing this in purpose. Gender-swapping my characters while writing a scene to make sure it would still make sense, that it wouldn’t compromise the scene I had set up (And this is not exclusive to cis characters either— does this scene change if my cis male lead is now gender neutral? If he is a trans man? And honestly, if the answer is no, I do sometimes question why the character has to be a cis man in the first place). But I find this tool especially helpful when writing two person scenes, especially those between a man and a woman, ESPECIALLY if the scene is meant to be romantic in any way. If the woman is suddenly the one questioning every move the male makes, does it still make narrative sense, or was that me parroting what I’ve seen after watching too many Cary Grant films? If the man suddenly the butt of every joke, does that say something about his character, or how I view women (or myself!)? Sometimes it leads to me changing what I’ve written or how I’ve written it. Other times it challenges me to change how I think about a situation. Sometimes it inspires me to utilize what I learned in that swap in another piece of writing. But no matter what, it provides a crucial shift in view and forces me to engage with my writing and my internalized sexism critically and head on.

As with anything, there are always exceptions to the rule (See the movie Gravity not passing the Bechdel test, yet still considered feminist by most people, considering it is mostly Sandra Bullock just being an absolute badass), and the Charlie Test does not necessarily mean that you are sexist. In fact, if you are using the Charlie Test, there’s a good chance you aren’t! It’s more a measure of how sexist overtones can still pervade our own writing despite us not thinking that way at all, and a tool to help us see our own writing in a different way. And it can be used in so many other ways too! So take this tool! Use it for good! Change it to fit your own needs! Tell me about it! Engage critically with your own work and internalizations!

[myhahnestopinion]

THE AARONS 2019 - Best TV Episode

A lot of streaming services are switching over to a more traditional weekly release of episodes instead of dumping a whole season all at once. It may be because they, like me, want to highlight the unique achievements of singular episodes. It could also be that they don’t want people, like me, signing up for free trials to binge watch one show and then cancelling before they are billed anything... Here are the Aarons for Best TV Episode:

#10. “Chapter Fifty-One: Big Fun” (Riverdale, Season 3, Episode 16)

Chapter Fifty-One of Riverdale is quite aptly named. With a talented young cast on hand, Riverdale often indulges in music numbers, but their full-blown musical episodes still manage to stand out. Incorporating songs from the Broadway adaptation of Heathers, Riverdale uses the famous high-school satire as a meta-criticism of its own ever-growing ridiculousness. The characters give a fervent lament of their inability to be just regular high school students, but, in the end, are forced to confront their status as mere players on a stage and puppets of a ravenous following. Riverdale is often quite fun; how much more can it do for our amusement?

#9. “Striking Vipers” (Black Mirror, Season 5, Episode 1)

Though it made its name in pessimistic twist of fortune, Black Mirror has been best when indulging in affectionate tales. In its fifth season premiere, what begins as two friends testing out a near-future fighting video game swiftly and surprisingly switches gears into a sweet story of longing and vulnerability. The episode chooses not to map its relationship onto any existing conceptions of sexuality and gender, suggesting ways in which they may continue to evolve alongside new technology. Though there are hints on darkness on its edges, the episode is one of the heart-warming tales that have always been the series’ most striking.

#8. “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms” (Game of Thrones, Season 8, Episode 2)

The second episode of Game of Thrones’ final season was the calm before the storm in more ways than realized at the time. As its characters brace for their imminent battle against an undead horde with a night of quiet companionship, the show produced its last great moments before being swallowed by backlash to its rushed and illogical ending. Unlike the show after that point, the episode does right by its characters, building off their storied histories and delivering earned and endearing pay-offs to several relationships. “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms” forges the last vestige of good in its world; it would have been wise to say ‘good night’ afterward.

#7. “The Trial” (What We Do in The Shadows, Season 1, Episode 7)

The What We Do in The Shadows franchise has conjured a lot of comedy from the long legacy of vampire tropes; in the seventh episode of the new TV iteration, it put the spotlight on the various actors who made up that legacy. As our regular characters arrive for their criminal trial, the show lines up an impressive amount of guest stars, including, but not limited to, Tilda Swinton, Evan Rachel Wood, Wesley Snipes, and the trio from the original What We Do in The Shadows movie. The show doesn’t just use these stars to hang upside down on its laurels though; it’s plump with jokes certain to stir the blood. It’s a very large gathering of vampires, and it doesn’t suck one bit.

#6. “Replay” (The Twilight Zone, Season 1, Episode 3)

Jordan Peele was a promising voice to head up the new incarnation of The Twilight Zone, but the insightful, livid spark of his film projects seemed to get lost along the way for most of the season. “Replay”, though, was one that managed to replicate it. Like the best of the franchise, the situations are supernormal, but the anxieties are very real: a mother discovers a video camera that can rewind time, but still finds herself unable to protect her son from a prejudiced cop hunting them down. The fear of powerlessness is all too palpable; though a fantastic episode that’s worth a watch, it would be hard to sit through again.

#5. “Danny Patrol” (Doom Patrol, Season 1, Episode 8)

The company’s new streaming service has likely doomed Legends of Tomorrow from ever being able to reclaim its title as weirdest DC television series ever. Taking inspiration from writer Grant Morrison’s run in the comics, Doom Patrol is pure absurdity. In episode 8, the team’s quest to find their kidnapped leader brings them into the path of Danny, a sentient genderqueer teleporting street (Yes, like the streets you drive on. This one has thoughts and feelings and can teleport). This odd premise paves the way for the show to reemphasize its core message of learning to love one’s self. The episode most affecting moment is its big karaoke celebration of this idea from Matt Bomer’s Negative Man; the streets are alive with the sound of music. 

#4. “A Quick One, While He’s Away” (BoJack Horseman, Season 6, Episode 8)

The first half of BoJack Horseman’s final season spent a lot of time saddling up its characters to ride off into the sunset… and one episode indicating they won’t get off that easy. The show has frequently experimented with new storytelling tactics, but it has never felt as purposeful as this one, which focuses exclusively on three ancillary characters from the show’s run. The show effortless transplants its engrossing conflicts and noted animal puns to the new trio, but the tragedy at play is knowing, without it being explicitly stated, that we are witnessing BoJack’s worst actions still reverberating in the lives of others. As the show prepares its definitive statement on the series-long question of whether BoJack can find happiness, the toughest answer to acknowledge is that we’ve been backing the wrong horse.

#3. “407 Proxy Authentication Required” (Mr. Robot, Season 4, Episode 7)

While its long-gestating final confrontation against the manipulators of the world economy wouldn’t be for another handful of episodes, “407 Proxy Authentication Required” was the one that finally brought balance to the world of Mr. Robot. Pairing down its characters and sets and stabilizing the series’ deliberately off-kilter cinematography, the episode unfolds as an intimate five act play, slowly preparing Elliot and the audience for a heart-wrenching revelation. It’s a brutal, but ultimately cathartic bit of television, and the finest hour the show has produced. The series rips all its long-standing proxies away, leaving the viewer no choice but to engage with its raw pain and hope for healing.

#2. “I’m In Love” (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Season 4, Episode 17)    

After an improbable four season run, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend gave its final bow in 2019, but the show had one last dramatic turn before exiting stage left for good. Having held herself responsible for her actions and addressed her underlying issues, the series finale, in which she is torn between three equally meaningful romantic interests, sees Rebecca Bunch thoroughly and healthily in love. In its final twist, the episode’s title proves as much of a misnomer as the series’ has been all along. Subversive, stirring, and sidesplitting to its very last breath, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’s impeccable eleven o’clock number sent the series off on a high note.

AND THE BEST TV EPISODE OF 2019 IS...

#1. “This Extraordinary Being” (Watchmen, Season 1, Episode 6)

Masks as a method to hide trauma was a prominent theme of the Watchmen comic; the TV show sequel added a few interesting wrinkles to the idea. In its boldest reinvention of the source material, the episode presents an interpretive origin story of the mysterious comic character Hooded Justice through the eyes of his descendant, laying bare the show’s anxieties of inter-generational trauma. Just as the comic toyed with the composition of its medium, the episode also engages with its own make-up. It illustrates the visual arts’ power to either further the erasure or promote the healing of such lingering pain. As a singular piece of television, comprised as it is with standout guest actors and impressive technical qualities, it’s a great use of the artform; placed within the context of its historic inspirations on- and off- the page, it’s something truly extraordinary. 

NEXT UP: THE 2019 AARON FOR BEST TV PERFORMANCE!

[neopronouns]

What exactly are systems, headmates, alters, all that kind of stuff? And what do they have to do with pronouns and gender?

a system is when one mind has more than one person (i say ‘person’ as an overarching term, but they can be nonhuman) within it. it typically occurs when  a child goes through repeated and/or severe trauma before a certain age (resulting in the disorders did and osdd-1). a system can have as few as two members or up to a virtually infinite number of members (having more than one hundred members in a system is referred to as a polyfragmented system). i’d recommend researching it for yourself, as plurality is a bit complex to explain, and i probably don’t have all the info lol

headmates, alters, and other related terms are words used to refer to the different beings within a system. everyone in a system is a headmate/alter no matter their role - so for me, even being the host and being frontlocked most of the time, i am still an alter! (for the rest of this, i will be using the term alter rather than headmate because it is my system’s preferred term, but not all systems prefer it).

i’ll put some other system info under the cut, since there are a lot more basic system terms that i feel i should define, but first i’m going to answer your second question!

since a system contains more than one being, and these alters can be incredibly different from one another, there is often a blurring of identity. every system member could have a different gender and orientation, use different pronouns, etc. the lines between system members are not always defined, and the brain can’t always process every alters’ identity without confusion, resulting in confusion around these types of things. there are also many alters who are nonhuman, meaning they may identify very differently from their human alters.

for example, i am a nonbinary trans man. my system has alters who are cis women, agender, trans men, and cis men, which results in some confusion. there are also several nonhuman system members who do not subscribe to human ideas of gender - one of them is his species’ version of male, another doesn’t understand the concept of gender and sex as it relates to void’s existence, etc. and we all have different orientations as well!

more basic terms under the cut:

you also may have heard terms for system roles, such as host, persecutor, protector, gatekeeper, etc. a system role refers to the purpose than an alter fulfills, if any! there are also terms for types of alters, such as fictive, factive, ageslider, etc. these refer to either where an alter comes from or how the alter appears in headspace!

the headspace (or the innerworld/otherworld, as some systems prefer) is the area in which alters reside when not fronting/cofronting/etc. some systems have vivid, ‘physical’ headspaces, while others may not even have one. headspaces are not exclusive to systems, as singlets/non-systems who meditate can also experience them, but it is widely used in the system community! some systems also use meatspace/outerworld to refer to the physical world

when an alter is in control of the body, they are fronting. alters can co-front, resulting in multiple beings having control (either total or limited) over the body. alters can also be co-conscious, meaning that, while they may not be fronting, they are conscious enough to be aware of what fronting alters are doing, and sometimes are able to communicate with those alters. a change in who is fronting is referred to as a switch, and switching is often triggered by something (either a positive or negative stimulus).

[gcmblingdice]

[ Another drabble request. Karine and Megan decorating their apartment. ]

Karine is surprised the first time Megan comes back after a few months to visit again, while announcing she was in an exchange program. Of course Karine would have offered to let her stay with Key and herself...but they didn’t have room. Since Karine often stayed over with Woo at times it wasn’t uncommon then for Key to tell her to make sure she just checks in so often, because Key knows that Karine, though adult enough to handle herself, liked when someone would ask her to check in. 

She found it sweet when someone wanted good morning or good night texts from her. The other doesn’t live permanently with Megan, mind you, but for the first two or three months she is almost exclusively with her. Naturally Karine makes sure to also spend her time with Key, but she knows Key has become infinitely more busy as a make up artist for SKZ. It’s maybe a few weeks into setting up the small one bedroom studio apartment Megan was given for the year that Karine decides it’d be a good time to really make the apartment her own. 

Megan was not prepared for the kitschy aesthetic that she came to know Karine for...and yet she couldn’t help but to gravitate also to the bright colors and patterns her friend pointed out. In a way, Megan was happy to have her best friend back. She respects Key highly, knows how important the other had been to Karine, but the jealousy of not being there and knowing she would not have that close bond does simmer at times underneath and it makes her angry at times. Karine’s often too high to really pay attention and it is worrisome at times how often she smokes. 

One night as they finished moving and setting up, Megan couldn’t exactly stop the question from leaving her mouth. 

“Do you regret it?” 

Karine was caught off guard, her larger body cuddled around the smaller, but equally fluffy one of the other. They were curled into one another, Karine being the big spoon and Megan burying her face into her neck, breathing her scent. The lingering feels remained and the younger by  a few months didn’t exactly understand why they fell out, why things happened. It’s only through the bonding of putting her place together that she begun to wonder if what they had was in her mind. If it was just a simple fling. Did Karine ever truly care for her? Why did Karine feel so much stronger for Key than  her? Why did she turn to her when Ellis hurt her...but now trusts this woman she met not even a few months before the break up...a few months before she dropped off the face of the earth and left Megan alone. 

The other couldn’t help, but to feel betrayed at the time because with Karine there to protect her, to be her knight, she had to fend for herself in the more hostile area where she lived. It hurt her, because their college was not...the most accepting of anyone queer. 

“Regret what?” She asks, fingers curling into faded pink hair, ends fried beyond repair. 

“Leaving.” 

....

Karine doesn’t answer and Megan couldn’t stop the soft sigh, tears welling up. 

“Was I not good enough to replace him?” She murmurs. “When we...you were so thin once, you looked like shit all the time...but you still came to me, I still did my best to make you look pretty, to boost your confidence after he destroyed it. I thought..I thought you were getting better we were getting closer...was...was it all in my head? That you loved me more than a friend? Those nights we shared, our bodies as one...was it a lie?” 

Again she is silent, yet her arms hold tighter, face buried into her hair. 

“No...” she whispers. “I never regretted what we had...but I was scared. I...never told you all he  did. I should have left you a note...but I couldn’t. I was afraid...” 

“He’s the one who told me where you were. Your mom’s had no idea either, not for at least a few months. You switched colleges and left us. You moved without saying anything and it hurt me.” 

“...I’m sorry,” she whispers, tilts their head up to press a gentle kiss to their lips. “I’m sorry for how I acted, for how I hurt you. I’m sorry it felt like I replaced you...I jsut needed away. If I stayed with him...I wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t heal. When you came to surprise me that day I was so shocked and happy...I am still shocked and happy...that you came to me. You wanted to find me.” 

At this, Megan could only roll her eyes, sighing dramatically. They may not be the same since, but Karine was still her friend and she would still love and support her. The feelings would never leave and that was fine. She would be okay, because Karine was healthy. She was okay. She was safe. 

“Of course I did. For having an IQ of 130 you sure are dumb Riri,” she says with a fond smile, giving a shakey laugh as tears spilled and she couldn’t control the sobs that racked her body as they cuddled on the futon couch with the most garish looking zebra printed sheets and bright as fuck pink pillows. 

Seeing this the older just hums, holding them close and letting them cry. Megan was hurt just like Karine had been, a different hurt, but a hurt of the heart none the less. 

“I promise not to leave this time. We’re friends, we always will be...you’re my first friend...my only friend I had since we were kids...I could never leave you on purpose. Please understand that. I wanted to reach out to you...but if I did I would be tempted to go back and Ellis would pull me in again. Key...Key had offered to let me be with her while I got help. I didn’t want to risk you...knowing what he could do...who he was involved with. Oh Meg...” she whispers softly, presses more kisses to her hair. “I love you so much baby girl, I’m here now. I’m here and you’re here and we’ll never be apart again. I won’t abandon our friendship again...or you.” 

“I know,” she says softly, sobs quieting. “I just...was holding in a lot of hurt. We’ll be okay, we will be okay, because Riri never lets anything keep her down for long...and neither do I. We’re two strong women who will overcome anything together...right?” 

A small grin. 

“Right. Go to sleep, I have to be up early for my job...and you have to be up early for classes.” 

“....Riri?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I want to meet them. Your boyfriends and...I...I want to meet Key fully. I want to know the woman and two men who took your heart and helped you to heal.” 

“Of course,” she says grinning. “whatever my baby wants.” 

“....cheese,” they murmur before drifting off, letting Karine’s warm arms lull her into a restful sleep. 

[samsbastardzone]

Hey, you know that 35 d&d questions ask meme? I answered all of them.

This is a long ass post. Be warned. It took up seven and a half pages in google docs. Original post here.

1. A favorite character you have played.

Would have to be Zize Fortier, dragonborn gunslinger. Their tag on this blog is #zize and you can find their bio and info on my character page. Love that bastard!! He’s sweet and bratty and a total delight to play (we are such an OP party, y’all).

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played.

UM UM gonna talk about a few here. To be fair to people I play a *lot* of games with, I’m only gonna  talk about one PC per person.

- The bastard trio in my Wildemount game– @toomanyorphans ’s Nakoria, @overplannedbutunnamednpc ‘s Zier (also an NPC in the campaign Zize is in), and @glasyasbutch ‘s Nissy. They all really suck so bad but in SUCH funny ways. They’re varying degrees of self centered and awful, but we trust each other in this campaign, and those 3 players are SO funny in their RP.

- (RIP) Avri in my Wildemount game. They and Bly named each other,,,,  they were parent and child…… VERY sweet. huge goliath with tiny bird in backpack.

- @bekahdoesnershit ‘s Raini. Zize’s BFF, and her tag on that blog is rich. She’s SUCH a bitch but we love her.

- @bhissar ‘s Saela. She is a dream character for me to DM for– very little fleshed out backstory with room to explore, with still-concrete events in it. Consistent character choices and personality, to the point I can sometimes predict what she’ll do. Very cool aesthetically. And overall? EXTREMELY sweet. Baby, baby bird.

3. Your favorite side quest.

Either the one going on right now in amnesia, where we have to collect brain matter from big powerful elementals, or the stop we made at a family of vampires in Acarnya (the one I played Osfyr in).

4. Your current campaign.

There are five of those, with two on hold. 

-Wildemount, aka the Frozen Sick module from Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount (we’re almost done with that, my PC is Bly). 

-Amnesia campaign aka high level campaign: we woke up in hell with no memories! PC is Zize. 

-Hoard of the Dragon Queen module, near the beginning of that, PC is Pointy. 

-Horror campaign, only two sessions so far, but we’re trapped in an alternate dimension carrying out tasks for a creepy dude. PC is Vinny. 

-Kithan, where we’re high level monster hunting guild members searching  out ancient artifacts of the gods (campaign based on the Monster Hunter games), PC is Topaz.

-Silas, party is currently trying to help dragons free themselves and stop a… dude? No spoilers! I DM. On hold because I had too many campaigns going at once.

-Silas v2: extremely vaguely based on the plot of season one of the web series Carmilla. A tweaked version of the first arc the Silas party went through. On hold because it was played in person at school.

5. Favorite NPC.

I don’t really have any NPCs in my campaigns that I’m super attached to, except– Nikeo, a goliath rogue PC in Silas 1, had many adopted children. Three of them– kobolds– sometimes stand on each others’ shoulders, put on a long coat, and help out around their parent’s store. They’ve named themselves Koby.

As for favorite NPCs in campaigns I’ve played, I can think of… a lot. The first is Laurel, a blue dragonborn loner type who followed Osfyr and friends in Acarnya. They were kind of broody and dark, but they really drew me in. They were the first NPC we really talked to– they were sitting on top of the post office laughing at the mob scene of people protesting not getting their mail delivered.

I’d also pick Osfyr’s partners in that campaign– Yelkian, a backstory love interest I came up with, a flamboyant soft sorcerer. Jupiter, politician’s niece, who took pity on Osfyr’s attempts to seduce information out of her and let them succeed on both counts (seduction and information). Xerxes, extra AF rogue with a big loving family, who swept in after a fight on the back of an eagle-wildshaped Brysth (npc druid). 

There’s a blue dragon in the HOTDQ campaign that we don’t know much about. I really enjoyed the way @dungeonsanddraconicqueer played him. He’s just a dude! Lex’s warlock made a Deal with him to leave the town alone. We still don’t know the implications of that. It’s fine, guys.

And then, there’s Stewart the Skin Steward, a servant of False Mystra. Fun dude.  Very cavalier– nigh, enthusiastic!– about the fact that his entire city was made of skin. Something of a skin connoisseur, in fact!

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

Saela, hands down. She got breathed on by a dragon, yo. We then had to stop playing for 4-5 months because a player lost access to the Internet. I wrote a vision/speech from her warlock patron, the Raven Queen, the night she died, and basically didn’t touch it until I read it out in game. It involved a confession that the Queen was  tired of being a god, and showing Saela all the lives she’d touched. Then we used Matt Mercer’s rez rules for her. She came back– but it was her choice.

7. Your favorite downtime activity.

Fucking tinkering dude!!! I don’t get to do it enough as Zize and that is entirely my fault. @ morgan, eyes emoji

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

I LOVE creepy shit. There was a train car with people dancing in it, and party members got enchanted to dance along and eat the food,  and the revelers were clearly in pain, and snuffing out a candle caused a reveler to disappear. Creepy shit!

In Kithan, we had to climb a staircase, and we timed it with produce flame which is a 10 minute duration cantrip, and we were climbing for 50 minutes. We started to see things in the edges of our vision. Then someone realized it was an illusion, and it all vanished. It freaked me out so bad.

In amnesia campaign, at level 19, we were traversing a cave, and our shadows started dripping the same black goop we were there to investigate. We killed one and it took down the max hp of the person whose shadow it was, and then they straight up didn’t have a shadow until they long rested. It really freaked us out, realizing the shadows were actually creatures, but they were like CR 1. Really effective use of a low level monster.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

The way it has something for everyone… the way it’s brought me so many friends… the way it’s inspired my OC creation like nothing else.

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most.

I’m not sure if this is asking about NPCs I’ve had as enemies, or any monster in D&D canon? The longest campaign I played in didn’t have long term enemies  per se. I’d say I was frustrated with the cultists that ambushed us last session in HOTDQ,  but I didn’t hate them! I just couldn’t seem to hit or dodge them. As for a favorite… probably False Mystra: the demon lord Orcus who’d taken over  the position, and therefore the duties, of Mystra, the god of arcane magic.  We killed it,  but then whoopso!! Our wizard lost her powers.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play?

I play an ideal amount, honestly: four times a week, for about 2.5-3 hours a session. HOTDQ Tuesdays, Kithan and horror campaign switching off Wednesdays, Wildemount Thursdays cause we miss CR, Amnesia Sundays.

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

Amnesia: Yocheved, the party barbarian/full time fish, has a secret third arm and/or a prosthetic ass. Cylthia, the druid, does arson (but actually). Relentless is a Crown paladin, so she puts her fingers in her ears when we do crime/lie. She also has a rod of lordly might that, immediately post amnesia, she made into a 32 foot climbing pole. Yocheved eats pounds and pounds of raw fish for every meal.

Wildemount: just the shenanigans and sabotaging each other that the Bastard Trio get into. Example: Nissy was tasked with buying Zier a cloak for cold weather and purposely got him an  ugly one. Zier then prestidigitated it to be a nicer color.

13. Introduce your current party.

Oh boy, I have 6 of those. Here goes. Keep in mind many of these characters are played and games are DMed by my friends who have OC blogs of their own: Raini and Ayen are bekahdoesnerdshit, Ezra, Nissy, and Roona are glasyasbutch, Horror DM, Lent, Eve, and Nakoria are toomanyorphans, Wildemount DM, Saela, Daecyne, and Cylthia are bhissar, HOTDQ DM is dungeonsanddraconicqueer, and Amnesia DM, Zier, Nyxi, and Sarril are overplannedbutunnamednpc. Not an OC blog, but Yocheved, Avri, Arbor, Thraf, Nikeo, and Whisper are mickgoesabsolutelyhamforbarbie.

Amnesia (Zize): Lent, tiefling paladin, former crownsguard who “fell” (became an oathbreaker), then un-fell when we lost our memories. Cylthia, tiefling/elf druid who can shift between tiefling and elf forms and loves setting things on fire. Yocheved, 14 foot tall nereid (fishfolk) barbarian with a dry sense of humor, is the party parent. And Raini, aasimar wizard, sass machine and Zize’s bff.

HOTDQ. My PC is Pointy. Ezra, quiet human paladin. Theata, moon elf rogue. Freya, sweet (human?) light cleric who sometimes misreads situations. Eve, 13 year old (!!) human warlock who kinda sucks, but like, she’s 13. Nyxi, motherly gnome bard who Is going to adopt Pointy. 

Wildemount (Bly): Alene, human barbarian. Quiet and with somewhat of a parent instinct. Some sort of Mysterious Backstory. Delta, aasimar rogue, similarly shady backstory? Unclear. Sticks with Alene. Nissy, drow rune knight, sucks. Zier, drow sorcerer, also sucks. Nakoria, dragonborn warlock, ALSO sucks. (Those three make up the Bastard Trio.) Avri (F for them), goliath bard and Avri’s guardian, died last session by falling on a floor full of knives. 

Horror campaign (Vinny): Roona, halfling bard, very impulsive, eats exclusively with her spoon that says ASS, and chills in Vinny’s fanny pack. Ayen, elven teenage warlock with a dark backstory. Sarril, Ayen’s not-dad, half elf beast barbarian who got it from his wife. Arbor, dryad  monk, who wears an all white plague doctor outfit at all times.

Silas v1 (DM), Original party before 1 left and 1 died: Hacka (RIP), human luchador-styled drunken monk. Nikeo (left), goliath rogue with so many adopted children. Inferno, fire genasi paladin/phoenix sorcerer with anger and impulse control issues. Saela, babiest aarakocra warlock of the Raven Queen. Hacka’s player now plays Voda, a stoic water genasi tempest cleric who cast Raise Dead successfully on Saela. Nikeo’s player now plays Whisper, a tabaxi astral soul monk.

Kithan (Topaz): Thraf, monsterborn (universe-compliant dragonborn) barbarian. Very social, very outgoing, very stupid, and very traumatized. Fucks majorly. Daecyne, sweet tiefling druid and Topaz’s good friend. Viosa, aasimar homebrew class I forget the name of, uses her small stature and allure to her advantage. Damur, half-orc eldritch knight, the party’s only braincell.

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed.

Acarnya. My PC was Osfyr. Soraphine, traumatized halfling bard. Azalea, human fighter. Durzuell, haughty high elf sorcerer. James, nerdy half elf wizard. Drago, erratic Russian dragonborn monk. Kairon, slightly edgy ranger/paladin (but we love him). 

Nordenheim. My PC was Cap. I will admit: we only played 2 or 3 sessions, so I don’t really remember  most of the other party members except Rory, a fire genasi ranger who almost burned to death.

Silas v2 (hopefully will continue; I DMed): Kysseris IV. Half-elf paladin, uptight. Tower 1-6, warforged wizard who crawled out of the desert and is looking for info on how he was made. Mae “Pock”, gnome rogue, very small and  sweet. Josh, human trickery cleric, kind of an asshole, but in a way that’s funny and hasn’t bled over into IRL annoying.

[school] West Marches campaign (Ner): by the nature of West Marches, there was never a consistent party, but a few stood out to me. Red Foot, a hyperactive kobold sorcerer who’s level 8 against all West Marches odds. Lyra, Great Old One warlock of Tzee’Mhor, an abomination goat that a party I was in accidentally created. Fildo Baggins, divination wizard who can only affect allies whose toenail clippings he has in his vial.

15. Do you have snacks during game times?

Hell yeah babey!!! I mostly play digitally, especially during COVID, and I need something to munch after DMing for a while. Shit’s exhausting.

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer?

Welp! Online mostly, since everyone I want to play with has the audacity to live far away, and now exclusively online because of COVID.

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

Our Amnesia party is so rich that we just don’t keep track of money. In Kithan, a lot of rules that make characters less powerful are just… abolished (like the bonus action spell rule). (The DM likes super OP characters so she can throw SUPER OP monsters at us.  My character has a necklace that gives 5 additional uses of channel divinity.)

18. Does your party keep any pets?

Nope. No opportunities for them. Zize’s party has a little water snake on the druid’s arm but I doubt that will last very long.

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

Absolutely. Cursed dice get j a i l.

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing?

Acarnya got me into d&d, it was my first campaign, and it was happening at the place I lived. I’ve been playing almost 2 years. (Critical Role inspired me to DM)

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done?

Not sent a fucking letter to say goodbye to their boyfriend before the world-fate-deciding bullshit that was gonna happen and possibly destroy shit. It was fine in the end though!

22. What color was your first dragon?

Red. Man, that guy sucked, he almost killed Osfyr. We were investigating a monastery secretly run by dragons disguised as humans.

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns?

Original campaigns. I’ve never run a module before! I’m not opposed, but most of my campaigns came from ideas  that I had. I’ve never been short on ideas for a game.

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game?

As a player, I just open my character sheet and get out dice. As a DM, I try and think about what material I want to get through this session, and write some narration and/or stat things out if I feel like it.

For DMs

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

A lot of times, Inferno has rushed into battle from what I’d built as a stealth mission, and gotten her ass and sometimes the party’s asses kicked. I should really have learned by now.

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters?

Definitely Saela’s resurrection ritual and vision.

27. Do you allow homebrew content?

Yes! I’ll check it first,  but I’m all for expanding the boundaries. I homebrew items and monsters all the time, why shouldn’t my payers get to homebrew their shit?

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

Too often in my first arc. I had like 7 NPCs running around at all times (they were Carmilla characters). Super not recommended. I have 0 right now.

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions?

I’m still finding my groove with RP as a DM. I like encouraging my players to RP amongst themselves. I consider myself fairly good at combat on both sides of the equation, DM and player, so that’s always fun to me, especially when my players enjoy it too.

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

I have one actively reforming murder hobo player, the rest are diplomatic. (The character, Inferno, is having a great growth arc. I’m super proud.)

For Players

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race?

I fucking love genasi as a concept. Favorite class would have to be rogue or cleric, but gunslinger’s up there too.

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

I  honestly don't have the patience to not play DPS. I love doing lots of damage. Healing is satisfying, support is satisfying, but there’s a reason I picked rogue twice and tempest cleric over other domains.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

Sometimes the backstory is part of the character concept– especially for Pointy, because I had the name first, then went hmm why would she have this name. Almost always, though, more backstory gets written during the campaign when I have an idea. Sometimes a character will act in a way I don’t expect, and it’s fun thinking of a justification to fill backstory gaps.

34. Do you tend to pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor?

Mostly  usefulness honestly. I’ll make choices among several for flavor, but I’m a big proponent of using mechanics to build character. What I mean is, think about Magnus in TAZ Balance– his protection fighting style contributed a lot to the way Travis played him as a protective person. I love that shit.

35. How much roleplay do you like to do?

I like to do a lot, but unfortunately my  energy is pretty down lately so I haven’t been doing as much.

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1. NordVPN – Great Balance of Price and Performance

Dedicated torrenting profile: Yes, P2P distinctiveness servers available Works with: Netflix (a couple of libraries), Hulu, BBC iPlayer, Vudu, Amazon Prime Video, SkyTV, Disney+, and plenty of others Available on: Windows, macOS, Android, iOS, Linux, Chrome, Firefox, and routers Data logging: Strict no-logs coverage Money-again guarantee: 30 days NordVPN is our #1 VPN recommendation. It provides splendid all-round cost, with exquisite capabilities and overall performance at a charge few can beat.

AES-256 encryption and help for OpenVPN and IKEv2/IPSec protocols hold your visitors comfortable and hidden. Since it’s registered in Panama, NordVPN is likewise some distance faraway from 14 Eyes surveillance and troubling information retention laws. This permits it to accumulate zero sensitive consumer logs—first-rate news for the privacy-conscious.

NordVPN’s CyberSec suite characteristic affords adblocking and additional malware protection. The VPN’s obfuscated servers can help you get admission to all components of the net, even in closely-censored international locations. Two of our researchers placed those servers to the check from Beijing and Shenzhen in China, and they had been capable of get entry to Netflix, Facebook, Gmail, and each other website online they attempted. With NordVPN, you furthermore mght don’t need to worry approximately VPN leaks as it gives  specific kill switches and custom DNS settings to prevent them.

The massive NordVPN network has over 5390 servers in over 55 countries, with ordinary new additions. It offers uniqueness servers for P2P, double encryption, and devoted IPs. This offers this VPN the flexibility to get round geoblocks, get servers tailored to any use case, and have better speeds. We examined it in 12 areas against the restrictions of Netflix, Disney+, Hulu, and numerous other services; it broke every block.

The VPN additionally constantly confirmed first rate speeds in each usa we tested. When we related to a nearby server, our speeds fell simply five%—that’s not anything! We experienced the best velocity loss while connecting to Australia from the United Kingdom. However, it become best a 30% loss, and we were still at nearly 38 Mbps down load.

Secure streaming and torrenting are one-click on tasks with NordVPN. Thanks to proprietary SmartPlay DNS settings, the NordVPN patron robotically provides reliable get entry to and rapid speeds while you open Netflix and different streaming services. Best yet, it can unblock over 400 exclusive offerings—no different VPN comes near.

If you ever want assistance, you may anticipate the 24/7 stay chat customer service to help you out. We related several instances over some weeks to test the representatives, and we got here away with beneficial answers to all of our questions. What’s greater, NordVPN has a massive information base complete of beneficial data on setups and servers.

Don’t Use If:

You need to pay with PayPal. It does that to shield your privacy, however a few humans nonetheless like PayPal.

The backside line? We think NordVPN is the ultimate multi-purpose VPN, but we were disappointed that you may’t pay with PayPal—although it does have its very own secure charge platform. You can test its intuitive apps and outstanding features on six devices with a chance-loose 30-day cash-returned assure.

Heads up—NordVPN is walking some wonderful offers! Save to your NordVPN plan with these splendid coupons.

ExpressVPN – Speedy, Safe, and Reliable

Dedicated torrenting profile: No (but all servers guide P2P hobby) Works with: Netflix, BBC iPlayer, Hulu, Disney+, HBO NOW, Spotify, Amazon Prime Video, and lots of others Available on: Windows, Mac, Android, iOS, Chromebook, Kindle Fire, browsers, and routers Data logging: Strict no-logs coverage Money-back assure: 30 days ExpressVPN’s state-of-the-art deal October 2020: Get 3 months absolutely loose on your annual subscription with this modern-day provide! It’s no longer for positive while this deal will end so it’s high-quality to test the deals web page to see if it’s nevertheless available. ExpressVPN may be our second desire standard, however don’t permit that idiot you. It’s taken a pinnacle spot in lots of assessments, together with first-rate VPN for iOS gadgets, torrenting, and routers, because it’s a strong, reliable option.

ExpressVPN has three,000+ high-pace servers at one hundred sixty global places. It’s additionally one of the fastest VPNs we’ve tested. We performed lots of velocity checks to verify this, and we’ve protected our UK consequences underneath in your evaluation. As predicted, connecting to close by servers yielded the satisfactory consequences. But we were also impressed with the fact that our connections to the US and Australia were also proper—simply 22% and 35% drops, respectively. This is terrific information for streamers and torrenters round the sector.

The cut up tunneling function allows you to tailor ExpressVPN on your needs by using deciding on which apps and services are encrypted. I tested it through streaming my nearby Netflix library in my browser at the same time as making sure BitTorrent was installation to run thru the VPN. It took handiest a second to installation and worked flawlessly.

There’s more: ExpressVPN will let you get right of entry to your preferred content, even on platforms that don’t support VPNs. Thanks to the MediaStreamer characteristic and the VPN’s ability to blast via geoblocks, our researchers had been capable to look at Netflix, Hulu, and BBC iPlayer from six one of a kind countries on smart TVs, Amazon Fire TV sticks, Apple TV, gaming consoles, and other gadgets

ExpressVPN helps P2P connections on all servers, so you don’t need a torrenting profile. The app’s Smart Location feature chooses the pleasant server for you. It took me just 15 mins to torrent a movie, so it became rapid and easy manner.

ExpressVPN offers 256-bit encryption and OpenVPN aid throughout all systems, offering strong protection. Additionally, you get DNS leak protection and a Network Lock placing—in different words, a kill transfer to your connection.

ExpressVPN’s revolutionary TrustedServer era guarantees that every ExpressVPN server constantly masses the exact identical comfortable, up-to-date software, greatly reducing safety risks. TrustedServer also allows ExpressVPN servers to operate the usage of best RAM. Because the servers by no means write to the tough force, it's miles impossible for any records to be stored on the server after a reboot—even by accident. This gives extraordinary tiers of safety.

We turned to our researchers in Asia once more to check out ExpressVPN’s ability to bypass censorship. We’re happy to report that it continuously bypassed the Great Firewall of China, so it’s a pinnacle select for areas with heavy censorship, too.

Customer provider is also on factor, with helpful 24/7 stay chat support and specific setup guides for the various supported platforms. Every time I tested the stay chat function, I changed into talking to a beneficial consultant in under  mins.

[belphegor1982]

AND ALSO THAT TIME YOU KILLED PHIL

I’m never gonna live that one down, am I :D Okay, let’s go.

He always says it, and Lawrence always shrugs. It’s almost becomean in-joke now.

The prompt was “You don’t have to stay”, and I have no idea why my mind conjured the image of Spy (at the end of a long, eventful life) in a hospital bed saying this to Sniper. But once it took hold it wouldn’t let go. And, y’know, for all that I love writing humour, banter, and/or fluff, sometimes I just have to let rip with the brutal down-to-earth feels. Like when I wrote If.

Of the two of them, it’s hard to say who hates hospitals the most,so Philippe is always grateful when Lawrence comes to visit. Usuallyhe comes alone, but sometimes one of his grandnephews or nieces comeswith him, Lizzie’s and Christian’s kids and grandkids, of course! and the conversation is livelier and dwells less on thepast, which is just as well. Their past is splattered with litres andlitres of blood, half of it their own.

Spy is French and, I suspect, remains French in certain aspects of his life. Hence the using “litres” instead of “galleons”. Also, while the premise of TF2 is “a bunch of cheerful dumb psychos who can’t die killing each other for a paycheck” - classic video game fare, and goofy as hell - the implications are interesting. By “implications” I mean “possible PTSD” and by “interesting” I mean “fun to explore through writing/torturing characters”, naturally.

Does killing people for a living make you a murderer when said deadpeople keep coming back for more the very next day? Philippe haspondered this more often than not, these past few years. Sometimes,instead of asking himself, he asks Lawrence, because he’s the onlyone left he can ask, but Lawrence has no answer of his own.

See what I mean about the premise? Hence my taking crack seriously. It’s a reasonably good question, too - it makes you an assassin, but does it make you a murderer if you know the people you keep killing keep coming back?

(They’re not the last ones left, but it certainly feels like it.Scout’s in Boston and Miss Pauling lives in Louisiana and theyhardly see each other any more. Sometimes they Skype. Ever sincePhilippe checked into the hospital he’s refused to do anything morethan chat, though.)

TF2 is set in the 1960s/early 1970s. That means this snippet is set in the late 2000s/early 2010s. Notice how Scout and Pauling are the youngest? This is why they’re the only ones left. And the reason why Spy doesn’t want to Skype since he’s checked into the hospital is because he’s wasting away, knows he’s not coming out alive, and refuses to appear as weak/leave a bad impression of him in their memories. Or, how vanity can make you sad instead of making you want to roll your eyes. (but you do anyway.)

* * *

“You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“That’s all right, I don’t have anywhere else I need to be tillsixteen hundred.”

Sniper spends a lot of time in that hospital.

They still use military time. It reminds them of the bad old days andthe way Soldier – ironically enough – never got the hang of it.

Don’t tell me Jane Doe would understand military time :D was he even in the military in the first place? Also, this is just funny to me, because in France we use a version of that to tell the time. 1PM is “13 heures”, 8PM is “20 heures” (but midnight is “minuit”).

Philippe still uses the metric system in his head, come to think ofit.

As I said, for some things he remains 100% French.

When it comes to plunging your knife into someone’s back with theintention of causing as much damage as possible, a centimetre willalways be more precise than an inch.

…and that’s also a factor.

* * *

Philippe stays at the hospital. Lawrence stays at his side.

He brings him news of his nephews and nieces (Lizzie’s andChristian’s kids) and their children, and it’s a treat, watchinghim awkwardly sliding the photos on his phones with his huge, bonyfingers. He loves technology – has a ridiculous amount of apps onhis phone – but the emphasis on touch screens lately annoys him.

I didn’t want to go the obvious route and make old!Lawrence a grumpy curmudgeon with no technological skills. But I liked the idea of him being grumpy because his fingers are getting a little stiff with age and he prefers buttons to touch screens. My dad is the same, btw.

Philippe hasn’t touched his own phone in a couple of days. Justpicking it up seemed like too much of an effort.

* * *

“You don’t have to stay.”

Hey, notice how the last time this sentence pops up it’s just a little different? :3

“Keep that up, spook, and I’ll end up believin’ I’minterrupting something each time I come in. Is it that red-hairednurse, ya know, the one with the freckles?”

I purposely didn’t specify the gender of the nurse. That’s because 1) I like the idea of Phil being bi and 2) at the time I wasn’t 100% sure - and didn’t want to decide for the readers, Chaos in particular - whether he and Law were a couple or really close friends. That’s for you to decide. They 100% are each other’s family, though.

Lawrence’s voice is low on purpose, even as he’s gently ribbinghim. Philippe murmurs because his chest feels like a slab ofconcrete.

Or a slab of stone. Like the kind they put on people’s graves.

What can I say? I love wordplay. In this instance it’s effective.

“No.”

“Ah well. Thought he liked ya. I was all ready to get jealous andeverythin’, too.”

He’s ribbing him, of course, as Phil is a little too far gone for Lawrence to get jealous - but again, I deliberately kept the nature of their relationship vague.

Lawrence’s slight smile – the sort that says ‘Come on, playalong’ – is warm and gentle, and it makes Philippe almost not saywhat he means to say.

Almost.

Okay, truth: this was the point I knew death was imminent. 

“Lawrence…”

Even whispering is an effort. Putain de cigarettes.

“Fucking cigarettes”. I usually put translations when I write in other languages but I thought this one was obvious enough.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… look away, please? For a… moment.”

There’s a French series called Lazy Company, about a handful of idiots through the Battle of Normandy; it’s three seasons of 10 episodes and while hilarious is a big case of Cerebus Syndrome and mood whiplash. In one of the last episodes, one of the main characters is shot and another character is there for them, but the dying character asks them to look away as he dies. It’s not for the same reasons at all, but it was such a powerful moment that it stayed with me a long time, and was still on my mind when I wrote this.

Lawrence says nothing, but his eyes narrow.

“It’s just… I need… intimacy.” Suddenly he’s not sureit’s the right word. He’s been speaking almost exclusivelyEnglish for over fifty or sixty years; words usually flow withoutthinking. But right now he has thrown his whole body into the laststruggle, and it’s an effort that dwarfs all others, including thesearch for vocabulary.

Do you know the worst part of being bilingual? You end up searching for words in both languages, especially when you’re tired. Incidentally, I love writing characters who speak more than one language, especially if they live in an environment where they have to speak a second language.

Lawrence still squints at him silently, as though he’s waiting foran explanation. Philippe isn’t sure he’ll hear the end.

“T—thank you. For staying. Thank you. But…”

They’ve dealt death so many times, the two of them; they’ve diedso many times, too, whether in the heat and chaos of battle or curledup on themselves, bleeding to death in a corner. They’ve never diedalone. There’s always been someone – the enemy standing overthem, allies running towards them in a last ditch attempt at rescue,their comrades’ and the Administrator’s voice in their earpieces…

Again, crack taken seriously. Usually in fiction, dying alone is about the worst fate a dying character can meet: there’s just something about facing that pain and that terrifying unknown without the comfort of a fellow human being that’s heartbreaking. But when your life used to be death, repeatedly, with someone ALWAYS watching you or listening to you… Well, I thought Phil might see dying without someone else’s eyes on him for once as going out with dignity.

And then there is the other sort of death that Philippe saw wellbefore that, the slow death of the human mind as he strugglednot to turn into a living shadow because it was just one step awayfrom the corpses the SS guards cleared off the ground as though theywere refuse.

Look, Em, I don’t know when you got the idea that Spy was a death camp survivor, but you pulled it off magnificently and when I think of TF2 it’s your version that comes to my mind first. So - Phil has seen that kind of impersonal, industrial death (mental and physical) before the violent, repeated kind of his chosen profession. I used the reminder to segue into the next idea:

Philippe has never seen death as being dignified and intimate. He’sseen way too much of it for that. But if this is to be the end, he’llbe damned if he doesn’t do this on his own terms.

And that’s what this is about. Dying with dignity, side by side with a friend who doesn’t think any less of you for not fighting one more minute and allows you the respect of not prying while staying and holding your hand.

Lawrence stares at him, waiting for the rest of the sentence. ButPhilippe is struggling for breath now, not vocabulary. So Lawrencenods slowly, takes his limp, emaciated hand in his own, big andgangly and calloused, and resolutely turns his head right, towardsthe window.

It’s not a bad sight.

I’m usually pretty uptight about third-person limited PoVs, and only switch PoVs after a dash or something else that makes it clear you’re seeing the action through the eyes of a different character. In this instance, though, I didn’t, and made the switch from Phil’s to Law’s mind just as Phil passes away.

Philippe’s hand twitches at some point. Lawrence waits a littlebefore looking down again.

Then he reaches out and slowly, gently, closes the half-open eyes.

The reason I didn’t write tears was because I thought I didn’t need to. Which also means you’re free to imagine whatever you want. Is Lawrence crying? Will he cry later, when it sinks in? Yes.

Whew, this was A Lot to revisit :D