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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

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Stranger Things Fic Master List

Hello! I am updating my Master List so that it's easier to find what you're looking for.

About Me

She/Her. I won't put my age up here because I'm ADHD riddled and will leave the same age up there forever so...just know I joined in 2013.

Long time fanfic writer. I've been writing since 2012. I’ve written for 9 different fandoms though my first and most prolific is that of BBC’s Sherlock clocking out at 62 published stories and an untold number of stories that are unpolished and unpublished. My next prolific and most recent is Stranger Things. I got pulled into Stranger Things by way the Steddie phenomenon that exploded after July by a few different people, but mostly Kedreeva who I started following for Good Omens (which is another fandom I’ve written for).

I love tagging games I just have such anxiety about them (before not having enough people to tag, now afraid of leaving the wrong person out) so I don’t really do them. I want to so badly though. Sorry! Still love everyone who thinks of me though.

I enjoy ask games because I LOVE info dumping. Someone makes a comment or says something nice in the tags and I want to just overflow them with love and information. But I’m never sure how that will be received so I don’t (anxiety really is horrible).

My inbox is always open. Come drop me a line, gush about your favorite story, or just wave hello.

I am pro-ship, pro-back button, pro-kinktomato (your kink is not my kink and that's okay; essentially). I have personal squicks, but I'm not going to call out someone who likes them. I will, if I feel strongly about it, make my own post about it, however. Like Eddie's age and Steve's style. But I won't say anything to you, if I don't like what you post.

I will block, report (if necessary), and delete hate of any kind. Directed at me or anyone else. I leave anonymous asks on, because I'm shy and sometimes like the option to say something without it being linked to this blog and wouldn't deny that of someone else. But hate in my inbox will never be answered.

Every Wednesday, I do WIP Wednesday where I will post which stories I'm working on that week and you can send me asks for your favorites so they get done faster. It's lots of fun so come join me each week.

I have a tag list for each story, but I also have a personal permanent list that I've curated from those that have either requested it or have been such fans that it seems remiss not to tag them in new things. I do have a hard limit of FIFTY per story and yes, that does include those on my permanent list. You can be asked to be removed from the list at any time, I won't be hurt by it. People's feelings change and evolve and if that means they don't want to be tagged, that's fine.

I now has a Discord server where we talk about my stories and you can get previews of my story ideas, help me out with plot problems (be my rubber duck!) and other great perks. Send me a DM if you want the link.

My masterlist only includes my Stranger Things fics, but the tag #ladykailitha writes will have some of my The Sandman headcanons, ficlets and story ideas, too. Everything else is on my AO3.

Story Key

If it has an AO3 tag after the summary, it's been beta'ed and posted on that site. No tag? Not up there yet.

If there is a (+) after the title that means I think it has the potential for a longer story.

If there is an (*) after the title it means I have expanded it to a full fic and the link to said fic will be the post itself.

Any thing brackets () will be major ship (usually Steddie), number of words, and rating. If there is no ship, that means there wasn't one.

The rating will usually be T for teen but there are a few that aren't. G is general audience. M is mature (this usually sex, but also sometimes dark themes) and E is explicit. I don't think I have anything that's rated E, but if I do it's sex.

Completed Stories

Ficlets (Less Than 1000 Words)

MORP (Steddie 233 G)- Steve hosts backwards prom for the misfits and freaks of Hawkins that wouldn’t fit in at the regular prom (not limited to the LGBTQ kids, but that was the main draw).

El Hopper, Avenging Fury (Steddie 249 T)- Steve dies in the aftermath of defeating Vecna and El has some opinions on that.

April Fools (Steddie 288 G)- Steve and Eddie gets couples t-shirts from Dustin. Eddie is amused, Steve not so much.

Erica and the Carebear Movie (308 G)- Missing scene: Mike and Dustin go to Erica to get her to play with Hellfire and meet more resistance then they expected. All because of a movie. Or author finds out Carebears 2 came out the night of the game/session and makes it Mike and Dustin’s problem.

Feral Steve (340 T)- Steve being rescued from having gone feral at the end by everyone.

Cat Dads (Steddie 444 T)- Eddie brings home a box full of kittens only intending to keep one, only Steve falls in love with one of the other kittens.

Steve and the Stick of Life- (Steddie 451 T)- Steve makes a deal with an other to protect those he loves, the catch? Every time he protects someone it burns up a little bit of his life, shortening it.

Smooth Operator Steve- (Steddie 500 T)Steve decides to ask Eddie out. He cranks the charm up to eleven.

Sun-kissed and Moon-glow (Steddie 525 words G)- Rockstar!Eddie and Model!Steve on the red carpet. Steve gets asked about the grumpy one being in love with the sunshine one. Steve’s response is surprising as it is thoughtful. (Steddie 525 words G)

Sad Eddie Time (Steddie 683 T)- Eddie realizes that Steve’s been giving him adoring looks when he sees that look on Steve’s face with his new girlfriend, Becca. (Ends happily)

The Rake and the Knight (Steddie 745 T) - Steve and Eddie are both gay, but hide it in very different ways. Steve sleeps through the female population of Hawkins High looking for a connection. A rake of the highest order. Eddie charms his way out of dating by being so chivalrous (having them home by nine, only kissing their hand) that they tend to break it off with him as they seek for more.

Target (Steddie 702 T)- Steve has something to prove to Eddie. A boy who has been running all his life from people who hate gays. Eddie worries that dating Steve will put a target on Steve’s back. Too bad Steve’s into that. AO3

Thirteen (Steddie 803 T)- Steve comes out to Robin, Nancy, and Eddie, saying he’s known since he was thirteen he liked boys. All thanks to a boy that was kind to him his first day of middle school. Eddie hears the story with some shock and more than a little awe. He was that boy. AO3

Love is Loving the Person For Who They Are (Steddie 871 G) - Just Eddie tell Steve he’s perfect the way he is, no changes required. AO3

Short Fics (1000-5000 Words)

Steve’s Bad Date (Steddie 1046 G)- Steve goes on a date with another guy to a haunted house, the date ends badly when Jeremy pushes Steve at the actor to get away. The actor gives him the fake ax to chase his date. From that one TikTok video. AO3

Whatever You Need, I’ve Got It- (Steddie 1300 T) Steve just picking up whatever instrument Corroded Coffin needs to fill out a song and suddenly he's on tour with them and Eddie still isn't sure how it happened.

I’ll Be Your Knight (Steddie 1336 T)- After Eddie is back home from the hospital, he hears a strange sound outside his window. Click Strike Fwoosh Clack. Repeated, over and over again. AO3

The Rockstar and The Teacher (Steddie 1547 T)- Steve and Eddie have been together for a decade, but due to Eddie being a rockstar and Steve a teacher, they aren’t out to the public, Steve isn’t even out at all because of the stigma around gay men and children. But it all comes crashing down when someone decides to take the choice away from in the most brutal way possible. Steve goes into crisis mode and comes out swinging.

All My Firsts Belong to You (Steddie 1655 G)- Steve finds out he’s the side piece for his first boyfriend when said boyfriend posts his engagement to a woman on social media. A boyfriend none of his friends are aware he had. Eddie finds him on the verge of a breakdown and they learn some important things about each other. AO3

A Gentle Bloom- (Steddie 1842 T) The love between Eddie and Steve blooms, as Steve blossoms into the complete person he never knew he needed to be.

Skate Circles Around Everyone (Steddie 1907 T)- Steve can’t skate. Well. That’s not strictly true. He hasn’t skated since his dad decided it was feminine and Harrington boys don’t skate. So he’s a tad embarrassed by the fact that not only does Eddie skate well he should be out there winning gold medals and shit. But Eddie decides to teach Steve how to skate instead of showing off on the ice.

The Promise (Steddie 1915 G) - Eddie is caught looking at Steve’s bookshelf, but when Steve shows him his favorite book, a little note flutters out of it. Intrigued Eddie has Steve tell him the story. A story that as it goes on, Eddie recognizes. Because Steve’s first kiss? Is Eddie’s too. AO3

Love is Kind (Steddie 1942 T)- Steve finds out his girlfriend was only with him because she thought he was rich. And breaks up with her on Valentine's Day. He's got everything laid out for the perfect date, so he calls Eddie to help him eat it. Turns out planning the perfect date is easy when you learn that love is supposed to be kind. AO3

Crossroads (Steddie 2049 words G) - Steve has a choice. Either go back inside with his mom and give up everything he has fought for in the last five years and live the life his parents want. Or he can runaway with Eddie. Just get in his van and drive forever. AO3

It’s Just a Kiss (Steddie 2420 T)- Steve loves it when Eddie talks. He gets so excited. But Steve keeps getting distracted by a place on Eddie neck, that he just wants to taste. Normally Steve impulse control is iron clad. Not today. AO3

Telling it Like it Is (Steddie 2884 T)- Jonathan and Steve don’t even like each other. But Jonathan knows that there are something that only he can say that Steve would accept. He just didn’t think it would spiral like this. AO3

Fake Boyfriend (Steddie 3060 T)- After most of the older teens have gone off to college, Eddie goes over to Steve's to hang out. When he finds Steve on the phone with one of his co-workers, he tells Steve to pretend Eddie is his boyfriend to get the guy to back off via notes on his notebook. It works better than he could possibly dream as the more Steve describes his "boyfriend" the more it sounds real. AO3

Soft (Steddie 3224 T)- Steve gets Eddie a necklace with the money that he had put down on ring for his very newly ex-girlfriend. Everyone around Eddie is telling him it’s an act of love. Eddie isn’t so sure. AO3

I See You Shiver With Antic--ipation! (Steddie 3495 T)- Eddie and Robin are taking their friends to a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show where they all dress up. Only thing don't go quite according to plan when Steve gets self conscious about his costume. Now it's a race to get the belle to the ball, Eddie has just the fairy godmother in mind, his old friend Janice former Hellfire Club member and now makeup artist.

We Love Steve (Steddie 3700 T)- As far as love confessions go, that couldn’t have gone worse for Eddie. Especially since it ends with Steve crying in his arms because he thought the confession was a joke or prank. Because no one would want Steve. He’s bullshit. Eddie tells the party and they decide to throw a surprise party. His birthday would be best, but an “We Love Steve” party would work in a pinch. The problem? No one knows when Steve’s birthday is. Cue Eddie to the rescue. Holy Shit, Steve’s birthday is Halloween. AO3

New Year’s Eve (Steddie 3816 words M)- Sequel to The Magic of Christmas Steve’s Christmas present to Eddie makes for a wonderful night out, Steve’s mom, be damned.

The People That See You (Steddie 4178 T)- Eddie makes a stupid comment about Steve trying to impress his old friends, only for Steve to overhear it. Now Eddie has to fix it and he doesn’t know how. Only there is someone in his friends that use to hang out with Steve in middle school. Cue Brian (the unnamed CC member) spilling the beans on Steve Harrington. AO3

The Rise of the Fallen (Steddie 4603 words G)- On the ten anniversary of The Fallen's eponymous debut album, the band decides to do an unmasking. This is the interview with Variety journalist Karla Lopez. SEQUEL TO ICARUS AND AROUND THE WORLD READ THEM FIRST!!!

Exit Eddie Pursued By Steve (Steddie 4788 M)- Eddie sees Steve in the ugly step-sister ballgown and likes what he sees, so Steve invites him backstage after the play. Things take an interesting turn when Steve suddenly marks Eddie as his boyfriend. Every doubt, every insecurity Eddie has is almost instantly foiled by Steve’s inner romantic. AO3

Mid-length Fics (5000-15000 Words)

A Valentine’s Day to Remember- Steve hates Valentine’s day. It’s bad enough when you’re in a relationship. But way worse when you’re single. Enter Eddie to rescue. Steve’s POV (Steddie 5276 T): AO3 Eddie’s POV (Steddie 5032 M): AO3

Meet Me On the Dance Floor (Steddie 5578 T)- Steve, Robin, and Eddie take Will to his first gay bar after he turns 18 and awakens somethings for Eddie when he finds out Pretty Boy Steve is bisexual. And doesn’t dance. Well he does, but like a drunk muppet. Mike finds out and learns some pretty deep shit about himself he didn’t he had buried. Deleted Scene AO3

The Places We Hide (Steddie 6667 T) - A series of moments where Steve wants to be found. And learns to ask for help. AO3

Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate (Steddie 6733 words T)- After the events surrounding Will Byers and his return to life, Steve has decided he can't control anything in his life but school, so he seeks to put a stop to the bullying. Cue Eddie getting heart-eyes over popular King Steve protecting his little sheepies. So he decides Steve needs a knew title. Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate will work just fine.

The Subtleties of Steve Harrington (Steddie 6960 T)- Summary: Steve has a problem. One he really doesn’t understand. The people closest to him think he’s straight. Well, there are few exceptions. He just wasn’t expecting Eddie and Robin to be in Camp Straight Steve. In a series of vignettes about the people closest to Steve and Eddie finding out that maybe Steve is subtler than they thought.

Staking My Claim (Steddie 6962 T)- Steve gets rescued twice by the Corroded Coffin boys when someone seeks to stake his claim on Steve. Steve wakes up under the tender of the Corroded Coffin boys and finds out that family can be found when blood relatives fail you. AO3

Everything I Ever Wanted (Steddie 9698 words M) - Sequel to Not All That Glitters is Gold. A series of vignettes about things Steve wanted in the first story that he wanted that he was able to achieve through his relationship with Eddie.

What Do Shovels Dig? Graves (Steddie 9711 words T)- After Steve has breakdown when Jonathan comes to talk to him thinking it’s another shovel talk. When Jonathan finds out that other than his family and El, everyone has given Steve a variation of the talk, he runs to Eddie. And between the Byers, El, and Eddie, they force the Party to realize the harm they’ve caused and makes them apologize, too.

Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town (Steddie 10222 T)- The gang finally convinces Steve to join the next campaign. But to help him out Eddie and Dustin create the character based on Steve, their own beloved tank and barbarian. They learn more about the hidden depth of Steve. Extra

Little Runaway (Steddie 10,500 M)- Steve’s on the run from his dad when outs himself as gay. So Dustin turns to the least likely of help. Eddie Munson. Eddie doesn’t even like Steve. But he’s a Munson and Munsons’ have a thing for strays. Extra AO3

The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock (Steddie LuMax 11150) - After Vecna Max is having trouble convincing Lucas to date her again so she turns to the one member of the party who is dating a jock: Eddie Munson. He breaks down his tips for dating an oblivious jock. Bold = the guide. Italicized = their conversation. Standard = examples Eddie is giving Max for each step. AO3

Sweet Surrender (Steddie 11570 words M)- After the events in Paper Hearts, Eddie and Steve navigate their first date, their first time, Eddie's friends, Steve's ex, and prom! It's a lot, but they'll make it through.

Across a Crowded Room (Steddie 12840 words M)- Modern, no monsters AU. After they all graduated from high school the older teens drifted to other parts of the country. And while Steve and Eddie have made short trips to see each other, usually with the whole, they really haven't spent much time in the same room in years. That all changes when Eddie is able to spend a week in Chicago with Steve and Robin. But when Eddie sees Steve for the first time in years, he gets scared. Will have the courage to walk across that crowded room to be with Steve?

Long Fics (15000+ Words)

The Magic of Christmas (Steddie 17012 T)- Businessman Steve hires artist Eddie to do painting of the Party’s D&D characters for Christmas. Watch as over the next six months as the two men fall in love.

Paper Hearts (Steddie 17027 T)- Hawkins High is selling paper hearts to help raise for senior prom. $3 for red romantic hearts and $1 for pink friendship hearts. Steve hasn't dated anyone since the horrific breakup with Nancy on Halloween and so he decides that he's going to send pink hearts to senior girls who wouldn't normally get any hearts at all. When Eddie hears about this he can't help be intrigued. It goes against his very well curated Munson Doctrine. But as events keep throwing them together, Eddie learns there is more to King Steve then meets the eye.

A Love For Christmas (Steddie 18730 words T) - Steve is a business man charged with planning his dad's company Christmas party. Christmas has never been a good day for him, so he's a bit of Scrooge as far as the holiday is concerned. So when he meets tree farmer Eddie Munson, the man decided to show Steve what Christmas means. And maybe with a little Christmas magic Steve will find more than just a love for the holiday, he'll find love for Christmas too

A Love Connection- (Steddie 18832 words T)Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll accept him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

Around the World (Steddie 19010 words M)- After a grueling tour, Steve wants nothing more than take a vacation with his boyfriend and just be regular people for three months. Only Eddie isn't just anyone, he's the frontman for the world's most popular heavy metal band. So Chrissy and Robin come long to act as beards (provided they keep their hands off of each other long enough). Join the fruity four as they travel the world looking for the spooky, the kooky, and the alltogether weird. SEQUEL TO ICARUS READ THAT HERE FIRST.

If I Rescue You, Will You Rescue Me, Too? (Steddie 19435 M)- Steve realizes after the aftermath of Vecna that he’s in love with Eddie. When he finds out that he was trying to get enough money to get to the Ozzy Osborne/Metallica concert in Indy in a week, he decides to woo Eddie via the most important concert of Eddie’s young life.

Batshit Soulmates (Steddie 20590 words T)- Soulmates were granted to a vast majority of the human population. And of those that didn’t have them, the best they could figure out was that they didn’t need soulmates because they were the best humanity had to offer. Of those that had soulmarks they were related in someway. A pair of different colored hearts. Matching flowers. Things like that. And when you met your soulmate they glowed the same color and felt warm to the touch. Steve hasn’t met his yet. All that changes when Eddie Munson is accused of murdering Chrissy Cunningham. (Just an excuse to have Steve and Eddie fighting off the bats together back to back, really)

Sweet Home Indiana (Steddie 20825 words T)- Sweet Home Alabama AU. Eddie is a successful tattoo artist in Seattle and is engaged to be married to Chrissy. Only there is one problem. Well, technically three. You see, back before the Supreme Court ruled that gay marriage was a right and not a privilege Eddie had gotten married in a couple of different states to different people. But now that's it's legal, he's a bigamist and he has to get his exes to divorce him. Which is easy enough for two of the three, not so much for the third. You see the third just isn't just any ex, it's the ex. Steve Harrington. So now he has to go down to Hawkins and try to convince the person he thought he was going to spend his life with to divorce him. Something much easier said then done, especially when Eddie finds himself falling back in love.

In the Midnight Hour (Steddie 20985 T)- Steve thinks that Eddie’s night visits are Vecna toying with his mind. Until one night Steve comes to the starling realization that Eddie IS back and it’s up them to save him.

Grief (A Friend Indeed) (Steddie 22212 T) - Eddie and Wayne have to go back to Kentucky when Eddie's grandmother (and Wayne and Al's mother) passes. Steve comes along when Eddie suggests that he would feel better if he came. Along the way they learn about each other's pasts and find out that they are each other's future.

The Harrington Pattern (Steddie 26980 words T)- Steve is a secret history nerd who likes to sew. By example he teaches the younger members of the party that not conforming to societal standards can look different for everyone.

Star Child (Steddie 27100 words M)-Steve Harrington formerly of the boy band The Kings, is set to co-headline with Corroded Coffin Indiana’s first Love Loud concert as they are all hometown boys from Hawkins. Steve suggests a duet with frontman Eddie Munson. Low Key in Love, by The Struts and Paris Jackson. Sparks fly as Steve tries to court the frontman Low Key. But this is Steve, when has he ever been low key? Meta Extra Scene

Never Hold Back Your Step (Steddie 31065 words T)- Continuing after “Can Anybody See Me?” Steve is struggling after the play trying to navigate his new relationship with Eddie, dealing with Nancy finding out he’s gay (and her bad reaction to that info) and just trying to keep it together. He graduates from high school but Eddie doesn’t. He doesn’t get into college and now he’s stuck trying to pretend to be “King Steve” so that his spunky new co-worker Robin Buckley doesn’t find out he’s gay. And oh yeah what’s this about Russians in the mall? Steve is cursed, he just has to be. The Boy With a Bat Book 2.

The Hellfire Exotic Club- (Steddie 32252 words E) The Hellfire Exotic Club was the hottest ticket around. The best male and female exotic dancers in the whole god damn state with each night a deadly sin. When owner, Eddie loses his Envy because the guy fucked the wrong person, he has a week to find a replacement. But when Steve auditions with Julia Michael's Heaven, it turns the entire club on its head. Now Eddie must deal with the usual nut jobs trying to close him down, dancers not liking the new changes, and his former Envy causing trouble, all this on top of having budding feelings for Steve. But if Eddie is anything, he's resilient and stubborn. Come hell or high water, him and his club is going to come out of this just fine.

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes- (Steddie 32435 words T) When a freak accident at his third Olympics left him with migraines and a fear of deep water, Steve thought his Olympic dreams were dead—until delinquent Eddie Munson arrived at his pool to do community service. Steve witnesses Eddie's swimming talent and realizes his dreams don't have to be over. Now it's a race to get Eddie Olympic ready in two years. Steve's going for gold, but Eddie might have other interests in mind.

Oh, For a Muse of Fire!- (Enemies to Lovers Steddie 34275 T) Steve just needs to pass one class in order to graduate from college and get his art teaching degree. Live Figure Drawing. A class as far as he is concerned is cursed having failed it a total of three times. Only now Joyce Byers is teaching the class with Eddie Munson as her model. He’s going to fail, he just knows it. Especially since Eddie is more than a little hostile and Steve can’t figure out why. AO3

All My Roads Lead Back to You (Steddie 37530 T)- It’s been twenty years since Vecna was defeated and Eddie and Steve have gone their separate ways. They are suddenly thrown back together when their kids join the same band. Will they finally realize that what they’d been looking for their whole lives is each other or will they miss out on true love? Again.

Not All That Glitters is Gold (Steddie 37890 words M)- Steve is an escort with Starcourt Services, who provides omegas to alphas with the money for all sorts of accommodations: arm candy at social events, rut servicing, multiples (including orgies), and sometimes, just sex. Steve is highly sought after, but after a run in with Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson at a fundraiser for a US senator, his world is turned upside down. No monsters/omegaverse AU. Rockstar Eddie/Sex Worker Steve. Mature (especially in later chapters). BTS Meta Further Meta

Can Anybody See Me? (Steddie 39594 M)- I just wanted to write a fic where someone notices that Steve isn’t the same person anymore and see him and the changes he’s made. Because I hate how everyone dogs on Steve for being the dumb jock in seasons 3 and 4. * * First Book in the “The Boy with A Bat” series

Well Met by Moonlight (Steddie 41570 words M)- Steve is the Harrington Pack alpha. Eddie is the newly bitten vampire outcast. They are the most unlikely duo but somehow they find a way to make it work. Especially when strange happenings keep occurring in their small town. Who can they trust?

Icarus (Steddie 52895 words M)- Eddie and Corroded Coffin make it big and Dustin is their biggest fan. Or was. His new favorite band is The Fallen. They’re very theatrical and it drives Eddie up the wall. Until Dustin drags him to a concert that will not only change his mind. But rock his world.

Royal Pain (Steddie 58461 T) - No Monster Modern AU. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, have a steady gig at a bar in Indy where they play every weekend. Eddie's life takes a left turn when his regular tattoo artist, Max Mayfield, moves to New York with her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair, newly traded to the New York Knicks. Now needing a new tattoo artist, Jeff recommends "Royal Pain", which even Max agrees is a good shop. On arrival, Eddie is shocked to find Steve is the shop's artist. They hit it off, and slowly move from the barest of acquaintances to boyfriends. Meta

AO3 Exclusive Stories

Stories that aren't here on Tumblr.

In order of published:

Eddie’s Big Stevie Rescue- (Steddie 3647 words T) Eddie goes out to a bar in Indy to blow off some steam. But the bar is lame and he decides to leave. But before he can get even two steps from his booth, Steve Harrington literally falls into his lap. A drugged Steve that is need of help. Eddie to the rescue.

This Wound Is More Than Skin Deep- (Steddie 4126 words T) Eddie and Steve are struggling post Vecna with their wounds and Eddie blows up at Steve and sets off a series of events that changes how they see each other.

My Sweetheart- (Steddie 1448 words T) Steve breaks down after hearing Eddie call someone else ‘sweetheart’ and revelations are had.

Bravery- (Steddie 3682 words M) Eddie is a virgin and wants Steve to take it. Steve agrees provided Eddie agrees to be his boyfriend. Eddie agrees.

Home- (Steddie 3250 words M) Eddie finds Steve naked in his bed, so he does the decent thing and sleeps on the couch. In the morning there are revelations in and out of the bedroom.

Love Story Alibi- (Steddie 4810 words T) Steve decides to get Eddie off in the most unhinged way imaginable. At a town hall meeting, lying about... well pretty much everything. Almost.

Works In Progress

The Caged Bird Still Sings- (Steddie M)- Steve has hit rock bottom, after his dad catches him making out with his boyfriend on the family sofa, he gets kicked out and loses his job. Determined to at least have one more thrill before he spends the rest of his life in his car, he heads to the Hideout to get drunk off his ass and maybe tempt someone into bed so he can have a bed to sleep in for the night. Instead he catches the eye of Hawkins native and metal frontman Eddie Munson who decides he’s going to take care of him. Sugar Baby!Steve and Sugar Daddy!Eddie. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17

The Au Pair Boy (Steddie T)- Eddie Munson is a in bind, set to go on a three month reunion tour, he is in need of nanny for his twin girls Janice and Joan since his partner, Ethan blew up their lives a year ago. Enter nanny extraordinaire, Steve Harrington. Both men struggle with treading the line between boss/nanny and their strong attraction to each other. Will Eddie learn to trust again? Will Steve realize that he was always meant to be right there by Eddie's side? Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9

Spellbound (Steddie T) - It's a quiet, idyllic life in the town of Hawkins. For everyone but Eddie Munson. You see, his look and cottage scream witch. The long, curly, dark curls, the black clothes, and dark and broody cottage all point to Eddie as a witch. But no. That title belongs to Steve Harrington down the way. In bright and cheery house, dressed in green and a sunny disposition. Things start turn in the town when Chrissy shows up on Eddie's doorstep thinking he's the witch. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

The Last Dragon Slayer (Steddie T)- Fifty years ago, dragons who had once been scarce had suddenly taken over nearly every mountain, vale, valley, and cove. Humans, frightened of their new neighbors fashioned and trained dragon slayers to rid themselves of the beasts. Sir Steffan, once a prince, is the last of these slayers. He roams the land looking for the dragon that killed his mother on the day of his birth. He's starved, cold, and homeless when he gets the call from King Richard to rid the king of the black dragon Edgewraith. Pt 1

The 12 AU of Christmas Series (Steddie Various)- A series of Christmas ficlets based on my many AUs that I’ve written over the years. Each one will be from 500-1500 words and will have links to the original fic. Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11

Snippets, Headcanons, and Rants

Plot Ideas

Steve’s Meltdown- Steve gets overstimulated when everyone is calling his name. Ideally a great idea for a comic, not sure I’ll do anything with it.

The Cutting Edge AU- I’ve gone into detail on this, so I’ve put up the link here. Steddie

Munson: Unsolved- An idea I had for an no monster AU here. Steddie

*The Fallen- Steve in a metal band like Sleep Token were the band wears masks. Steddie

Can You Speak Truth to Power- Medieval AU. King Steve and jester Eddie. Everyone else is here too.

Continued Medieval AU- The masquerade at the end of the story.

*Omegaverse- My idea for a Steddie omegaverse if I were to do one.

*Season 1 AU- King Steve turns over a new leaf and forces his friends to do the same.

*Strip Club AU- Eddie runs Hellfire Strip Club and is their top dancer. In comes Steve and rocks his world.

Stardust AU- My rundown of what I would do with the ST cast in a Stardust AU.

Feral Steve and Kas Eddie- just an AU I had that had Steve in the coma at the end instead of Eddie and Eddie waiting by his bedside.

Midsummer’s AU- Steve is a foundling of Titania and Oberon. Yup that Titania and Oberon.

Code Pink- What started out a cute little idea for a one-start ballooned in what will probably be a full series at this point.

*Werewolf!Steve and Vampire!Eddie World Build- my write up on the world of my latest AU I’m working on. It’s going to be fun! Let’s hope I actually get vamp sexy times, because my two other attempts at Vampire!Eddie(Kas technically) have been angst fests so...yeah!

Scarlet Pimpernel AU- Just a little idea about Steve as Sir Percy by day and the Scarlet Pimpernel by night.

Vecna’s No Good, Bad Time Travel Trip- Henry Creel tries to time travel to make sure he isn’t defeated. Only he keeps making it worse for himself. Like way worse.

The Dating Game- Steve is the contestant and Billy, Tommy, and Eddie are his choices. This is Steddie, so of course he picks Eddie.

Twofer- Secret Garden AU and *Steve is a tattoo artist AU.

In Plain Sight Crossover- Eddie goes into WITSEC after Vecna and he and Wayne gets new names. All is going well, the Party has mourned and moved on for the most part. Jimmy (Eddie) and Nate (Wayne) are happily in their new lives. Until Tommy Munson comes back and kidnaps Wayne because he thinks Wayne is in WITSEC due to hiding lots of money. Eddie has to contact Steve for the ransom money.

Famous!Steve and Rockstar!Eddie- Steve is former reality star and Eddie is frontman for Corroded Coffin. Eddie meets Steve at a club concert and finds out that his “fans” bullied him for not dressing like a metalhead and refuses to perform. The next day Robin shows Steve the video of the rant Eddie gave before walking off stage and Steve realizes it was about him.

Little Black Book Snippet- Eddie uses his little black book he keeps for his drug deals (for accounting purposes mainly) to get Steve out of a jam involving a same sex honey trap.

5+1 Steddie Fic- Five times someone walks in on Steve and one of the older teens thinking they’re having sex but they aren’t and the one time everyone walks in on Steve and Eddie actually having sex.

*Reconnecting AU- Steve and Eddie’s kids are part of a rock band together. Harry Munson on guitar and Edie Harrington on drums. When the kids realize their dads are each other’s biggest what ifs, they decide to set them up.

Stevie Slut Hour- Steve likes to cruise gay bars dressed as someone else, Eddie meets him during one of these tours and doesn’t know it’s Steve. He finds out later, though.

Pride & Prejudice AU: Steve is Darcy, Eddie is Lizzy and the gang’s all here, too.

Insane Asylum Steve: Steve has a breakdown as disassociates the plot of the TV series, with the cast making appearances in Steve’s life in different ways.

Gran Turismo AU- Steve and the rest of the Scoops Troupe is the best pit crew in NASCAR but his world is turned upside down when the owners stage a stunt season of players of the game Gran Turismo. Eddie is assigned to Steve’s crew. Enemy to Lovers, speed run. ;)

*Sweet Home Indiana- Eddie finds himself in a bit of bind when he goes to marriage license to marry to Chrissy and they tell him he’s still married to the guys he married before gay marriage was legalized a cross the country. So now it’s a race against time to get divorced so he can marry Chrissy. Two of them are easy, the third one? Not so much. Steve Harrington isn’t just any ex. He’s the one that Eddie always regretted letting go of. Sweet Home Alabama AU.

LadyHawke AU- How I would do a Ladyhawke Steddie and keep it medieval.

*Sugardaddy!Eddie and Sugarbaby!Steve AU- How I would put my own spin on this AU for Steddie.

Steve’s Worst Nightmare- Steve thinks he’s living the dream when Eddie tells him that everyone hates him. Only maybe things aren’t as they seem. (angst with a happy ending)

Capt. Eddie Munson and the Star- Pirate Eddie falls in love with a star and proves that stars CAN love you back. A bit PotC/Stardust crossover. A tiny bit.

Bouncer!Eddie and Drunk!Steve- Steve gets too drunk to function and Eddie takes him home. Base off a pic I saw on Facebook.

Steve’s Rizz v Eddie’s Filter- They both win. Steve hasn’t been laid in awhile and Eddie offers to be the willing participate, feat. their friends taking bets.

*Olympic Steddie- Steve trains Eddie in swimming for the Olympics.

Dead Boy Detective AU- Eddie as Charles and Steve as Edwin and sprinkle in the rest of the cast for funsies and go to town.

Steve’s Rewind- Steve’s family has a rewind device that allows them to change an event. He’s done it twice and now he’s going to do it again. Angsty AF.

Noir AU- Steve is a PI, Robin his partner, Nancy is the femme fatale, and Jonathan and Hopper are cops.

Mafia AU- Eddie got a mobster off of a conspiracy to commit murder charge and is now under his protection.

FB Fanfic Prompt- I got enemies to lovers, historical, and time travel. Yeah, baby, let’s go!

Amnesia AU- Steve vanishes and Eddie is blamed. Two years later Eddie meets Aaron. Only Aaron looks suspiciously like Steve but he doesn’t remember anything since he woke up in hospital with no wallet no keys, and no memories.

*The Last Dragon Slayer- Sir Steven is the last dragon slayer hunting down the dragon that killed his mother. Edgewraith is a dragon he’s sent to kill.

Steve is Powered- Steve’s mom was a test subject of Brenner’s and got her abilities.

Serial Killer Steve and PI Eddie Munson- Steve is a killer of serial killers, Eddie is a former suspect of one of his murders turned Private Investigator. When Steve turns to writing after he retires. Eddie figures it out, but the books are sooo good. So he lets it slide, until Steve needs his help.

Headcanons

Department of Energy- An ask I got from a nonny about Steve’s dad being Brenner and my headcanon that Sr Harrington is HEAD of the DoE.

Halloween Costumes- Eddie, Steve, and Robin dress up as the main trio from Star Wars.

Steve and Robin’s Tattoos- my thoughts on what those might be.

Eddie and Steve Arm Wrestle- I had been seeing a couple posts and a comic, saying/showing Eddie being obliterated in an arm wrestling match with Steve. And this was my headcanon on that. Eddie would cheat. :D

Corroded Coffin Headcanons- just my thoughts on the boys in the band.

Eddie and Nancy are Cousins- in which I propose Eddie isn’t Nancy’s half brother, he’s her cousin.

Rants

Steve’s Style- Just a little rant I did about how people keep trying to change Steve’s style to fit with Eddie.

Dear ST Fandom- My reminder to fans to put the Corroded Coffin boys in post season 4 fix-its and give a reason Eddie is at Steve’s instead of home with Wayne. (People don't this much anymore but it was a problem when I joined.)

Eddie’s Age and Ships- My rant on how we forget that Eddie is much older than most of rest of the cast and how that reflects on the ships.

Character vs Author Knowledge- This was about "The Harrington Pattern" but it extends to all stories really.

Would Steve Stay w/ Max or Eddie at the Hospital?- A rant I went because someone was stupid in the steddie tag.

Steve isn’t the douchebag everyone claims he is- just my thoughts on season 1

Takes Me Out- just things that send me out a fic.

Eddie’s Hair and the Unnamed Freak- just me ranting about people always putting Eddie’s hair up in fics and the Dougie problem.

Eddie’s Buzzcut and Steve’s Connection to Hawkins- what it says on the tin

Fandom Wank- My thoughts on shit going down in the Stranger Things fandom at the time (Jan. 2024)

Eddie’s Physicality- I rant about how the fandom seems to think Eddie is a clumsy, weakling, outdoor hating nerd and I how I strongly disagree.

Closeted Steve- Just a little rant I had on Steve’s sexuality

Steve is a HAM Nerd- My headcanon that Steve loves history, art, and music. HAM!

#My writing #Stranger #steddie #byler #jancy #ronance #rockie stranger things #ladykailtiha writes

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perseidlion · 1 month ago

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Whenever a fanfic writer laments about dropping engagement and says they wish people left comments like they used to, inevitably someone chimes in to say "just write for yourself!"

That advice has gotten twisted around. It is excellent advice when you're learning how to write because it helps you find your voice and expand your skills. Plus when you write from your heart, you'll tell stories worth telling.

That advice is NOT meant to tell writers they should write with no expectations of getting anything from readers, ever. It just means don't write trying to please someone else, because the story won't be as strong. It's also much harder to get the motivation and gain the discipline to write when you're not writing a story you love. If you don't care about the story, why should your readers?

That is craft advice, not fandom behaviour advice. They're very separate things. There would frankly, be no fanfic community if people didn't write for engagement. The stories would sit forever in documents and not shared if its only purpose was for the writer's own edification.

It isn't an either-or thing. When I choose what to write, I try to find the venn diagram overlap of what I want to write and what I think the fandom will enjoy. If I write something outside of that, then I don't expect the same kind of engagement. I never fully write for myself (then I wouldn't post it) and I never fully write for fandom (because it would probably be a bad story.) There's ground between those two things, and that's where the best stories can often be found.

Writing with an awareness of the audience is a skill worth developing if you are doing more than just chucking out stories for fun (which is also TOTALLY valid and fine.) It's also fair if you don't care about engagement. But it's also not wrong to care about it, either.

Social media and influencer culture has ruined the gift culture of fandom. On Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, etc...the big creators are part of a monetization program and/or they get brand deals. So you just consuming their content does in fact benefit them. Published writers get sales stats and royalties from people reading their work. That is NOT true for fanfic and for Ao3. The only "payment" we can hope to get is that if someone likes our story, they tell us.

When people say they wish readers dropped a comment, we're not necessarily saying we wished more people read our work (that is sort of a given, really. What writer doesn't want to be read more?) What we're saying is that we wish the people who we know are reading our work would take a moment to say thank you. I would never want someone to read my story out of a sense of charity. I want people to read it because they like the concept and my writing.

We're saying that IF you read and enjoyed the story, please tell us. That's all. It doesn't have to be long or involved (and for god's sake, don't leave unsolicited criticism.) Even a 'loved this!' or a string of emojis is welcome.

To put it bluntly, telling writers they should write for themselves when they ask for a thank you if someone read their work is very entitled. It's also a cop-out because it absolves the reader of a small amount of effort and allows them to just consume silently with no guilt. We're not asking for a novel of a comment (though those are very much appreciated!) just a sign that a real human liked it.

This is especially important on long multichapters where you can only leave kudos once. It can get very lonely as a writer when you're 2/3 of the way through and there are few new kudos and few comments. It leaves you wondering if anyone still cares, and it comes at the most challenging part of the fic. I would venture to guess this is when most longfics get abandoned. An easy way to prevent that is just to drop an occasional comment so we know we're not shouting into the void.

A fic is a present a writer gives the community. If you loved the present, it's polite to say thank you. It's 10 seconds of effort on your part for hours of effort on the writer's. That really isn't a lot to ask.

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfic discourse #fandom #fic #fic discourse #fandom commentary #ao3 comments #archive of our own #writing #fanfic writing #on writing #writing life #creative writing #fanfiction writing

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weepingfromacedartree · 1 year ago

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Surviving the AO3 Drought

Hi friends!

We're coming up on almost an entire day of AO3 being down. Since I'm sure most of you are like me and going insaneee with the blackout, I wanted to share this incredibly ROUGH draft of chap 1 of my current Polin WIP for anyone desperate for content.

A few warnings:

This fic is nowhere NEAR being done (emphasis on this being a ROUGH draft). It will most likely be a few months until I start posting the finished chapters.

This chapter (and the fic in general) deals with issues like grief and neglectful parenting, so TW for anyone who might not want to read about that.

Most of this chapter depicts Penelope and Colin as children. It was annoying to write. Might be annoying to read. I promise, they're teens/adults in all future chapters.

I do not condone children taking in stray cats and keeping them as pets. This fic is not meant to be a tutorial of any sort.

Ok if I didn't scare you off... please enjoy!!

Chapter 1: First Pet

Today: April 29th, 2023

Relationship Status: Dating (Semi-Secretly)

꙳

“Gregory just texted to ask if we’re dating. I didn’t think he had my number.”

“That little arsehole probably sent it to himself when he stole my phone.”

It’s Saturday. Penelope and Colin are sitting on the floor of his flat, a few containers of chinese food littered between them. It’s not a particularly unusual setting to find either one of them on a Saturday night. However, some things are different now.

Two weeks ago, they would not have been playing footsie. Not this shamelessly, at least.

“I assumed that Eloise’s ‘vow of secrecy’ would involve her immediately telling Benedict… And that Benedict would tell Anthony… And that Anthony would tell Kate… But I don’t know how the rumour managed to spread to Cambridge in…” She glances down to her phone again. “Six hours flat.”

“‘Rumour?’” he echos, a smirk on his face. “Surely, you’re not trying to keep this sordid love affair hidden from me as well.”

“‘Sordid?’ God, Colin. You make us sound so dirty.” She kicks his foot away, turning her attention back to the shrimp fried rice. “And I’m not trying to keep it from anyone. We both knew what would happen the second I told El.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised Greg didn’t text you sooner.”

Colin tries fixing his attention on the kung pao chicken in hand, but it unsurprisingly wanders.

“So… What are you gonna tell him?”

Penelope quirks an eyebrow, a look of uncertainty making a quick appearance on her face.

“Well… I was going to hold him in suspense a little while longer. Maybe take the ‘no comment’ approach at first. Then — I don’t know — the truth?”

“Which is?”

Colin watches as uncertainty turns to downright confusion.

“Yes?”

Internally, Penelope wonders if Colin is teasing, or if there has been a miscommunication of monumental proportions between them. The look on his face confounds her, though. Neither option seems to be the correct one.

“‘Dating’ is a bit too casual a word for us, I think.”

Penelope’s confusion fades away as a familiar tingling sensation lights up her stomach.

“It’s only been a week. What do you suggest we call —”

“We should get married.”

“What!?”

He’s teasing. He’s teasing. He’s —

“I said we should get married.”

Penelope waits for him to expand on this insane notion, but all she gets is that smug little smirk.

“Okay. Why?”

“Why does anyone get married?” Colin says matter-of-factly. “I love you. I wish to continue loving you forever and ever. Ergo, marriage.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“It —”

“It was a proposal.”

“Colin.” She uses the sternest voice she can manage to muster up, which happens to be quite shrill at the moment.

“Pen.” At least he has the decency to drop that stupid smirk. He also drops his kung pao chicken, leaning forward to place a hand on her knee.

“Just, think about it for a moment. We didn’t meet a week ago, we just finally said the thing we should have told each other a decade ago — at least. I’ve been in love with you forever. ‘Dating’ you just feels like an unnecessary step to the rest of forever.”

Penelope feels at war with herself. At her core, she is sensible. Logical. Reasonable. She knows — objectively — that skipping straight from friendship to marriage is illogical and senseless.

But is it truly reasonless?

At her core, Penelope is also a romantic. A willing fool. An idealist against her better judgement. And in her heart, she holds twenty years worth of love for Colin. Would it really be so crazy —

Shaking her head ever so slightly, Penelope tentatively — regretfully — brushes his hand off her knee. At the loss of her touch, Colin’s lip juts out in a pout.

“People date for a reason. It’s an institution — it has a purpose. It’s like a test run for marriage. Different than friendship. Teaches you different things about a person — things that set you up for a successful lifetime together.”

“Friendship is not so different than dating. At least, not the way we did it.”

“Colin —”

“You’re right, Pen. Dating is like a trial period where you decide whether or not the person you love is suitable enough to spend the next lifetime beside. You —”

“Do I really sound that unromantic?” she interrupts. Something about hearing her words on his lips makes them sound so clear.

Colin laughs. “I think pragmatic is the word you’re looking for. But seriously, can you name a single thing you don’t know or feel unsure about me as a partner, after twenty years of friendship? What’s holding you back, Pen?”

Nothing. That’s the truth. There’s not a single thing about Colin that she feels unsure of. Not anymore.

But still… Even if there love has lasted decades, that sense of assuredness has only existed between them for a week. She’s spent more time wrestling on whether or not to cut bangs (and the answer always ends up being not).

Still…

“Let’s consult the experts.” His words break her from the daze Penelope hadn’t realised she fell into. In those few measly seconds, Colin’s eyes broke away from hers and has rested on the phone gripped in both of his hands.

“What are you doing?” she asks him. Her voice sounds far away.

Colin taps something on his phone, out of view from Penelope’s curious eyes. Then he clears his throat.

“Ten milestones every couple should celebrate before walking down the aisle,” he reads aloud. “Number One: Your First —”

“What are you doing?” Penelope asks again. This time, a laugh escapes her lips as she does so. Something about the seriousness on Colin’s face reminds her of the absolute absurdity of this situation. That it is a joke, even if it was intended as such.

“I know you think this is all very funny, but I’m being serious. I know you better than anyone else in the world — you know me better than I know myself! I have loved you more than half my life and spent so much time delaying the inevitable. Why waste any more of our time by ‘dating’ one another? It just seems silly.”

Colin stops ranting briefly, as if to allow Penelope to get her rebuttal in before he has the chance to make his point. When she stays silent, she can’t help but notice a hint of a smile crawl back up his otherwise serious face.

“And while I know the romantic in you is buzzing to say yes and run down to city hall right now, I know the realist in you needs some convincing.” He briefly holds up his phone to display the article he pulled up. “So we will go through this list, which details everything you need to accomplish during the dating stage of a relationship. If, at the end, we realise that we checked off every single to-do item while we were still just friends, we will make the reasonable decision to get married.”

If there’s one thing Charming Colin Bridgerton can do, it’s make a convincing argument. The realistic and romantic on each of Penelope’s shoulders suddenly go quiet.

“And where exactly did you find this scholarly article you are basing such a life-altering decision on?”

He looks down.

“TheMarriageExpert.blogspot.com”

“Colin!”

“They’re an expert, Pen!”

After her giggles finally let up, Penelope sighs. He has convinced her to play more tedious games before…

“Fine. You have yourself a deal, Bridgerton. What’s first on that list of yours?”

Finally, that serious expression on his face drops completely. He grins at her in that way that always makes Penelope’s heart skip a beat.

“Number One: Your First Pet As a Couple,” he reads aloud. “During the course of your marriage, you and your partner will come to share many things together. Finances, homes, memories, and a million other things you cannot even begin to fathom now. A pet will help you prepare for those shared responsibilities. It will teach you both about the importance of…”

As Colin continues reading, a frown pulls at the tips of Penelope’s lips. When he finishes, she attempts to cover her disappointment with a shallow laugh.

“Game over, I guess.”

His eyebrow arches. “Pardon?”

“We’ve never shared a pet, so…”

Colin’s mouth falls open. He pulls his free hand to his chest, underscoring the aghast look on his face.

“Pen… Did Mr. Whiskers mean nothing to you?”

-------------------------------------------------------

Twenty Years Earlier: July 21st, 2003

Relationship Status: Sister’s Best Friend // Best Friend’s Brother

꙳

How did I get here again?

It’s Monday. The first real day of summer holiday. For most kids, that means the start of freedom. Six weeks of fun, followed by real life crashing down on them when the fall term begins. But for Penelope, it means the loss of structure. For six weeks, it is up to her to determine how — and more importantly, where — she spends her time.

She didn’t want to spend it at home. Not this morning, at least. So she went to Grosvenor Square.

At just eight years old, there aren’t many places Penelope can run off to unaccompanied. Even the Square, just two blocks away from her home, is hard to get away with. Her mum only allowed it because she was under the impression that Eloise would be joining her — that between Penelope’s sense and Eloise’s toughness, the two girls would be safe in the nearby park. But when Penelope ran across the street, she learned from Anthony that Eloise was not available for a morning stroll in the square.

She could have just gone back home, but she really, really didn’t want to. So she went to Grosvenor Square. Alone.

She was walking around the park, careful not to step on any cracks in the concrete. She moved to the grass when she realised that everyone was walking around her (even for an eight-year-old, her legs are rather short); she did not want to pull too much attention to herself and have someone question where her parents are.

She was listening. To the birds chirping. To the nearby traffic. Mostly, to the people.

Two teenagers were fighting. She was mad, he was sorry. She said something about him cheating, but after that, their shouts turned to whispers and Penelope couldn’t make out the rest. She wondered what type of exam he could have cheated on.

A little white dog barked at her. His owner looked apologetic.

A neighbour of hers walked past her, pushing a stroller. Penelope thought about hiding behind the nearest tree, certain that Mrs. Abernathy would notice her and say something. Thankfully though, the baby started crying and distracted her.

Just as Penelope was about to turn the corner and listen into the couple’s fight again, she had heard something different.

“Meow.”

She thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but when she walked over to the nearest bush to investigate, a two giant blue eyes stared back at her.

Oh, right.

Penelope looks down at the kitten currently sleeping in her arms.

He had white fur with little patches of black around his ears and nose. His whiskers were long — so long that they didn’t look like they were placed on the right cat. He was so small and scrawny — Penelope couldn’t tell if he was actually a kitten, or just a cat who spent too much time with too little food in his stomach.

Without a collar or any family in sight (she had spent over an hour looking for them), Penelope decided to take him home. She spent 20 minutes taking the 10-minute walk home. She slowed her steps. She took unnecessary turns and waited too long before crossing crosswalks. She held the kitten tightly to her chest, shielded slightly by the nest she made out of her yellow cardigan. She practised what she would say to her mum.

“Penelope. Anne. Featherington. Get that rodent out of my house!”

It had not gone well. Although, even before she landed back on the front steps of her home, Penelope had suspected that there was nothing she could say that could convince her mum to let them keep him.

She followed her mother’s instructions, fleeing from her house with the kitten in hand. Penelope didn’t have much of a plan once she hit the pavement outside, but like they so often do, she found her feet walking in the direction of the home across the street. But they stopped before they could reach it.

Ever since Mr. Bridgerton died last summer, Penelope’s mum had warned her about showing up at their house unannounced. There are eight fatherless children in that house now — the youngest of which never even got to meet her father. They have enough going on as it is.

They have enough going on as it is, she repeats again and again.

That’s how she got here. Sitting on the edge of the pavement outside the Bridgerton household, a cat sleeping soundly in her lap.

“It’s gonna be okay, buddy,” she tells him. She wonders if the kitten can sense the hesitance in her voice.

Silently, Penelope wonders what the right thing to do is. Where the right place to go is. The first place she thinks of is an animal shelter. Surely, that is the most logical place to bring a lost kitten to. They would know how to take care of him, how to find him a home with people who want him. The only problem is that Penelope does not know of any actual animal shelters in Mayfair.

The second place she thinks of is the fire station down the street. Firefighters save cats, don’t they? Or was that —

“Pen?”

Colin, her mind registers before she even has the chance to turn around. When she finally does, she attempts to smile, while also shielding the contraband from his view. Colin, in turn, throws her his usual smile — bright and true. The one that always manages to make Penelope’s stomach flip over inside herself. It does so now, even with the fresh sting of disappointment still welling up inside her.

“Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to —”

“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to the kitten she clearly failed at hiding away from him. Before she has the chance to answer, he sits down beside her on the curb.

“I found him in Grosvenor Square. He was all alone and I didn’t know where else to go…” Her voice trails off, once again contemplating what a responsible person would do next in this situation.

“You gonna keep him?”

“No.” Disappointment is evident in her voice. “Mum won’t let me. She hates cats.”

Penelope takes her eyes off the kitten to look up at Colin. While only two years older that her, he stands nearly a head above her (he’s tall for his age — she’s short for her’s). Even sitting, she has to tilt her head up just to look him in the eyes. As usual, his brown mop of a haircut hangs so low that it covers his eyes somewhat, but Penelope can still see the blue-green colour peaking through. She’s always quite liked that colour.

Colin tilts towards her a few inches, then raises his hand to gently pet the kitten’s head. “I’d take him, but mum and Daph are both allergic.”

Penelope can feel her eyes go wide. Mr. Bridgerton was allergic to hornets…

“Not that kind of allergic,” he reassures her, seemingly reading her mind. “They won’t, like, die or anything. Their skin will just get all red and scratchy if he gets anywhere near them.”

“Oh — sorry. I should just go.” Pulling the kitten out of Colin’s grasp, Penelope stands. She starts to turn away from him, but is once again reminded that she has no idea where she is supposed to go.

“Wait — no. Where are you gonna take him?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Where are you supposed to take stray cats?”

He shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Okay. I —”

“But I have an idea.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The Bridgertons live on a gold mine. Metaphorically. Literally, they live on nearly an acre of land in the middle of Mayfair. Their back garden is massive compared to the neighbours that surround them, a feat that is only possible due to the home being passed down from one Bridgerton to the next for so many generations. That’s the same reason Penelope’s family is still able to reside in the house across the street, but their garden is not nearly as sprawling.

“Where are we going?”

She and Colin hadn’t gone through his house, rather, they went around it. Now, he leads her towards the very back of the estate, a few steps ahead, one hand on the wall to their left. His index finger traces the cracks between the stones.

“Have some patience, Pen.”

“I — I do.” And she does. Usually. Usually, Penelope is a remarkably patient girl. Well-mannered. Quiet. She usually wears those attributes on her shoulders like a uniform. But for some reason, they tend to slip away from her whenever Colin is near.

Penelope’s eyes flick right, towards Colin’s family home. It seems purposeful, that they’re walking along the shadows of this wall.

“Is Eloise home yet?” she asks, for no other reason than to fill the silence between them. Usually, Penelope prefers such silence. But not right now.

“Uh, no. Ben took her into the city for her, uh… Her doctor appointment. They usually don’t get back until supper time.”

Out of Colin’s view, she nods. For the past year — ever since Mr. Bridgerton died — Eloise has been seeing a doctor in the city pretty regularly. Penelope’s mum told her to never ask any follow up questions about these visits… but silently, she’s always questioned what type of doctor is able to fix an ailment like heartbreak.

“Are you doing anything for the summer holiday?” she asks, another attempt to just fill the silence. She already knows the answer. They always travel up to Aubrey Hall for at least a week, this time of year. Always.

“Nah. Just staying here, I guess.”

“Oh.” Dread appears suddenly and sits heavily in Penelope’s stomach. Mr. Bridgerton died at Aubrey Hall last August. Of course they’re not eager to return. “Us too.”

“Cool. I’ll see you around then.”

She feels her cheeks instantly flush. “Yeah. Cool,” she says, hoping her voice does not expose the growing warmth on her skin.

Without a word, Colin breaks away from the stone wall beside them and walks towards a particularly dense cluster of trees. When Penelope follows, she finds Colin standing next to something she’s never seen before, despite the many years she’s spent playing with Eloise in this yard. It’s a wooden shed of sorts. It’s wide and just about as tall as Penelope.

“What is that?”

“Some old shed. I dunno… I think they used to store firewood in here, back in the olden days.” He kicks open the latch with his foot. “Empty now, though. I don’t think anyone else remembers it’s here.”

“So…”

“So, your cat could live here.”

Penelope looks down. At some point in the last few minutes, she had somehow forgotten the kitten held tightly against her chest. She had forgotten her whole point in being here.

“Oh! Right. That’s, um…”

She steals another glance at the shed. It certainly does look like it was last used during the “olden times.”

“That’s really kind. But how would he — how would that work?”

“We get him a bed, milk, food… Everything a cat needs to survive.”

Penelope’s brow furrows. “Those things cost money…”

Colin shrugs. “I’ll steal a $20 out of Anthony’s wallet.” A smile erupts on his face when he sees shock overtake Penelope’s. He didn’t know a child could open their mouth that wide. “Kidding — I’ll just tell him I’m sad. He’ll probably hand me a $20 and tell me to go fix my feelings with ice cream.”

“Oh — okay. But…” Her mind stalls, searching for another flaw in his logic to voice aloud. There are just so many to choose from. “Mum always says we can’t get a pet cause they’re too much responsibility. You have to take care of them, feed them, make sure —”

“Hey — we’re both very responsible people. I help keep Greg alive, and that kid thinks licking an electrical socket is a fun pastime. If I can do that, keeping a cat alive will be nothing.”

“So we would, um…” She steals another glance at the shed before them. She can’t help but look at it and see a cage. “We would just lock him in there all day?”

“No!” He says quickly, a bit nervously. “We’ll keep the door open — or I could even cut a cat-sized hole in the side. You know, so he can come and go as he pleases.”

“But if he’s able to leave that easily… Won’t he get lost again?”

“No. If I know anything about cats, it’s that if you feed them, they’ll always find their way back to you. And since you found him hanging out in Grosvenor Square, clearly he’s an outside cat, not an inside cat.”

Penelope looks down at the kitten again. His attention has turned away from her; his round eyes dart back and forth wildly as he takes in all the space around them.

“I thought only strays went outside.”

“No. A cat can have a home and not want to stay cooped up in at all day long.” Colin takes another step towards her. He raises his hand and scratches behind the kitten’s ear, who immediately starts purring. “Clearly, this little badass wants to roam free.”

Yet again, Penelope can feel her cheeks burn pink. She’s lived in London her entire life, she’s heard words far worse than “badass” a million times before — but never from Colin’s lips. In fact, the two of them had never really been alone like this before. He was her best friend’s brother — a friend of sorts, but tangentially so. He was only ever in Penelope’s company through her friendship with Eloise. She isn’t used to having this much of his attention on her.

“Here.” After what feels like hours, she pulls the kitten away from her chest and nearly shoves him into Colin’s. “He seems to really like you.”

“Oh — okay.” Unsurprisingly — and annoyingly quickly — the kitten settles into his arms. Clearly, Colin’s natural charm works on animals just as well as it does on people.

Colin finally takes his eyes off of hers, turning around to show the kitten what could be his new home. With his gaze finally off her, Penelope’s mind flushes with panic. With words she had brushed off just moments before. Colin offering to spend his own money. To cut a hole in the shed. To take care of the cat, himself.

He has enough going on as it is.

Penelope looks up to see Colin setting the tiny creature down in the shed. Then, without much thought, she steps forward and takes the kitten in her arms again.

“I’m sorry, Colin. I didn’t mean to get you wrapped up in this.” She turns away, pulling the kitten closer into her chest. “I’ll drop him off that the fire —”

“Pen, stop.” His hand falls on her shoulder, then squeezes it once, gently. Although she is not very experienced in receiving such small physical gestures, Penelope can tell that he meant it to be reassuring. “He’ll be fine here, I promise.”

She turns slowly. His hand drops. By the time they face each other again, her blush has almost abandoned her cheeks. Almost.

“Are you sure it’s not too much?”

He laughs. Genuinely. Kindly. Just as he always does.

“No.” Gently, Colin pulls the kitten out of her arms again. “How could this little guy ever be ‘too much?’”

Pushing away all thoughts that scream that this is a bad idea, Penelope pushes her shoulders back. She stands tall (metaphorically, of course).

“I’ll do half the work — at least. I can check on his bowl every morning. Make sure he has water and food and whatever else he needs. Maybe you can do the same at night. And if you ever can’t, just let me know and I’ll help. And if it ever does become too much, I can find him somewhere else to live.”

When she finally closes her mouth, Colin’s smile returns. Then, he extends his hand towards her. “You got a deal, Featherington.”

Tentatively, Penelope raises her hand to seal said deal. But before she can make contact, Colin’s hand moves, as if to signal her to “stop.”

“Once last thing. We should just keep this whole thing between us, or ya know… Anthony will send both me and the cat to the nearest shelter.”

“Colin! I —”

“Kidding!” He laughs again, which has a surprisingly good effect on Penelope’s nerves. “But really… It’s simpler if we don’t tell anyone else. Not even Eloise — she can’t keep a secret for her life.”

She tilts her head again, stealing a not-so-quick glance at his eyes (through the mop of hair still obscuring that blue-green colour). Since as long as she can remember, Penelope has always wanted more of Colin — in some ways that she will not be able to define with words until she is much older. But even at just eight years old, Penelope knows she wants to be around him. She wants his attention. She wants to share a secret with him. Even if she knows it’s a bad idea.

“Deal.” With that, Penelope shakes Colin’s hand and seals their fate forever.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 5th, 2003

꙳

It turned out to be a rather easy secret to keep.

Penelope was good at staying unseen — at blending into the shadows. Every morning at approximately 7 AM, she snuck into the Bridgerton back garden. And every morning at approximately 7:10 AM, she snuck out without being noticed by anyone other than Colin. Not that has mum or siblings would bat an eye if they happened to find Penelope back there. Before Edmund died and her own mum warned her to keep herself scarce, there were times that Penelope spent more time at the Bridgertons’ home than her own house. And despite Portia’s warnings, they would gladly invite her inside, any day.

Colin was also quite good at escaping his family’s notice on his own daily task. Every night around dusk, he would sneak into the kitchen or bathroom, fill an 8-ounce bottle with tap water, then hide it in the front pocket of whatever hoodie he happened to be wearing that day. They kept the cat food in the shed, in a locked container Colin bought at the pet store down the street (with money he had stolen from Anthony’s wallet — although he never admitted that he followed through on the theft “joke” to Penelope). The longer time went on, the less effort he put into sneaking out of the house everyday. The longer time went on, the more obvious it became how easy it is to disappear from a house with nine people. Especially when the one person everyone searches for is no longer around.

The only conspirator that ever put them at risk of being found out was Mr. Whiskers (a name Colin had thought of, after Penelope complained that they couldn’t just keep calling him “little guy.”). Three times in two weeks, Whiskers had loitered around the Bridgerton’s back steps, meowing for attention. Colin had caught him the first time and shooed him off. Daphne caught him the second time and screamed bloody murder. Anthony caught him the third and nearly called animal control, but thankfully, Benedict had stepped in to tell their older brother to “chill out.” Thankfully, Whiskers seemed wary of coming close to the Bridgerton household after that last encounter.

A routine formed. Penelope would sneak into the garden in the morning. Colin would sneak out of his home at night. Mr. Whiskers would come and go as he pleased between meals. Their paths rarely cross. Until tonight, when Colin spots someone running towards the back of the garden in the moonlight from his bedroom window.

Someone quite short.

Less than five minutes later, Colin runs along the same path — far less cautious than he usually is at dusk. He prays his mum or siblings are not watching out their windows like he was his. That they’re asleep — not pacing circles in their rooms in the middle of the night. He knows the risks are there, but the further his feet carry him, the more faraway they feel.

He hears crying in the distance. Quiet, but persistent.

He sees her before she sees him — sitting criss crossed on the entry of the shed, Mr. Whiskers climbing into her lap tentatively. She does not notice him until he is standing but a few feet away.

Colin had felt distinctly uneasy since the very moment he spotted her in the back garden. But a wave of fear strikes him cold when their eyes meet. Hers go so wide that he swears he can see the moonlight reflect off of them. She does not immediately speak; even her crying goes silent when she realises she is not alone.

“Pen, what’s wrong? How can I help?”

“Noth — nothing.” She sounds scared. At least the fearful look in her eye is somewhat obstructed by nightfall. Her words cut clean through the darkness.

He steps forward, now standing only inches away from her. Instinctively, his hand raises and gently grips her shoulder. He feels her flinch beneath his touch, but not enough to remove herself from it.

“Pen, whatever it is, you can tell me. I can help.”

She averts his gaze, focusing intently on the cat still sitting in her lap.

“It’s nothing, really. I — I just wanted to see Mr. Whiskers for a little bit.”

Colin doesn’t say anything, too busy internally trying to make sense of the words she spills and the worry in her voice. They do not fit together.

“I’m sorry,” she continues. She uses the back of her hand to wipe at her nose. “I shouldn’t have — I’ll just go.”

“Don’t go.” Before Penelope can move, Colin squeezes her shoulder again. His mum does the same thing when he gets so upset and that he needs help calming down.

Slowly, under Colin’s grasp, Penelope’s shoulders stop heaving. Her breath evens out. She meets his eye again.

“What happened?”

“Honestly, nothing.”

“Pen —”

“Nothing that isn’t, like, normal, I mean.” He does not know what she means. He can’t imagine a single normal thing that would cause someone to run away crying from their home in the middle of the night. Especially someone as small and defenceless as Penelope.

“Mum and dad were just fighting,” she confesses after realising that Colin’s look of concern will not fade unless she tells him the truth. “A bit louder than usual, I guess. But it’s not like I haven’t heard them fight a million times before.”

“That’s —” Not normal. But he doesn’t say that. He can’t say that. He’s suddenly — alarmingly — struck by the fact that what he deems “normal” might not be the same for Penelope. That there are “normal” things in his life — all of which came about in the past year — that other people would scoff at and tell him are unimaginable for a kid to deal with at his age.

That’s not right, would be more accurate. But he doesn’t say that either. Instead, he simply asks: “Do you want to come inside? El is probably asleep, but I could wake her —”

“No — thank you, but no. I should actually get going.” With that, Penelope slips out of his hold. “Mum will kill me if she realises I slipped out.” She places Mr. Whiskers back in the shed before turning to leave. She takes four steps before Colin finds his voice again.

“You don’t have to do deal with this all by yourself, Pen. I’m here. I want to help.”

At his words, Penelope goes completely still. Deer-in-deadlights type stillness. Then, before he knows it, she’s walking towards him.

Her arms wrap around his torso. Her hands land firmly on his spine. Her forehead falls on his shoulder. Without a single thought, his body reacts. His arms wrap around her and his jaw settles on the crown of her head. For a moment, it feels like its just the two of them in the world. Until Colin feels something furry cross his ankle.

“I guess Whiskers was feeling left out,” he says. Penelope laughs and Colin feels a bit lighter. That lightness is quickly followed by something hollow when Penelope pulls herself out of the hug to pick up the kitten meowing at her feet.

“He keeps trying to follow me home after breakfast.” She giggles softly. “Clearly, he doesn’t remember meeting my mum, or else he would stay away forever. I think she thought he was a rat that day I found him.”

Colin chuckles, and it’s only somewhat forced. “Yeah, he tried sneaking into my house a few times. He met Anthony last time, though, and I don’t think he’s ever gonna forget that.”

She giggles again. “Was he mad?”

“His face was red — literally! Although, I’m starting to think that’s just how is face normally is and that it takes great effort for him to appear like us normal people, if that’s how he reacts to a cute little kitten hanging around our back door.”

Penelope scratches Whiskers behind his ears. Eyes not leaving the cat, she whispers: “I don’t know how people can see something so sweet and get so mad.”

Colin’s eyes don’t leave Penelope when he responds, suddenly a bit deflated: “Me neither.”

Slowly, she lowers Mr. Whiskers back to the ground. The cat does not appear to be very keen on leaving her side just yet, but Penelope still insists: “I should really head back now. Before anyone notices I left.”

Colin spares a glance over his shoulder, towards the family home he had nearly forgotten about. It’s likely past midnight already, but there are still a few lights on upstairs.

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “Me too.”

Penelope nods. She looks like she’s about to turn and leave when Colin blurts out: “You wanna meet here again in the morning? When you feed Whiskers, I mean.”

She doesn’t immediately respond with words, but rather with a very confused expression lit by the moonlight. “I thought —”

“Our system’s like efficient and all,” he cuts in, “but we haven’t exactly seen each other much since we started taking care of him. I dunno, I guess I just thought that we would hang out more.”

“Oh!” Her voice registers barely below a squeak. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I…” She pauses so long that Colin wonders if it is his turn to speak again. But right before he can blurt out something again, Penelope says: “I’d like that.”

For the first time in days, a smile creeps up on Colin’s lips.

“Cool. See you tomorrow.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 14th, 2003

꙳

“I’m not sure I understand the rules of this game.”

“It’s our game. The rules can be whatever we want them to be.”

Penelope stands with the tips of her toes and the palms of her hands pressed neatly against Colin’s matching sets. There’s a piece of cat biscuit placed between her right palm and Colin’s left. There’s a tiny kitten peering up at them from where their shoes connect. He looks just as confused on the parameters of this game as Penelope feels.

The rules, they eventually settle on, are these:

Before getting into the aforementioned position, one person briefly presents the biscuit to Mr. Whiskers (taking turns to avoid leading the cat towards favouritism of one player over another).

On the count of three, one person takes the biscuit into their hands, both turn around and run in opposite directions.

Mr. Whiskers follows whoever he believes holds his treat.

Penelope ends up with the biscuit three times. Colin ends up with it five times. It falls to the ground between them eleven times. Each time, without fail, Whiskers immediately takes off after Penelope.

“This isn’t fair!” Colin calls out from behind a tree on their twentieth attempt at this so-called ‘game.’ “It’s not my fault you bonded with him first.” He points a finger at the cat currently pawing at her ankles. “I feed you just as much as she does — traitor!”

“Shhh, Colin!” Penelope whisper-yells. “Someone might hear you.”

“Oh, who cares?” he says nonchalantly, retreating back towards the shed.

I care, Penelope thinks. She doesn’t want any one of Colin’s many siblings to stumble upon them back here. She’s not ready to give up this secret. She’s not willing to end this game. Not yet, anyway.

“Mr. Whiskers cares. I doubt he wants to be evicted from his home just because you’re a sore loser.” She picks the kitten up and plops him down on Colin’s lap, now sitting criss-cross in the shed’s doorway.

“Well, he should have thought about that before picking sides.” He sticks his tongue out at Mr. Whiskers, who continues to appear unphased by his surroundings.

Like she has come accustomed to doing over the past two weeks, Penelope sits down on the other end of the shed’s opening. His body is turned towards her, but she keeps her positioned outwards, as if to keep watch. Her legs cross in front of her at the ankles, her nails scratch into the grain beneath her, and, sitting upright, the crown of her head brushes the wood frame. Colin is — obviously — slouched in his spot beside her.

After a moment of quiet, Colin clears his throat.

“You know, you can come over for dinner tonight, if you want.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay,” Penelope says quickly. Dismissively. “Mum will expect me home soon. I think we’re having stew.”

“Yeah, but what about tomor—” It’s a pretty uncommon occurrence for Penelope to see a blush pass by Colin’s typically unblemished face, but right now, it hits his cheeks in an instant. He turns away. “Well, not tomorrow. Obviously. But another day.”

The mention of tomorrow brings a feverish feeling to Penelope’s chest. Much different than the warm feeling she usually feels in that same spot when she’s around Colin.

“I can’t. I — I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t.” He finally looks her in the eye again. “You wouldn’t, I promise. When you have eight kids, one more mouth to feed hardly makes a difference.” His eyes travel to the side again. They point towards his house, partially obstructed by the scattering of trees they’ve found themselves in. “El would be happy if you stopped in. Mum too.”

Penelope tries to push out her mother’s voice from her head when she says: “Yeah. Another day. Soon.”

“Good.”

After another moment of quiet, she pushes herself forward and lands with two feet on the grass.

“I really should head back now, though.”

“Okay, I’ll —”

“But, Colin?” She interrupts — a truly rare occurrence for Penelope Featherington.

“Yeah?”

“I was just thinking… Maybe I could feed Mr. Whiskers breakfast and dinner tomorrow. I know we have our system, but… I just — I don’t want you to have to deal with taking care of him on top of any… family stuff.”

Colin, now holding rather tightly onto Mr. Whiskers in his arms, considers her offer for a moment. His brows furrow. His eyes glance downward. He starts forming a word on his lips and Penelope expects to hear the word “no” escape from them shortly after. But instead, he nods and says: “That’s kind of you to offer. Thanks, Pen.”

Kindness isn’t something that Penelope has ever been thanked for before. She had been rewarded for it in other ways, but not like this. Kindness had always been something that was expected, not appreciated. Now, she feels hesitant to accept thanks for something as small as offering up a few minutes of her time for someone who has gone through more grief than she can even imagine. So instead of accepting it outright, she simply nods and says: “Goodnight, Colin.”

��꙳ ꙳ ꙳

August 25th, 2003

꙳

When Penelope walks towards the shed at approximately 6:55 AM this Monday morning, the door is shut. This is strange. The door is always open. Penelope had convinced Colin not to cut a little cat door on the side of the shed (he had wanted to use a saw from their garage), so the door always has to be open for Whiskers to come and go. Always.

The closer she gets, the harder it is for her to take another step. Her head is already filled with the image of an empty cavern on the other side of that door. It couldn’t have close on its own; the latch is locked. Someone closed it.

Just as her hand grazes that metal latch, Penelope hears footsteps. Quick and increasingly loud footsteps. She jumps (literally) around — heart pounding, eyes wide — and sees…

“Colin! Where’s Mr. Whiskers?!

“In there.” He points to the shed behind her, still shut tight. Once he gets close enough, he reaches over he shoulder and finally undoes the latch. Just as promised, the cat is there, curiously looking up at them.

“He keeps trying to follow me back into the house after I feed him. Last night, he was scratching at the back door. Thank God I got to him before Anthony.”

“So he was just locked in there all night?”

She spares another sideways glance at the shed’s interior. It’s not nearly as bare as it had been that first day she looked inside. There’s two containers. Two bowls. Two electric lanterns. A blanket. A few cat toys. And a few human toys she assumes once belonged to Colin. To an animal as tiny as Mr. Whiskers, it might seem huge, but to Penelope, it all feels very claustrophobic.

“Yeah, but… Sometimes it’s just safer to stay put for a little while. Even outdoor cats need to be reigned in some nights.”

Penelope doesn’t know whether to agree or disagree with his words, so she tries her best to ignore them. She climbs into the shed, gives Whiskers an affectionate bop on the head, then fills his bowl with breakfast.

“I wanted to wake up early and let him out, but… I guess I slept in.” Colin’s out of her view, still standing just outside the shed, but she can guess there’s a guilty look creeping up on his face.

“You’re not wrong,” she finally settles on. When Whiskers finishes his meal, she finally looks back to Colin. Just as expected, guilt is evident on his face. “But maybe Mr. Whiskers isn’t an outside cat after all. Maybe that’s why he keeps trying to follow us back to our own homes.”

“I thought that was just because he loves us.” Leave it to Colin Bridgerton to transform guilt into charm in under 30 seconds.

“Well…” Penelope turns back to Mr. Whiskers again. As usual, he’s peering up at them with a transfixed — maybe even loving — stare. “Maybe you have a point.”

“I usually do —”

“But still — do you really think this is what’s best for him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…”

She bites her tongue — literally. All of this started because of her own selfish wants. To keep the cat. To occupy Colin’s attention. To have a reason to get out of her house every morning. But the more time has gone on, the harder it has become to see past the potential consequences of her selfishness.

“Summer’s almost over. We have to go back to school and can’t look out for him all day. It’s gonna get cold soon…” Colin’s face looks serious now. More serious than she’s used to seeing it. She looks away. “What if he gets sick? Or needs a vet? I just don’t know if this is really his best option.”

Penelope points both hands towards the shed. Towards the small wooden structure that completely transformed her summer. Towards the only home Mr. Whiskers has ever known — dim and claustrophobic as it may be. She expects Colin’s eyes to follow her lead, but they don’t. For a moment, it feels as though her presence completely slips from his view. His eyes are fixated on something in the distance — something in the opposite direction. Then —

“Shite!”

His arms hastily wrap around Penelope’s waist. It takes everything in her not to shriek in surprise as he practically throws her into the shed. Thankfully, Mr. Whiskers jumps from the doorway to the back of the shed in an instant, or else she surely would have crushed him on impact.

“Colin! What —”

“Shh!” Colin climbs in and shuts the door behind him. Thank God those electric lamps are still (just barely) holding onto life and dimly illuminating the space, or else Penelope would not have been able to discern him mouth: “Anthony.”

The tips of their toes touch in the limited space. Penelope wonders if he can feel her shaking through the plastic tips of her yellow converse. The concerned look he throws her way tells her that he must.

“You okay?” he mouths.

She thinks about nodding. She briefly wonders if a nod can count as a lie, or if lies can only be spoken aloud. But she doesn’t do anything, except stay frozen in her spot.

Everything is quiet. For a brief moment, Penelope thinks they may have actually gone unnoticed. Then, she remembers that the latch — the flimsy piece of metal that keeps these doors shut — is on the other side. When Mr. Whiskers paws at the wood beams, the door swings open. The morning light nearly blinds her, but not enough to miss Anthony Bridgerton’s very mad — very red — face.

“Colin — what the hell?!”

Just as Colin had thrown her into of the shed mere moments ago, Anthony now pulls Penelope out of it by the shoulders. Just like Whiskers, she somehow manages to land on her feet.

“I knew it! I knew you were irresponsible, but this —” He bends down and grabs Whiskers by the scruff of his neck. “This is insane. Even for you.”

Anthony turns to Penelope, as if he has only just now discovered her presence beside Colin. In mere seconds, she watches his face turn from anger to shock to annoyance. He turns to his little brother again.

“I will be the responsible adult and make sure this — thing — finds an actual home and doesn’t continue living on the streets.” With a near-growl caught in his throat, Anthony tells Colin: “We will discuss this later.”

He turns to leave, but stops. “And Colin, do not mention this to mum. Or anyone else.”

He starts then stops again. “And Penelope, please do not let my brother’s bad influence rub off on you. A nice girl like you has enough trouble as it is being friends with Eloise.”

It isn’t until Anthony has properly stomped away, Mr. Whiskers securely tucked in his arms, that Penelope seems to regain control of her body and mind. Slowly, she turns towards Colin. She uses every second between then and the moment she looks him in the eye to begin preparing an apology. For getting him in trouble with his brother. For getting him caught up in this mess to start with. For being a bad friend. But the moment that their eyes meet… Colin does not look like he is expecting an apology of any sort.

He laughs.

“Did you see the look on his face?!”

“Uhh. I don’t —”

“He looked like a tomato! I swear one day he’s gonna burst and —”

“Colin,” she says, concern in her voice, too low to break through the noise of his continued laughter.

“— marina sauce is gonna go flying —”

“Colin!” she says again, a bit louder this time. Thankfully, it seems to get his attention. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have —”

“Oh god, Pen. Don’t be sorry.”

“But —”

“But your — your brother —”

“I should be apologising for Ant— even if you and him were both right about Whiskers needing somewhere else to live.”

“Yeah…” As much as she will miss her tiny, furry friend, this is for the best. For Whiskers, at least. “But Anthony was so mad at you. And I —”

“He’ll get over it. That’s the great thing about having seven siblings — wait five minutes and someone will do something even stupider than you. Daph and El are probably inside getting into a fist fight as we speak.”

The mention of her best friend temporarily draws Penelope’s thoughts away from her internal pity party. She saw Eloise plenty of times over the past few weeks, but not nearly as much as she did during previous summer breaks. Before last August.

“You wanna come over for dinner tonight?” Colin asks, breaking her from her thought spiral.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he smirks, “do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t know… Anthony seemed —”

“Don’t worry about Anthony. He’ll get over it — and you heard him, he’s not even going to rat us out to my mum.” He takes a step forward, then places his hand on Penelope’s shoulder. He squeezes it once. “It’ll be fun. Everyone will be excited to see you.”

Not for the first time — and certainly not the last — Penelope feels at a loss for words. All she can manage is a tiny nod. A nearly imperceptible movement.

Colin smiles.

“Good. Just so you know, the door is always open. Always.”

Finally, little Penelope Featherington finds her voice again.

“I know.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Penelope tries to hide the smile on her lips by shoving another fork full of shrimp fried rice into her mouth. Colin — of course — sees right through her attempt.

“So…”

“Anthony was right. We were awfully irresponsible that summer. He was better off after Danbury took him in and he became Lord Whiskers.”

“Hey — give us a little credit! How many 8 or 10-year-olds do you know who could keep a cat alive for a summer all by themselves?”

“The only impressive thing we did that summer was keeping our little secret hidden from the rest of your family.”

“What are you talking about?!” Colin says, unable to keep his ever-charming laugh from escaping his throat as he speaks. “Do not downplay our role in raising that cat. You rescued him from the mean streets of London. I —”

“I found him hiding out in a bush in Grosvenor Square!”

“Exactly! And I —”

“Colin!”

“I built him a home,” he barely manages to get out through his laughter.

“That’s a bit over-dra—”

“We fed and took care of him for over a month. We were just kids — that’s pretty impressive. That means something.”

In her heart, Penelope knows that — obviously — it means something. But does it mean what Colin wants it to mean? That they should get married? Even with the rules he set forth, it seems like an insane connection to even consider.

“I don’t know…”

“For five weeks, he was ours. That means a lot.”

For a moment, Penelope does consider it. She thinks about who Colin was to her before she found Mr. Whiskers. A friend — of sorts. Her best friend’s brother. A neighbour. A crush. Someone she looked at and longed for. After, she thinks of who Colin was to her on that morning Anthony found them hiding out in that tiny wooden shed. A friend. A fellow kid. A conspirator. Someone who saw her cowering in the dark and asked if she was okay.

So what, if their hypothetical marriage hinges on a technicality? People have married on flimsier grounds before.

“Fine,” she relents. “It counts.”

A moment ago, she wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Colin’s grin grows even wider.

“Of course it does.” As Penelope attempts to cover her own grin with a scoff, Colin picks up his phone again.

“Let’s see…”

#im an atheist and im saying a prayer for ao3 tonight #fanfic #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #dancing around the truth #weepingfromacedartree #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #ao3 #archive of our own #edit: just realized I wrote 'marina' sauce instead of 'marinara' sauce #and I'm not fixing it cause that shits funny #shout out to my girl marina

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victorianpining · 1 year ago

Text

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @clueless-mp4 (thank you!!!) to answer some questions about my fic writing, this might get a little repetetive as I only currently have one published work, but it gives me a chance to talk a little bit about Vampire Fic which I am always excited to do.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently 2, soon to be 3!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

Currently 98k, soon to be 200k (approximately).

3. What fandoms do you write for? BBC Sherlock and its adjacents (Holmes canon and of course BBC Dracula)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

From a Drop of Water sweep by default!!!

Truly though I am still so touched by the response to that story, it has been beyond anything I ever expected and I am so grateful to have written something that resonated with so many people.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I get so much joy out of going through my comments, and I try to take the time to respond to anyone who was kind enough to tell me that they enjoyed my writing.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm a big fan of angst with a happy ending. That said, if you've seen Dracula, you know to expect there to be something bittersweet about the ending of The Stories in Our Veins

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

From a Drop of Water was and is pure wish fulfillment on all accounts.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet *knock on wood* which has been a delightful change of pace.

9. Do you write smut?

The vampire fic has exactly one (1) sex scene.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I am currently! But does it really count as a crossover when two stories were meant to be connected? (Yeah I think so).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, From a Drop of Water has been translated into Mandarin and Russian which is so so cool to me.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not exactly, though when working on the early stages of From a Drop of Water, I solicited a lot of feedback from my beta readers, and I would say the feedback @novaviis offered in particular played a huge role in why that story turned out as well as it did! I definitely appreciated all the help while I was still so new to building a story.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Holmes and Watson forever and always, amen.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Thankfully none at this stage, though as you can imagine in a writing process as long as the one for The Stories in Our Veins has been there have been several points where I have despaired of it ever actually getting done.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think my strongest suit is planning out the subtextual language of a story and weaving in references that create interplay between my work and the source text. I've also gained a lot of structural practice with this current story and I think I'm getting pretty good at it! My most niche talent is the written montage, love connecting all the little clues together at the end!!!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Prose itself, particularly descriptions, though I'd say I'm getting better at both with practice. I also have certain words that I mix up with other words that I cannot for the life of me ever keep straight (homophones are the bane of my existence) so I have to be really careful to search those out, and even then my beta readers still find ones I miss!!!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I don't think I would do it unless I spoke the language myself, I'd be too worried about getting something wrong.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Actually, I did write one Alice centered one shot for the Twilight fandom back when I was like... 13. I don't think I ever deleted it so it probably still exists out on the internet somewhere, though I have no idea what I might have named that account so have no way of finding it.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Not to oversell it, but I really adore The Stories in Our Veins, and I'm very proud of how it's turning out. I think it's better than From a Drop of Water in just about every way, though I recognize that a crossover with a TV show that only 12 people care about is going to have a lot less of a broad appeal than a TJLC slanted re-imagining of series 4. If you do end up reading it anyway, know that you have my undying gratitude!

I'm tagging @novaviis, @minotaurmutual and @teledild0nix!

#rebs blogging #tag games

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rmd-writes · 2 years ago

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Hello do you have any smitten Carlos fanfic recommendations? Just Carlos being totally in love with TK. I'm still having a hard time with the secret revealed though I know I'll be fine. But maybe a few fic reco will help? Thank you!!!

Hey Nonnie!

This is where I shamefully admit that I don’t read a super wide range of Tarlos fic because I read fic in multiple fandoms and have [redacted] tabs open with fics that I want to read and haven’t gotten to yet. I also wasn’t sure if by “just Carlos being totally in love with TK” meant you only wanted fluff or if you were also open to longer AUs that have some angst and/or some smut with feelings, which are the kinds fics I tend to read most.

Having said that, I’ve trawled my ao3 history and wracked my memory and come up with this list of fics that feature a very smitten Carlos, with as much fluff as possible and minimal (or no) angst:

sweet nothing by @strandnreyes (collection of prompt fills)

Silence and Patience, Pining in Anticipation by @iboatedhere (collection of prompt fills)

Long Drives and Wild Rides by @howtosingit (Carlos takes TK horseback riding)

Sweetest Devotion by @reyescarlos (bakery AU)

Secret Moments in a Crowded Room by @strandnreyes (Golden Age of Hollywood AU)

Illuminated by @welcometololaland (Push coda)

Breathe, Baby by @welcometololaland (Push coda)

From my own fics:

these are the moments I cherish (sweet, sexy husbands in love)

love me as if I were forever (nothing but domestic bliss here)

Also, @wtfuckevenknows posted a list of her fic recs recently, and there’s a whole section of fluff there!

If anyone else has fic recs to help anon out, feel free to drop them in the comments or reblogs (including your own, there’s no shame in self-promotion!) 💖

#rmd answers #tarlos fic rec #911 lonestar fic rec

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welcometololaland · 2 years ago

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Fic Origin Story aka. Hyperfixations: the Original

A bunch of you tagged me back in this which is...fair because I should probably do my own if I'm going to expect people to tell me their life fic story. I'm SORRY I'm so obsessed with knowing about people it's a problem.

I'm living for all your responses please keep going I beg!

1. What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?

I don't think it's a secret that I once upon a time wrote for the fandom that shall not be named, but my first fandom was actually Veronica Mars. I read fic on some website that no longer exists but was devoted entirely to LoVe (Logan/Veronica).

I never wrote and never left comments like a complete dick, but I was also 14 and it's like common knowledge I was a complete asshole as a child.

2. What was the first story you ever wrote (even if it was never posted) and what made you decide to write it?

For fic, it was a ridiculously terrible self-insert Veronica Mars story (except I inserted myself as a best friend not a love interest...interesting choice). I remember my character surfed and made people eat Vegemite. Which...I can't surf and I'm not even going to address the Vegemite thing.

I think I was 14. It never saw the light of day thank GOD.

3. What's a piece of advice you would give to your younger fic-writing self?

Wait, and find something you're really passionate about. I'd get stuck on a bunch of chaptered fics that seemed like good ideas but I had no real fire for. Then Speak for Yourself happened and I was like damn, this is what writing is supposed to feel like.

Also, don't write in the second person. Who does that? (me, I did that)

4. What's an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback etc.)?

A. The day @everwitch-magiks left me a comment and changed my life by ushering me into a group of fandom friends and lighting the RWRB fire.

B. The day @rmd-writes dropped into my inbox with a gentle 'hey, do you want to let me in your doc for beta purposes?' and then took up residence and never left my G drive / heart.

5. Post a sentence or two from one of your older fics, and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want).

I have regret for accepting this suggestion. The below fic is a Hunger Games fic I wrote originally in 2013? but i reposted it to Ao3 in 2020 (shame - why did I do that). Also, note use of second person - a bold fucking choice that did not pay off 😂:

Time is something that you seem to forever wish for, and never seem to get. It feels like your whole life has been spent trying to grasp time with a firm hand and will it to stand still. It seems like you race against a clock ticking more rapidly with every day that passes. As all humans, your days are finite. But as the particular person that you are, chosen to lead a sick, twisted life of triumph and tragedy, the days slip by you so fast it feels like it is over before it has really had the chance to begin.

This is from my newest fic (which is somehow approaching 40k and only 3.5/10 chapters) 😬😬😬

TK rolls his eyes. “You’re pretty unobservant for a private investigator,” he murmurs. “If one more person offers to buy you a drink, I’m going to buy you a wedding ring and force you to wear it.”

“You’re— What?”

“I’m jealous,” TK says drily, arching an eyebrow in Carlos’ direction. “Didn’t realise I needed to spell it out for you.”

Carlos frowns. “Of annoying hedge fund managers trying to buy me overpriced drinks and talk me into heli-skiing?”

“Hedge fund managers in Austin?” TK smirks. “Oh baby, you found a good one.”

Not tagging anyone because I already spammed a bunch of people but tagging @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @rmd-writes because you tagged me back and @clottedcreamfudge because you taught me how to be ridiculous and now you must deal with the consequences of your actions.

#ask game #tag game #ALTA #snippet #lola snippet #lola writes

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conceptalbon · 1 year ago

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drop the all hunger all restraint and poised bones annotated playlist bestie

i wanted to actually link the full spotify playlist here but i don't want to doxx myself and remaking it would take ten thousand years SO i'm going to add my comments here and link it later cool cool

1. i'm a fool to want you by billie holiday

this aligns with soulbond!george so perfectly in my head. his perspective on the whole relationship is that it's doomed from the start; he knows alex is not in love with him since before they share their first kiss, he knows this relationship will end before it even starts.

he promises himself he will end it on multiple occasions and yet he can't bring himself to do it. he wants to minimize the heartbreak of losing alex by breaking it off on his own terms but every time the possibility of it becomes real (especially during the infamous George Bakery Breakdown or, as we in the business call it, the gbb) he falls apart.

'i'm a fool to want you // pity me, i need you // i know it's wrong, it can't be right // but right or wrong i can't get along without you'

like come onnnnn it was ghostwritten by sb!george

2. wish on an eyelash by mallrat

i found this when i was nearing the end of the writing process already and went insane over how well it works with sb!au. literally almost every line is about them my god. but especially 'made a wish on my birthday // talk about you to heaven // i plan my days all around ya // planets orbit around ya'. it's so short but it talks about yearning and devotion in such a specific and hard-hitting way

it also works very well with a certain space au. 'i was lost till i found ya'? yeah.

3. futile devices by sufjan stevens (original version)

ah yes the song about how words fail when your feelings are too strong. in a story about characters whose feelings are so strong they literally develop a telepathic bond because they can't use their words. i am SORRY okay i love sufjan so so so much and age of adz is an incredible album and this song specifically creates a mood like no other does. this might be at the top of my spotify wrapped this year with how much i've listened to it and i adore the word choices in it and i am insane over it forever and always.

4. the bug collector by haley heyndericks

everything i write i write to spread our 'alex cares so much' agenda. i've done a tiny bit of director's commentary about him in the ao3 comments already but i will literally talk about him for hours if anyone will listen. the thing with alex in this fic is that he has never wanted anything without reaching for it with both hands. that's his modus operandi, which george correctly identifies (and incorrectly decides that alex not fighting for him means alex does not want him). BUT alex believes that he came on too strong when it was unwanted, thinks he has hurt george by displaying affection so directly and so he tries to tone down how intense he is as not to scare or hurt him further. still, he can't just Stop Loving him and defaults to acts of care that can be interpreted as more platonic (not really but that's what he thinks). he makes george avocado toast when he can't sleep, he skips his own debrief because he feels george's fear, he kisses his temple telepathically (god) when george is having a breakdown in the bathroom. he cares so much. in the words of haley heyndericks he must make him the perfect morning. he doesn't know how to do it any other way!

note also: alex saying 'you can be angry at the way i've expressed it but not at the feeling itself, george. i know you're not cruel enough for that' which is so important to me and which i can write an essay about because outward expressions of inner processes are The main theme of this fic and i have thought about this so much while writing. good god.

honorable mentions: flight risk by tommy lefroy (thee doomed from the start anthem! 'i wanted to be something you couldn't put down but i'm already gone' pleaseeeee), waltz right in by matt maeson (the second most listened to song in this whole playlist after futile devices, i'm so so so insane about it), gregory alan isakov's whole discography (very very galex coded!! gregory what a legend you are)

#asks #aharapb #galex #director's commentary

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allylikethecat · 1 year ago

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ally!!!!!!! i have not read the update yet but just wanted to say this was definitely the one i was hoping for!!!! i unfortunately am going to have wait to a few hours before i can read it but i cannot tell you how excited i am to read it and just had to let you know!!!!

I hope you’re doing well!! <3

💌💌

AH! Hello Dearest 💌 Anon! I hope you are doing well as well!

I'm so happy to hear that you are excited about the You Know Where the City Is update! I was worried people were going to be disappointed it wasn't a Ducklings update or a sickfic - BUT I really, really love this fic and am so excited whenever I finish a chapter and am able to post it!

I can't wait to hear your thoughts on the chapter after you read it! 2014 Fictional!Matty and Fictional!Taylor, the bisexual disaster duo have a very special place in my heart and I enjoy writing them so much! Let me know what you think when you finish it!

Thank you so much for reading, for your support and for this lovely ask! I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!

❤️Ally

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ashes0909 · 1 year ago

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Fic Writer 20 Questions

Tagged by @luredin - thank you so much! This was a lot of fun!

How many works do you have on AO3?

195, including everything from drabbles and ficlets to more traditional length fic.

What's your total AO3 word count?

772,878, which includes collaborations.

What fandoms do you write for?

Heh. These days, its so random. My ao3 and tumblr include:

Marvel

Yuri!!! on Ice

Game Changers Series

Supernatural

Harry Potter

Check Please

Red White & Royal Blue

BTS (sort of)

a Star Wars drabble

and a partridge in a pear tree!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Comic Books and Kings (Steve/Tony/Bucky)

False Names, Right Nets (Bucky/Tony)

Assemble (Steve/Tony)

Stories We Never Tell (Steve/Tony)

Stop, Drop, and Roll in the Hay (Steve/Tony) - a collab with my love @festiveferret

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I like chatting with readers and thanking them for their time/thoughts/insights/feedback

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

By far, it's Self-Preservation (Tony/Hydra Agents, TW: NonCon) which is still kind of hopeful but also very not.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm such a sucker for happy endings. Literally all my fics have a happy ending except for one.

Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, I haven't. I have received hate from tumblr anons but it usually just makes me chuckle and ignore.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. All the kinds. Every smut.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I LOVE crossovers. I think my absolute favorite was Steve and Tony going to Hogwarts through a portal, finding their Wizard counterparts being all lovey-dovey and then being like, "Oh."

I'm also currently posting a True Blood fusion fic which is fun because vampires and telepaths.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so, but I also don't go searching for it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I love translations - Held is up in Russian and Employee of the Month in Chinese

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Oh, man. I've co-written an entire Roman Empire with @festiveferret along with a handful of other fics. I also had the delight of collaborating with @sirsapling on His Best Suit and @athletiger on Forever Linked.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Nope. :D

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

This Red, White and Royal Blue road trip fic I have 5k of but no real motivation.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think smut is a strength of mine, along with dialogue and overall characterizations.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I sometimes forget to describe literally anything about the setting.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Sure, why not! If I don't know the language well, I try to get an expert to help beta it.

First fandom you wrote for?

I tried to write a Harry/Draco fic over in Livejournal back in like 2004. I just found the link, and no I won't be sharing it.

Favorite fic you've ever written?

I don't knowww, they're all my babies. Holds them all close and gives them all kisses.

Tagging:

I really enjoyed doing this and hope you do to: @russilton @betheflame @wilmakins @sadieb798 and @festiveferret - but if you don't feel free to ignore! Anyone else who wants to join in, feel free!

#tagged #writing #ask meme #20 questions

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ourlordapollo · 7 months ago

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Stumbled across this Fanfic Tag Game and nobody tagged me in it but I thought it looked fun, so here we are

As such, I will also not be tagging anyone. Be free! You can do whatever you want forever!

1: How many fics do you have on AO3?

2: What’s your total AO3 word count?

347,001 :0

3: What fandoms do you write for?

Pokémon (games), Ace Attorney, Sanders Sides, Black Butler, Welcome to Hell

4: What are your top five fics by kudos?

I Love You (Just in Case You Didn't Know) (Pkmn)

Seek, and Ye Shall Find (W2H)

Soft-Shoe Shuffle (TSS)

Intertwined (TSS)

A Place Where I Can Breathe (TSS)

5: Do you respond to comments?

I try to! If someone leaves a whole bunch on a multichap then I usually just reply to the last one.

The only comments I absolutely don't respond to are ones speculating on what will happen next. No hate, and I'm truly flattered people are invested enough to guess, but they make me uncomfortable because them I start to wonder "does my version not make sense? Will they be disappointed if the story doesn't go that way?? Am I gonna get a bad grade in fanfic??????"

I am very normal :)

6: What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Down Comes the Night. It's a W2H fic that ends with a break up so bad one of the parties literally invents Hell. (Yes it's Proveles lmao)

7: What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

ILY(JICYDK). I write a LOT of happy endings, but there's this concept in music theory where something loud sounds loud, but something equally loud preceeded by something quiet sounds REALLY LOUD. By that metric, many of my endings are roughly the same, but this one is preceded by something tragic.

8: Do you get hate on fics?

No lmao. I don't really write anything controversial.

9: Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nah. Maybe in the future, but it's not really the kind of thing I'm interested in on its own? I can see p0rn having a place in some future stories, but it's not something I'd prioritize.

10: Do you write crossovers?

Nah. Apparently what I write are called "fusions."

11: Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12: Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I have toyed with the idea of translating my own fics into German

13: Have you ever co-written a fic?

Good LORD, no. I'm too much of a control freak to ever consider that

14: What’s your all time favorite ship?

Apparently it's SnazzyShipping. Don't ask.

15: What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

You never know with me. I could finish anything at any time.

16: What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, weird displays of love and intimacy that ride the line between platonic and romantic, dialogue, pastiche, and dialogue

17: What are your writing weaknesses?

Sometimes I get a little caught up in adjectives so I'll use two (or more) redundant ones in a way that really doesn't serve the story, but frees me of having to choose lmao. Occasionally you'll get a sentence like "her voice was soft, gentle, crawling along his skin like a drop of water" or some bullshit. It purples up my prose needlessly.

18: Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

BUCKLE UP

I think it works best as little interjections; I think it can really humanize characters who learned English as a second language. For example, in all my years studying German, no one in my class EVER answered a question with "ja." It was ALWAYS "yeah" or "yes," even when we were doing total immersion. There are just always things that are gonna come out of your mouth in your native tongue unless you're being REALLY careful. So I think interjections, expressions of pain, yes and no answers, and swears/oaths do REALLY well when written out in the target language.

That being said, I don't think it works for most other scenarios. Maybe in a story with an omniscient narrator. Because in deep POV, if your character doesn't speak the target language, "he mumbled something in German" works better than "'küssen verboten,' he said, whatever that meant" because there's no reason the POV character would be able to identify those words without also understanding them.

There is one niche usage of the above that I've found works, and it's used in The Secret History, the OG dark academia novel by Donna Tartt. A character speaks Latin at the POV character. He understands enough Latin to pick out and identify the words that are being said to him, but he doesn't know what they mean.

*deep inhale*

HOWEVER you do have the problem of the POV character speaking the target language with someone else, and they both understand each other. There's no elegant solution to this. "'Kissing forbidden," he said in German. / "Strongly forbidden," I agreed in kind' can only do so much, especially if it's a long conversation. It's not strictly grammatically correct, but back in my Hetalia days, people used to use «guillemets» to indicate sentences spoken in the target language and I have borrowed that from time to time because I find it the most elegant solution, even if it necessitates explanation in the author's note

19: First fandom you wrote for?

Pokémon! But the anime; I used to almost exclusively read and write RocketShipping fanfic

20: Favorite fic you’ve written?

When I weed my garden, I don't pick out a favorite weed as I'm throwing them all in the compost lmao. For me, writing is like weeding my brain. I think my fics are good, and I re-read them, but I wouldn't use the words "like," "dislike," favorite," "least favorite," etc to describe my relationship with them

Wait no just kidding it's Hitsuzen.

Hitsuzen is my favorite work.

#the warped maniacal mind of wizard glick at work

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years ago

Note

Hey!

Feel free to ignore this if this isn’t appealing to you, but honestly I’m simping over Carol Denvers and could really go for some steamy fluff with her x reader.

Maybe just a dinner date gone dirty talk? Do whatever you want with this! :) Have a great day.

Completely Yours

Relationship: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Steamy, but not smutty

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: amazingly, I actually already had a piece I wrote last year that kind of falls into these suggestions! i tweaked the ending a bit from my original writing to hopefully make it more on the steamy side. and there's an element of jealousy/protective Carol. So, I hope this works okay! I immediately thought of it after reading your request :) Also I absolutely love Carol, one of my favorite MCU characters <3 I have a few pieces already written for her but only published on ao3 (and a previous writing blog)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You stared at your lipstick collection, completely baffled by the choices. Was the red lip too bold for your lacy black dress? But was the pink lip too simple? Maybe the dress was the problem…

"Stop it," you mumbled to yourself and grabbed the wine red lipstick. You were nearly humored with your brain’s antics. There shouldn’t be anything to overthink given the fact you’ve been on countless dates with Carol. Heck, you don’t even remember being this nervous for your very first date, but, perhaps, the fact this was an anniversary date was maybe getting to you a bit.

You two were two years into the relationship but you still wanted to give it your all especially on such an occasion. You both had been so busy with one thing or another for your first anniversary so there was a lingering duty to make it up — and that’s exactly why the glam had to be perfect, no matter how many times Carol insisted you were gorgeous without it.

A knock came from the bathroom door as you were finishing with the lipstick.

"Babe," Carol called out. "Almost ready?"

You gave your hair a quick glance over and exited the bathroom. You were greeted by your stunning girlfriend all dolled up and looking as lovely as ever.

"All good," you smiled, shamelessly eyeing her.

She gave a knowing smirk, "You look so beautiful."

"Maybe we both clean up well," you teased, shrugging.

Your girlfriend just rolled her eyes at your antics and motioned towards the front door. You grabbed your purse and started heading ahead of Carol. But being the cheeky girlfriend she is, she couldn’t let you get far without giving a teasing tap on your behind. Now it was your turn to shoot her the eye roll which she just laughed away, following you out the door.

***

The restaurant was a busy scene tonight and upon noticing the patrons and their seemingly wandering eyes, Carol was on you in full protective mode. This could’ve been expected no matter where you two had gone and you’ve had to come to terms with that. Carol was quite the protective type and typically you adored it but honestly, it wasn’t necessary in your eyes. There wasn’t a thing — or person — in the world that could whisk you away from your love.

Choosing to ignore her change in demeanor, you pushed through the crowd to the hostess table.

"Thank gosh we made reservations," you said as the hostess left to check on the table.

But your girlfriend didn’t quite hear you. She gave a hum in response while fixated on something at the bar in the corner of the restaurant. You tried figuring out what held her attention but couldn’t pick anything out. Maybe she thought she saw someone she knew? But you dismissed it as you saw the hostess motioning you to follow her to your reserved table.

The two of you settled in and started flipping through the menu. Carol seemed to be occupied by the food selection, which gave you some sense of relief. Fingers crossed whatever had her captivated before had vanished. At one point she even grabbed your hand for a bit, running her thumb on the back of it lovingly as you two browsed.

It wasn’t until the waiter came by for the drink order that you realized she had her guards up the entire time.

"What can I get you two to drink?" The waiter asked.

"Glass of Pinot Grigio for me," you said, turning back to the food items.

When you didn’t hear Carol’s lovely voice responding with her drink order, you glanced up to find her still staring behind you.

"Um, could you give us a second?" You asked the waiter. They just gave a polite smile and headed towards the kitchen.

You sighed, slamming your menu on the table. That got your girlfriend’s attention.

"Carol, what is going on? Is there a galactic threat behind me or something?"

"Honey, no," Carol sighed. "It’s just… This guy at the bar keeps looking at you."

Your jaw dropped. "That’s what this is about? You’re gonna be distracted our entire anniversary dinner because you think some guy is looking at me?"

Carol’s once rigid expression quickly turned soft at your tone. She grabbed your hand across the table, trying to soothe your rising anger. Shaking her head, she said, "No, babe, that’s ridiculous of me."

You put your other hand on hers, nodding. "It is ridiculous. There is nothing worth ruining this night over, okay? You’ve got me, baby, I’m not going anywhere."

"Forever?" She smirked.

"Forever," you mumbled as you leaned across the table to give her a kiss which she happily leaned into.

***

The dinner went very well after Carol calmed down. Drinks helping to ease any worry. You two flirted and giggled as if it was the first all over again and, boy, did it feel magical. Pasta was eaten, wine was sipped… and even kisses were stolen like lovestruck school girls. The man at the bar had been completely forgotten by both of you.

After you two finished your dessert (with a side of Carol’s cheeky comments about dessert after the dessert), you had to run to the restroom. Carol nodded and said she’d wait for you at the front of the restaurant.

With a quick kiss, you departed from the table. In the restroom, you did some make-up retouch up. The night was just heating up in your eyes and you still wanted to look like an absolute dream for your woman — not to mention you were quite antsy from the constant teasing.

After a quick powder and recollecting your items, you reemerged from the restroom. You were fumbling for your phone in your purse, making your way to the restaurant exit, when you slammed into something hard.

A bit dazed, you look up expecting a sudden wall or pole, but instead you were met by some handsome, well-dressed man uncomfortably close. He was smirking down at you, making your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"Sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was going." You said, giving your fakest, most polite smile.

Apparently, it worked too well because the man’s smirk turned into a smile with his eyes curiously watching you.

"Trust me, sweetheart, it’s all good."

The pet name made your stomach turn, red flags waving. You let out a breathy laugh and tried stepping around him, but he blocked your attempt.

"Sir, I have someone waiting-,"

"Oh, the girl you were with?" He asked. You gulped realizing this wasn’t any man, this was the man Carol had been nervous about. You really didn’t think there was any man staring at you and that it was just Carol's paranoia kicking in. But no, your girlfriend had been rightfully cautious and you were kicking yourself for being doubtful.

"Sir, really-,"

"I think your friend wouldn’t mind waiting," he said, not only cutting you off but blocking you again with his broad body, his hand coming near your side as if trapping you.

"She’s my girlfriend," you snapped back, blood boiling at his game. "So, I’m not interested."

"Oh, a girlfriend! That could make this a lot more interesting-"

"Hey!" A voice boomed from the dining room entrance. All heads turned towards your clearly pissed-off girlfriend, heels hot marching towards you. She was steaming — well, maybe nearly glowing — with anger. "Get away from her."

"Ah, it’s the girlfriend-,"

"You’re damn right it’s the girlfriend," Carol snapped, eyeing him quite intensely. You knew there wasn’t much stopping her from taking him down this second. "And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my girl home."

She didn’t even let him get in another syllable before grabbing your hand and leading you to the exit. Patrons eyes were still focused on the rampage occurring but you were way too focused on your girlfriend. You weren’t sure you had ever personally witnessed this side of her. Sure, you two had arguments before, but this was… A lot. She was scared, angry, frustrated… A bottle waiting to explode.

When you two made it back to the car, you went to console Carol but she never gave you a chance. Within seconds you were pressed against the passenger side door, her lips hot and ferocious against yours. She moved with such anger, such passion, you almost let yourself get lost in it but you knew it wouldn’t solve anything like talking would.

"Honey," you gasped for air, pushing Carol gently off of you. You cupped her face with shaking hands. "Hey, I’m sorry."

"No, it’s just…" She pulled away, arms flailing in defeat. "I knew it! I knew that asshole would… God! Why do you have to be so beautiful?"

You sighed, your gaze drifting to your hands, picking at your nude nail polish. "I really didn’t think there was anyone looking at me."

"You innocent, gorgeous woman," Carol chuckled in disbelief. "I feel like I’m always shooing men away from you."

"It shouldn’t matter," you said, grabbing your girlfriend’s nervous hands. "I’m yours, honey. I am yours."

Carol hummed in appreciation and moved closer to you. "Mine?"

You nodded, watching her go from frazzled to lusting. She closed the gap, nearly towering over you as you leaned against the car. Her sweet, strong face was barely illuminated by the streetlights but you saw the love come back to her eyes.

"Really mine?" She asked again as she effortlessly dipped her head and started kissing up your neck. Her hand began making its way down your side, past your hips, where it began caressing the inside of your thigh.

"Yes, Carol, yes!" You giggled, squirming under her actions.

Her kisses made their way up to your face. She whispered so lovingly in your ear, "Maybe, we should get home, then, and you could show me." She paused. "Because I'm definitely itching to show you just how much you mean to me, baby. You wouldn't believe the ideas running through my head."

Briefly, her fingers lingered over your clothed core. You sighed.

"Maybe we should just find somewhere private around here?" you whispered back, motioning towards the backseat door. "I don’t know if I can wait."

And that was very much true. You could already feel yourself soaking through the material of your panties.

"You little minx," your girlfriend laughed, placing a needy kiss on your lips, her thigh subtly grinding into you. "You’re going to kill me one day."

You moaned, pressing yourself against her, your body burning with need. "Not if you kill me first."

231 notes · View notes

avintagekiss24 · 4 years ago

Text

WE LOVED WITH A LOVE THAT WAS MORE THAN LOVE || STEVE ROGERS

pairing: Steve Rogers x black!reader ; minor pairings: peter parker x michelle “mj” jones, andy barber x black!reader, sam wilson x black!reader, ransom drysdale x black!reader, bucky barnes x black!reader || word count: 19,080 || warnings: smut, sex, gang bang/multiple sex partners m/m/m/m/m/f, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), biting, marking, anal sex, hand job, nipple play, cult-like gathering, mentions of voodoo, voodoo lore, cult rituals

authors note: it’s here! took me forever. i wanted to post this much earlier, but the election week threw me off my schedule so this got pushed because i had another deadline to meet for another challenge. this is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor once upon a midnight dreary challenge! i chose “believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see”, an invitation to a stranger’s party, and a cultish gathering for my prompts. again, i got a little help from my girl @tropicalcap in helping me piece together a few plot points.

just a quick note :: steve never goes into the ice and the government doesn’t give him the serum... his transformation is achieved in a different manner. therefore, bucky’s transformation is also a little different than canon.

manip of peter & mj by sidewalk manips (i think they’re on instagram... not sure, i found it on google) // divider by @whimsicalrogers

MONDAY

The ornate envelope in your hand is heavy. It’s decorated with thin, gold leaf, hand drawn designs, almost resembling the intricate henna leaves. Your name is scrolled across the front in big, black Old English calligraphy— hand written as well; you can just tell. You flip it over in your hand, the weight of it making a soft thud when it rests against the heel of your palm. A red wax seal is pressed against the flap and the back of the envelope, two initials carved deep— S.G.R.

Flipping the envelope back over in your hand, you press your lips together in a hard line. Junk mail is getting really fancy now-a-days. You blink at the front, reading and then rereading your name. A tinge of something— you’re not sure what, pulls at your stomach, making it constrict as your breath deepens harder than before. You even stop walking. You just stare at the envelope, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth as you blink down at it.

It’s just unsettling. The weight of it, the attention to the little details of the writing and the designs. It’s anything but junk mail, but the tiny shards of anxiety that are prickling up against your skin don’t want you to think too much into it.

You shove it to the back of the pile of mail in your hand and continue flipping through it as you walk down the hallway towards your apartment, your purse bouncing against your hip as you move. Once inside, you throw the mail down first, then your keys, before you turn on your heel and move towards your bedroom, already tugging out of your blouse.

The TV is nothing more than background noise at this point. You’re curled up on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a glass of red wine in your left hand as your eyes flit across the screen of your iPad. You scroll slowly with your right index finger, gobbling up a Stucky fic on ao3. Your eyes widen at the written words before you, your mouth dropping open as your heart starts to beat just a little harder— you’d die if anyone at work ever found out that you spend your free time reading about Bucky Barnes getting his back blown out by Captain America— but nobody told them to be so attractive. It’s their fault, really.

There’s a heavy knock at the door, but you don’t budge. You just push back against the pillows and keep your eyes on the illuminated screen as the door opens, “Take your shoes off.” A heavy sigh greets your ears seconds later, drawing a smile onto your lips as you throw your eyes quickly towards your little sister, “House rule.”

She rolls her eyes hard and toes at her sneakers— making sure to kick them up against the wall so the thuds rumble through the apartment— you know, for added drama. She pulls her bag over her head and drops it to the floor before padding across the carpet and plopping down next to you.

“You readin’ the one I sent you?” she asks, grabbing the popcorn out of your lap, “Can we order a pizza?”

“Yes and yes.” You answer absentmindedly as your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at the smut on your screen, “MJ!”

She laughs, scrunching up her nose as she pops some popcorn into her mouth and nods slowly as she focuses on the tv, “I told you it was nasty.”

“You didn’t say it was this nasty, good God.”

The younger woman scoffs as she throws her loose, wavy hair over her shoulder, “But you steady readin’ it though.”

You cut your eyes towards her, “I didn’t say that I don’t like nasty, just that it’s nasty. I think I have a coupon up on the counter for Tony’s if you wanna order now.” MJ is up on her feet as soon as the words leave your mouth, “Get some bread sticks too.”

The rummaging MJ does in the kitchen blurs with the screams from the television as you start to read again, losing yourself quickly back in the BDSM world the author has so vividly painted. You leave a kudos and a quick comment before tossing your iPad to the side and lift your eyes to your sister again, blinking as you find her leaning up against the counter, the weird envelope in her hand.

“The fuck is this?” she asks, her lip snarled, eyes squinted as she turns it over in her hand, “Why’s it so heavy?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh a little, “I got it in the mail today. It gives me the creeps.”

MJ moves around the coffee table and falls next to you again, tossing the coupon at you before sliding her finger underneath the flap. You grab her wrist before she goes to open it, tutting softly, “Don’t. Just leave it.”

“Why?”

“Because! I’m gonna throw it out.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening it.”

“Come on MJ—”

She slides her finger underneath the flap before you can stop her again, breaking the wax seal in two. You huff as she pulls out the 5x7 piece of heavy cardstock, then tips the envelope to lodge whatever was weighing it down free. A brooch falls into her palm, both of you leaning up to inspect the intricate piece of jewelry. It’s floral in design— pearls, or what look like pearls, placed strategically between the little, diamond encrusted, platinum leaves. Three pearls are bunched in the middle— the center of the flower, with three larger diamonds outlining them.

“Holy shit, is this real?” MJ asks, lifting it up and turning it over, “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

You shake your head, “It can’t be. There’s no way.”

“It looks real.”

“No,” you scoff, waving her off, “It’s costume.”

She shoves it into your palm, “Feel that thing! It’s heavy as fuck, that ain’t costume jewelry.”

You furrow your brow as you let it sit in your palm, feeling it. It looks old— really old, like something that would have been worn back in the 1800s. You flip it over, bringing it up to your face as you spot another set of the S.G.R. initials engraved in the back of one of the small leaves.

“Fuck.”

The word slips out of your mouth effortlessly as you eye the jewelry and lick your bottom lip. You glance over at MJ who stares back at you with wide, hazel eyes, her lips parted, “See? That shit is real.”

You point at the card in her hand, swallowing quickly before you clear your throat, “What does that say?”

She takes a breath as you push your side into hers, your eyes scanning the writing, “We request the honor of your presence this Friday, October 31st, 2020 at 1543 Asher Ln. 8pm. No extra guests. S.G.R.” she slides her eyes towards you, “You know somebody with those initials?”

You blink, racking your brain, “No. I don’t— I don’t think so, at least.”

“Well, he or she obviously knows you.”

You grab the invitation from her, reading it again before you turn it over, hoping to find something else scribbled on the back. You drop your hand to your lap when you don’t and zero your gaze in on the television as it starts to tunnel.

“Bro,” MJ laughs quickly, “This is some freaky deaky shit.”

You eye the white invitation once more, reading it over again and again— as if you’re missing something, “What, um,” you start absentmindedly, “What do you mean?”

“This is some Eyes Wide Shut shit, sis!”

You scoff again, rolling your eyes as your shoulders slump, “Stop it MJ.”

“Girl,” she laughs harder, clapping her hands and letting her head fall back against the couch, “You gonna go?”

“No!” you squeal at her audacity, tossing the invitation and brooch on the coffee table, “It’s obviously some kind of joke or something.”

“That is no joke! The brooch has got to be at least ten g’s, easy.”

“It’s not real. That shit’s not worth ten dollars.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, prude.”

You feel anger flushing through your veins, your face heating up as you stand quickly and walk into the kitchen, “I’m not a prude, Mary Jane.”

“Oooh, my full name,” she mocks, “What are you gettin’ mad for?”

“I’m not mad, I told you that thing gave me the creeps. Everything is a joke to you.”

“I’m not jokin’! Somebody obviously went through a lot of trouble to send you that, I’m just callin’ it as I see it.”

You down the rest of the wine in your glass and quickly pour another, bringing it to your lips as you rub the back of your neck with your free hand, “It’s some kind of prank.” you exhale, taking another sip, “I’m throwing it away.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing your iPad before she props her feet up on the small, square table in front of her, “Sure, sure. Yeah, somebody sends a diamond encrusted brooch and a handwritten invitation just for funsies. Got’cha.”

You close your eyes and take another gulp of wine, using it to stop yourself from saying something that will more than likely dissolve your evening into a fight. You swallow slowly, pushing the smooth alcohol down your throat and letting it settle and warm in your belly.

“1543 Asher Ln. is a real house, just so you know. Pops right up on Zillow.”

You sigh loudly.

“And,” she starts, dragging out the end of the word, “It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

“Are you gonna order the pizza or what?”

“You should go, I’m just sayin’.”

“I’m not gonna,” you stop yourself as you glare over at her, her eyes and posture taking that MJ tone as your voice gets sharp, “I’m not going to a strangers house. Okay? Drop it.”

“There’s no reason not to go.” You stare at her for a few seconds. You squint your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you scrunch your face, honestly in disbelief, “What?” she shrugs, “I literally met Peter last year at a party of someone who, to this day, I still don’t know. I can’t even remember how I ended up there.”

“MJ—”

“Don’t MJ me. It could be fun!” She smiles big as you sit next to her again, “You need to live a little. Get some dick, man.” You cut your eyes back over at her and lift your middle finger, “I mean it!” she laughs again, “There is nothing more fun than a Halloween party.”

You lean forward, reaching for the brooch. You roll it around in your palm, keeping your eyes on it as MJ babbles on. You eye the invitation as it lays on the table. The anxiety is back— constricting your stomach, making you itchy and jumbling your thoughts. It’s like it’s screaming at you— like something or someone is trying to get your attention.

You reach forward and slide the invitation to the edge of the table with your fingertips. You grab it swiftly and stand again, feeling MJ’s eyes on your back as you move into the kitchen. Shoving the invitation, the envelope, and the brooch in a drawer, you push the notion right out of your mind.

You’ve never entertained MJ’s crap before and you aren’t going to start now. Out of sight, out of mind.

TUESDAY

There’s a flower arrangement sitting on your desk the next morning. It’s lively— all of the flowers a different shade of pink. The stocks are a blush-pink, the roses spanning the pink spectrum. The spray roses are more purple than anything, but they bring the whole thing together.

There’s a small card leaning up against the glass vase, your name scribbled across the front. You pluck it up quickly and flip it over.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

Your purse falls off your shoulder and down your arm as your eyes go wide. You turn quickly, scanning the bullpen as people move about but you’re not exactly sure what or who you’re looking for. You drop your purse into the chair front of your desk and walk out to your assistant.

“Did you sign for these?” you ask, your voice slightly raised and agitated.

Nakia glances up at you slowly over the rims of her glasses, clearly picking up on your demeanor, “Uh, yeah? ‘Bout half an hour ago… everything okay?”

“What flower shop are they from?”

She shrugs, widening her eyes, “I don’t know, it came by delivery service.”

You tug at your suit jacket around your hip and let out a huff, “Don’t accept anymore, okay?”

You turn on your heel before she can answer and stomp back into your office, closing the door behind you. Heat ripples through you as you grab the handset of your phone and bring it to your ear, angrily dialing your sister’s number. You lean against your desk, arms crossed over your chest as it rings, eyes shifting around the room.

“Yo.”

“There are flowers sitting on my desk.”

You’re met with silence for a few seconds, “... okay?”

“There from someone else that I don’t know,” you huff, “The initials are J.B.B. this time.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that. Okay, so two dudes wanna rail you at this party. That’s my kind of Friday night, sis.”

“Will you cut it out!” you hiss angrily, turning to face the windows behind you, “This is freaking me out!”

“Oh my god,” you hear her moving around, like sheets and pillows being rumpled until a muffled, groggy moan sounds, “Peter… wake up… wake the fuck up… what did you say about that weird party thing?”

You roll your eyes and tap your foot nervously as the two go back and forth. There’s shuffling again on her end, and then a heavy sigh, “I think it’s a masquerade party.” Peter Parker finally says, his words slurred with sleep, “That’s where—”

“I know what a masquerade party is Peter, thank you.”

“Oh yeah, okay, sorry, so,” he starts, shuffling around again, “I heard for the past couple of years that somebody has been throwing a secret masquerade party at different places around town.”

“How did you hear that?”

“So, there’s this girl I had a class with last year, her name was uh, Liz. She said her older sister was invited to it. And then, there was this other girl, Shuri, she also said that her sister got invited one year too. I didn’t get the full scoop from Shuri though cuz she ended up transferring to Columbia, which, okay, yeah it’s a great school and all, but—”

“Peter,” you say, closing your eyes, “Focus please.”

“Right, sorry. So, yeah, it could be that party. Liz said her sister got the same brooch.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You clear your throat as you shift, cutting your eyes back to the vase of roses sitting in the corner of your glass desk, “Did she go?” you ask trepidatiously, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“Uh, yeah. She said it was pretty chill.”

“Pretty chill? The fuck does that mean?”

“Sorry, um, she said her sister said it was fun. Plenty of alcohol, plenty of food. But, because of the whole masquerade thing, she never found out who invited her.”

Put it on speaker, your sister's voice rings, then a sharp, sudden sound of skin on skin followed by a squeal from Peter, “Ow! Okay!”

“So,” you start, your fingers picking at the spiral telephone cord, “They didn’t say anything weird happened or anything? They’re both okay?”

“Liz said that her sister said she talked to some blonde guy for a while. He was asking her a bunch of like, weird, artsy questions but she thought it was all a part of the allure of the party so she just went with it. Other than that,” Peter trails off, and you can practically see him shrugging as if he’s right in front of you, “She said it was fun.”

“See? Everything is on the up and up.” MJ adds, “You should go.”

You don’t answer right away. You slide the small card towards the edge of your desk, picking it up again.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

“Peter, thank you, sorry for waking you up.” You say a few moments later, clearing your throat, “I’ll call you later MJ, okay?”

“Okie,” she purrs into the phone, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your answer is distracted— quiet and airy as you set the handset back into the base. You stare back at the flowers, chewing on the inside of your cheek as something starts to gnaw at you. Something deep. You set the small card back up against the vase and shake your mouse to wake up your computer, forcing yourself into your emails, the small sentiment running circles in your mind.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

WEDNESDAY

You’re barely home from work when there’s a knock at your door— in fact, you only have one shoe off when the thud sounds through your apartment. You sigh, slipping your pump back onto your foot before you stand from the bed and move to the door. Peering out of the peephole, you spot a FedEx driver, his hands full of packages.

“Hi,” you greet as you open the door, “Goodness, these are all for me?”

“As soon as you sign for them they are.” He laughs, handing you the small pen and handheld scanner.

You sign quickly as he places the boxes just inside your door, and wiggle your fingers as he makes his leave, hustling back down to his truck. You keep your eyes on the boxes as you close and lock the door— you didn’t order anything. You haven’t ordered anything in at least a week and when you do, it’s always from Amazon. All of these boxes are unmarked, except for the shipping label, that has no return address.

An envelope is taped to the side of the largest box and based on how your week has been going, you already half know what to expect. You rip it away from the box and slide your finger underneath the flap, pulling out another handwritten, five-by-seven card.

Hope it fits… A.S.B.

You shove the card back into the envelope and toss it aside before grabbing the large box, sitting it on the bar. With the help of your house key, you rip into the box, popping open the flaps once the tape is broken down the middle. You gasp as you pull out a black and gold ball gown, your mouth dropping open as your eyes go wide.

The corset top is strapless and intricately hand woven with small, black beads in a leafy design. A layer of gold tulle spills down an even longer layer of black tulle, all the way to the floor. The dress is thick— heavy, as you hold it up in your hands. You search for a tag, sewn in initials, something to try and place where this could have possibly come from, but find nothing, as if it’s one of a kind. You splay it out over the couch and move to the second box— your interest now suddenly piqued.

You pop open the second box to find a slightly smaller box inside. Tucking your fingers underneath the rim, you pull the top away and gasp again— this time bigger— and take a physical step back. You blink stupidly and you fumble around in your pants pocket, trying to find your phone. You slam your finger down on MJ’s name and bring it to your ear, lifting a gold Giuseppe heel up in the air.

“You need to get your ass over here, now.”

There’s total silence in the apartment as you, MJ, and Peter stare at the Giuseppe heels and a handful of jewelry. The most jaw-dropping being a thin rose gold chain adorned with ninety one (Peter counted), different shaped diamonds arranged to resemble the leaves of a vine. At the center, they all meet at a large— museum caliber— yellow diamond.

“So let me get this straight,” MJ starts, placing her hands on her hips, “Those are Giuseppe heels, and not just any Giuseppe heel, the Cruel Crystal Giuseppe heel, that they don’t even make anymore,” she emphasizes with her hands, “A necklace with a diamond that bigger than my goddamn fist, and a, hang on a second,” she closes her eyes, holding up her hands to add to the drama of it all, “A hand stitched ball gown?”

“Don’t forget the mask,” Peter breathes heavily, “That’s, I’m pretty sure that’s made outta pure crystal, so,”

You play with your bottom lip nervously, your left arm thrown over your stomach as you slowly turn your head towards your sister and her boyfriend, “Did your friend's sister get all of this shit too?”

The young, brown haired man scratches his head as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before shrugging and expelling a breath out of his mouth, “I mean, I…” he shrugs again, completely at a loss, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we can google the initials or something. Where’s your iPad?” MJ asks, turning on her heel and rushing into your bedroom.

“I tried that already,” you call, grabbing the shoes from the counter and slipping your feet into it, “Oh my god, they fit.” You whisper more to yourself than to anyone else in the room.

MJ rolls her eyes, “Well, what came up?”

“Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” you answer as you twirl around in a circle, completely enamored with your shoes, “So, nothing.”

Peter gasps and places his hands on his chest as his face fills with a quick fear, “Fuuuckkk, what if it’s them?”

You and MJ both scoff, “Don’t be stupid, Parker.” MJ says.

“It could be! You don’t know!”

“Ok, yes, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are behind this. Sure,” she cuts her eyes towards you, “He has such a crush on them. Did you try the third set of initials?”

You nod as you stare down at your feet, turning your right foot slightly, watching as the gold glints underneath the light, “Yeah, no luck there either. Just random ass dudes— look at how good these look on my feet, sissy.”

She waves you off as she sits on the coffee table, her face being lit up by the light of your iPad, “Okay, A.S.B., Andrew Stephen Barber, assistant district attorney— could be him… he’s cute at least.” she shrugs.

“I doubt it,” you let out a breath, “I should try on the dress, huh? I mean, you know, just to see.” MJ throws you a look while Peter glances between the two of you nervously, “What? I’m still not going, I just want to see how it looks.”

“Uh huh,” MJ squints her eyes, following you as you walk back into your bedroom, already pulling down the zipper on the back of your shirt, “Sure.”

THURSDAY

MJ💕 12:37pm

Lunch? I’m right around the corner from your building

You hear your phone chime, but you don’t tear your eyes away from your screen immediately. Voices come from the speaker on your phone as you type fervorously. You’re only really half listening— this meeting has nothing to do with you, but, you’re the account manager, so you have to at least try and seem interested while you work on another contract with a much more lucrative, expensive company.

The iPhone rattles again against your glass desk and you snap it up this time, your eyes scanning the message. Right on cue, your stomach rumbles.

You 12:40pm

Sure, sure. Chinese?

MJ💕 12:41pm

Yum.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you open your SPARK messenger and tap on Nakia’s name. She knows you and MJ’s order like that back of her hand, and messages you back minutes later to confirm the food will be on it’s way within the hour. You return your attention to the large computer screen before you, pushing your glasses up your nose as you shift your vision to the second monitor slightly to your left.

There’s a small tap a few minutes later, followed by Nakia’s beautiful face peeking in as she mouth’s MJ before opening the door wider to let your lanky sister breeze into the room. You hold your fingers up to your lips as the chorus of voices still speak from your speaker, but keep your eyes on her as she pulls her bag over her shoulder and head and plops down in one of the plush seats in front of your desk.

She makes herself busy on her phone, no doubt texting Peter as you return to your emails and contract, losing twenty or thirty more minutes.

“Okay guys, I’ll talk to you next week right?” You ask, your fingers hovering over the speaker button, “Okay… alrightly, buh-bye.” you slam your finger down on the small, round button and widen your eyes as you let out an audible breath, “Sorry, sissy.”

MJ holds up her hand, her face still buried in her phone, “You’re an important lady, I get it.”

“I thought you had class today?”

“That’s the good thing about having a pregnant Professor,” she smiles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Morning sickness apparently lasts throughout the day.”

Another tap comes at the door before Nakia emerges again, this time her hands full of food, “Here we are ladies,” she smiles as she sits the bags on your desk, “This also just arrived for you too.”

Your face twists in confusion as she hands you something wrapped in plain brown paper. There’s a black ribbing wrapped around it, tied in a neat little bow in the center of the package. It’s light whatever it is. Your eyes drift slowly over to MJ, who sits up in her seat, peering at the package in your hands before she blinks up at you— a knowing look on her face.

“Thanks Nakia,” you smile, trying not to draw her attention to all of the air being sucked out of the room.

MJ’s phone rings just as Nakia exits the room. You hear her mumble a greeting, but your attention is quickly sucked back to your hands. Curiosity gets the best of you. You pull at the ribbon and toss it aside before curling your fingers around the edges to find where it’s taped together.

Just as your fingers find where the edges meet, Peter Parker’s voice fills the room, “Am I on speaker?”

“Yes!” MJ hisses, “Talk.”

“Ok, so, I was talking to Liz about the weirdo party her sister went to last year. She got the same packages throughout the week! Monday, she got the invite, Tuesday she got flowers, Wednesday she got a dress, shoes, and a masquerade mask, and Thursday she got—“

“A book of poems,” you breathe, the sound low and airy, “By Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Exa-Exactly.” Peter stutters.

It’s delicate, this book— the pages. You thumb through them gently, smelling the authenticity of it— the rarity. It’s been kept in pristine condition but it still looks old, the pages a dull brown; crisp and brittle to the touch. Your heart thumps against your chest as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your throat constricts as you swallow hard, nerves filling your body.

“Which one is it?” Peter asks softly, the weight of this affecting him through the phone.

“Tamerlane and other poems.” You recite as you close the small book and run your fingers over the front cover.

MJ scrambles to her feet and scurries around you, her eyes plastered on your computer monitor as she starts to type.

Peter clears his throat, “Liz’s sister got a copy of Al Aaraaf. It was like, a first edition or something.”

“Fuck,” the obscenity falls from MJ’s lips with ease, but with a gentle discomfort, “This says there’s less than twelve copies of this in existence— twelve. I mean, how do you even get your hands on something like this?”

You can’t even speak. You just sit there, feeling the small book in your hands, staring blankly at the cover. Peter and MJ start to bicker back and forth as they try to make heads and tails of all of this. You aren’t taken by the book exactly, yeah, you're holding one of maybe twelve copies left in the entire world, but there’s something else gnawing at you in the pit of your stomach— something that’s been just at the tip of your subconscious all week long.

It’s like—

“Was Liz’s sister into Edgar Allan Poe?” You ask suddenly.

“Not at all,” Peter answers quickly, “She thought it was weird.”

“And the dress and the shoes? Did they um,” you blink up at MJ but avert your eyes just as quickly, “They didn’t fit, did they?”

There’s silence from Peter. You can almost see him, standing there in the middle of the college campus with a dumbfounded look on his face— his fingers threading through his hair, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, “No,” he answers after a slow minute or two, “They were too small.” He goes quiet again before he says, “How did you know that?”

The feeling that’s been gnawing at you all week. You’ve felt like someone’s been looking for you. There’s been this… pull— somewhere deep inside of you— like someone is calling for you.

What scares you is that you want to answer.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,” MJ recites slowly.

“Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before,” you finish for her, “I used to read that to you when you were a kid.”

“He’s your favorite.”

“My absolute favorite,” you laugh nervously, “I wrote my thesis on Al Aaraaf when I was in school.” You fall back into your chair, “That dress fit me like a glove, MJ— the shoes too.”

She shakes her head quickly, her eyes closed as she slowly comes to the realization that you are. She runs her thin fingers through her wavy hair before she rests her hands on her shoulders, squeezing to comfort herself, “Do you think it’s—”

You shrug, “It could be.”

MJ drops her eyes from yours.

“What’s happening?” Peter’s voice sounds again, “What— what do you mean? Who do you think it is?”

“I’m adopted,” you say slowly, a soft smile on your face as you keep your eyes on MJ, “I was two, maybe three when they took me from my mom. I was placed with our parents, MJ’s biological parents, really quickly— I don’t remember a whole lot, but I remember someone reading Edgar Allan Poe to me, specifically Tamerlane.”

“Fuck,” Peter breathes, “You think it’s her? Your mom?”

You glance towards the floor, a small card catching your eye. You pick it up gingerly and turn it over, your eyes scanning over the handwritten note.

For passionate love is still divine

I lov’d her as an angel might

With ray of the all living light

Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine

See you tomorrow, love — H.R.D.

You drag your eyes back up to MJ’s as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “It’s definitely someone that knows her.”

FRIDAY

You don’t go into work.

Peter and MJ have been at your apartment all day, helping you piece this crazy story all together. Liz’s sister, Shuri’s sister— they were all you. Same age, all of you born within days of each other. All born at the same hospital. All adopted around the same age.

Someone is looking for you; and has been for years.

You and MJ are now on opposite sides about this party than you were at the beginning of the week. You want to go. You need to; especially if it’ll lead you to your mother. MJ voiced her newfound concerns, to the point where she shed a few tears— but, being the big sister you are, you brushed them away and explained it as best you could. You just need to know if she’s out there— what these people, S.R.G., J.B.B., A.S.B., H.R.D. know about her.

So, she helps you get ready. She curls your hair and pins it up. She paints your nails and helps you into the dress before she leans against the door jam of the bathroom, watching you do your makeup— just like she used to when you were a teenager. Peter knocks on the bedroom door before he barely opens it and shoves his arm inside, an envelope hanging off his finger tips.

“Hey guys,” he says softly, “This just came.”

“You want me to read it?” MJ asks, tapping it against her fingers. When you nod, she tears the flap and slides out the card, “A chariot will await you at 7:30 sharp… but please take your time. S.T.W.”

“What time is it?”

She glances at her phone, “7:25.”

You let out a shaky breath. You lean into the mirror and dab at your lips, removing any excess lipstick before you push back again and drag your eyes down your reflection.

“You know,” you start, keeping your eyes on your painted nails, “I don’t remember my mom at all. Not her face, not her voice, but I remember a man— my dad, I guess.” You blink back towards your reflection, squinting your eyes as the gears turn in your head, “I just remember blonde hair and a deep voice reading those poems to me. I remember feeling safe when he held me.”

MJ drops her eyes and nods slowly as she rakes her fingernails up and down her forearm, “I get why you wanna go. I do.”

“I just need to make these fragments make sense, you know? I remember these other guys too— which,” you shrug, “Would make sense since mom said that my real mom lived in a commune, but,” your words drift off.

“Remember when you thought Steve Rogers was your dad?”

You laugh wholeheartedly, “I do! I just always felt like I knew him, I don’t know why.”

You still do— feel like you know him.

“So, yeah. I get it, I really do. It’s gotta be hard not knowing where you come from— thinking that every stranger you meet, or every person you see could possibly be someone you used to know.” MJ sighs as she meets your gaze through the mirror, “You look great. You always look great.”

“Thanks, sissy.” You bunch your dress in your hand and lift it gently as you step towards her, “I’ll be fine.”

She nods quickly, pursing her lips as she cuts her eyes away from yours, “I know that.”

You smile and tilt your head towards her gaze to grab her attention again, “I’m your big sister, you know. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, I just—” she shrugs, “I don’t want you to forget me.”

“MJ,” you start, grabbing her elbow when her chin quivers, “This has nothing to do with you or mom or dad. I love you guys, you’re my family, that will never change. I promise you, okay?” you pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back, “You will always be my sister— no one will ever take that away from us.”

“Guys,” Peter calls, “A red Audi just pulled up out front, like, an expensive one.”

“Your chariot awaits.” MJ laughs as she pulls away from you, wiping the wetness on her cheeks away.

You thread your fingers with hers and walk out into the living room where Peter smiles softly. You hug him too— he’s the best thing that could have ever happened to your sister.

“You guys are staying here for the night, right?” you ask, grabbing your clutch.

“We’re not leaving until you come back.” MJ answers.

“Okay. I’ll um, I’ll stay in touch throughout the night, okay?”

MJ nods, “We’ll stay by our phones.”

You head for the front door, opening it quickly before you step out into the hallway, “Don’t have sex in my bed,” you say suddenly, whipping back around to face the couple, “Please.”

“Oh my god,” Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes as a red tint flushes through his face, “We won’t.”

“Yeah, we’ll have sex on the couch.” Your shoulders slump as you squint at MJ, her laughter rolling off her tongue, “Just joking. Have fun, please text us.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be careful.”

You have to turn away from them abruptly or you’d never leave. Grasping your phone and the small clutch you borrowed from MJ, and your crystal mask in your hands, you head for the elevator. It’s a slow ride down to the main floor— silent too. Nothing but the sound of your racing thoughts bouncing back and forth in your mind. The metal box slows to a stop, a soft ding fills the air, and then the world slides back into view— a sleek, red Audi visible through the glass front doors.

A man steps out of the driver seat as you walk towards the door and push through, tightening your grip on your dress. He moves around the car, stopping just at the back door. You notice his eyes dip to your chest and you can’t help but follow his gaze. The flower shaped brooch catches the artificial light of the street lights and each little diamond starts to glint and gleam, even the pearls taking on a new shine.

The driver smiles softly, “The invitation you received was handwritten in an Old English font. The initials at the bottom?”

A test.

“Oh, um, S.G.R.”

“Those flowers you received on Tuesday were beautiful— white carnations, right?”

You shake your head, “Pink roses.”

“I read a poem the other day, I can’t remember what it was called though. It went something like ‘know thou the secret of a spirit bow’d from its wild pride into shame’…”

“O! Yearning heart! I did inherit thy withering portion with the fame, the searing glory which hath shone amid the Jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! And with a pain not hell shall make me fear again— o craving heart, for the lost flowers and sunshine of my summer hours,” you smile gently, “Tamerlane— the name of the poem.”

He opens the door and holds out his white, gloved hand to you.

1543 Asher Lane is lit up like Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Your mouth drops open as you pull up out front, every window glowing with a warm light. The front doors are thrown open with seemingly hundreds of people moving about inside. The driver opens your door and holds out his hand for you, prompting you to slide your palm into his. He keeps a firm grip on your fingers as you step out, and then helps you up the long front steps.

He only releases your hand when you reach the front door, bowing gently before he skips back down the stairs and towards the car. Your heart drums in your ears as you place your crystal, half face mask on your face and adjust it gently before you drop your hand to the necklace nestled in your cleavage. You play with the large yellow diamond as you step inside, your eyes going wide as the lively noise of a full blown party suddenly fills your ears.

An orchestra plays in the middle of the large, open foyer, the sounds bouncing off the walls and rising up into the tall ceiling. Twenty or thirty couples dance to the upbeat tune and you’d swear you’d just stepped into the 1800s. All the men that move about are dressed in black tuxedos, the only distinction between them all being their different masks. The women twirl in their Venetian ball gowns, their jewelry and intricate, flamboyant masks glinting underneath the light.

There’s double staircases winding up walls, leading up to the second floor, more people laughing and talking intimately on them. Waiters in white suits, black ties and white gloves move seamlessly about, slipping in between the bodies with plates of champagne and finger foods— each one bending forward politely and placing their free hand behind their back as party goers pluck the goodies off their silver serving plates.

The floors are made of marble. A large, ornate chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, spilling a warm, almost golden light over everything and everyone.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

You snap your head towards the voice as it breaks you from your trance, “Thank you,” you smile as you take the thin champagne flute from his tray.

Just as quickly as he arrived, the waiter is gone again, leaving you to admire the scene before you. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid and pull out your phone, taking a quick picture and sending it to MJ with a short message. You’ve barely tucked it away when another voice sounds at your side.

“Would you care to dance?”

You turn towards the calm, deep voice, your lips parting as your eyes bounce between two crystal blue eyes. Blonde hair is swept back neatly, a strong, smooth chin and jawline visible underneath his silver, laser cut Venetian mask. He’s tall— towering almost, his chest and shoulders wide and broad. You’re taken by him almost immediately. You nod quickly, blinking a few times as he takes your champagne flute from you and hands it to a nearby server before he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the floor.

You gasp as he sweeps you up in his arms, resting his large hand on the small of your back and pulls you into his hard body. You can’t help but stare up at him as he starts to twirl you around the floor, taking complete control of your steps. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he spins you away from him, extending his long arm until just your fingertips are touching, and then pulls you back into his chest.

He’s a confident man— you can tell by the way he spins you around the dance floor. Even as the tempo of the music changes, from upbeat and fun, to slow and somewhat sad, he stays right in rhythm. You’ve always been a sucker for a man that can dance.

A slow smile creeps onto your face as your eyes bounce back and forth between his while the orchestra plays, “What is this song?” you ask suddenly, breaking the ice between the two of you.

“Sicilienne in E flat major, do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” You laugh a little, turning your head to watch the young cellist, “He’s so young, is he local?”

“He isn’t, no. That’s Sheku Kanneh-Mason of Britain, you may—”

You snap your head back towards him, “He played at the Royal Wedding! Oh my god!”

He chuckles as he gently tightens his hold around your waist, “The very one.”

You turn your head to watch the young man as he plays, completely in awe of his raw talent and bask in it, knowing you’ll never be in such company again, “My God, this is incredible. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You laugh.

“Well, you were invited, yes?”

“Yeah but I—” you stop yourself, shaking your head gently before you smile again, “I had a crazy thought about this party. I thought someone from my past was trying to reach out to me.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes scanning your face. You laugh again, “Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining things apparently.”

“Someone from your past?” He nudges gently.

You’re not sure if it's the champagne you’ve been sipping all evening, or just because for some reason you feel like you’ve known this man your whole life, but you start to spill your guts, “I thought, God, this is going to sound stupid. I thought my mom, or someone who knew my mom was trying to reach out to me through this party, which sounds insane now that I think about it. I was adopted, so,” you shrug, “I dunno, I was kinda hoping that she’d be here or that someone could get me in touch with her. Sounds crazy, right?”

He spins you again, this time slow, his eyes dragging down your body. He pulls you back into him and you rest your hand on his chest as you watch the orchestra, a soft smile on your face, “You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others,” you recite, “Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.”

His steps hitch ever so lightly.

You turn back to face him, blinking up at him as another smile spreads on your lips, “I didn’t catch your name?”

He blinks at you, something new in his eyes— something like relief? You can’t tell. His lips part and he takes a breath, trying but failing to get his mouth to move, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, laughing gently as he shakes his head, “Um, I’m Steven— Steve. Um, Edgar Allan Poe?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “He’s one of my favorite poets. That last line just kind of describes my thoughts over the past few days is all.”

“It’s strange for a young girl like yourself to be an Edgar Allan Poe aficionado.”

You shrug again, nodding, “I know. I just, I’ve always had an affinity for him, it’s one of the few memories of my father that I have. He used to read Poe’s poems to me as a child.”

He stops dancing abruptly, “May you excuse me? I’m sorry, I have to um, I have to go see someone very quickly. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can even answer, he brushes past you, dipping in and out of the people still filling the dance floor. You blink in confusion, watching as he jogs up the stairs and stops at the very top step, leaning into a dark haired man. They both turn in your direction after a few minutes, catching your eye before they turn back to one another, the dark haired man grabbing Steven’s arm in… surprise, maybe?

They break apart seconds later, Steven jogging back down the stairs, the dark haired man walking briskly along the long catwalk, stopping only to tap three other men on the back before they too follow quickly behind him and disappear. You grab another champagne glass from a waiter and take a gulp as heat flushes through you— nerves suddenly racking your body.

You keep your eyes on Steve as he pushes through the people again, making a line straight towards you. Tilting your head back, you finish off the rest of your glass as he approaches you again, “I’m sorry,” he smiles, “That was rude of me.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s no problem,” you laugh nervously, clearing your throat as you glance around the crowded room.

He holds out his hand to you, “Would you come with me? Please?”

You shake your head as fear strikes you, “Oh, you know, I actually have to get going, I—”

“I know your mother,” your eyes widen at his words, stopping you dead in your tracks, “And your father. Please, come with me.”

You aren’t crazy.

Someone is really trying to contact you.

You grab his hand and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. He steps aside and lets you lead, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you move up the long staircase. Once you reach the top, he grabs your hand again and pulls you along the catwalk until you disappear down the hallway. You pass by a series of doors before you stop at the last one, Steve stopping to knock.

The door pops open seconds later and Steve steps aside again, dropping your hand to hold his out towards the door. You remove your mask and sweep your hair out of your face as your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at Steve.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, his voice soft and calm.

You take a step, and then another, your heart beating hard and fast, goosebumps popping up on your skin. You step into the room but stop dead in your tracks as the air is sucked right out of your body. Four men sit at a long, antique, baroque style table. Their hands are placed flat on the dark marble top, heads bowed. The room is dark except for the flickering candles that sit in their ornate holders in the middle of the table, the light accentuating the mens’ black and gold scaramouche masks.

Fear rolls through you in waves, your breaths shaky and heavy as it falls from your lips. The door clicks behind you and you feel a hand on the small of your back again, another one on your elbow, “It’s alright darling,” he whispers in your ear, “I’ll help you to your seat, okay?”

“Steve,” your voice trembling, “I don’t, I don’t understand, I—”

“It’s alright, I promise you. We are not going to hurt you. That goes against everything we stand for. Come.”

You blink wildly at the men at the table as Steve pushes you past them slowly. They don’t flinch— no one makes a move to glance up at you or even breathe harder than what they already are. You were so busy staring at the men occupying four of the five chairs at the table, that you didn’t even notice the hand carved chair sitting against the wall at the back of the room.

The frame is golden, the upholstery teal in color and covered with floral embroidery, the back designed with a diamond tuft. It sits up a little higher than the table— propped up on a small, hand built stage with three steps leading up to it. Steve helps you up the small steps, keeping your hand in his until you’re seated.

As soon as you're settled, the four seated men pull a candle from the center of the table and place it right in front of them. The golden flames dance at the tips of the long, white candles, casting shadows over the dark walls.

“You may begin.”

You snap your head towards Steve as he speaks, your mouth hanging open, your eyes wide, breath shaky. The dark haired man that Steve first spoke to stands, his chair scuffing against the floor as he pushes away from the table. He grasps the candle holder in both hands as he approaches you slowly, his eyes cast down towards the floor.

Your breath quickens as he nears you. You squeeze Steve’s hand as you push back into the chair, starting to draw your feet up as he kneels before you, “Wait, wait, wait, wait! What are you—”

“It’s okay, darling.” Steve purrs, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hands, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Just relax.”

A hot tear streaks down your cheek as your whimper, your chin trembling as you push a hard, focused breath out of your mouth. The man in front of you mumbles something— in French you think, but you aren’t sure— before he reaches into his pocket. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to sprinkle rose petals at your feet, chanting as he does.

You feel his fingers brush over your exposed toes before he lifts your right foot and slips off your gold shoe— tracing a cross with the tip of his finger on the top of your foot. He repeats his actions to the left and stands, keeping his head down as he makes a cross over his face and chest and then turns and returns to his seat.

The next man stands, a thick beard covering his chin, his candle in hand as he approaches you, never making eye contact. Instead of rose petals, he lays money at your feet— a single dollar bill— before he traces the cross into your skin while he speaks in French.

The third man is clean shaven, like Steve, but his hair dark— some falling over his mask and onto his forehead. He leaves a handful of herbs and one white egg at your feet before sweeping his fingertips over your toes and branding each foot with an imaginary cross.

The fourth man that kneels before you repeats everything to a T. He’s tall, his skin a deep, smooth walnut brown. He leaves behind a handful of wheat grain and what looks like raw sugarcane before he blesses your feet and rises again. He taps his forehead and chest before each shoulder and moves away, retaking his seat at the table.

Tears still trickle down your cheeks as you blink furiously— your stomach churning, your palms clammy. You snap your eyes towards Steve as he finally releases your hand and grabs a bowl from the small table tucked into the corner of the room. He steps in front of you and kneels, setting the hand painted bowl at your feet. He lifts your feet gently, placing them in the bowl with care, massaging your ankles and lower calves to calm you.

It works— your voice trembles as you push out a gentle hum, focusing on his hands on your skin. He starts to speak in French, his voice low and calm, much like most of the evening. He pulls a small flask out of his jacket pocket and pops the lid before he pours the unusually cool liquid over your feet. You flinch instinctively but focus again on his soft hands, kneading your feet as he washes them.

Steve pulls the white silk pocket square from his suit jacket and dabs at your feet, wiping away the moisture. He traces a cross on the tops of your feet before standing again and cups your face with his hands. You’re drawn into him— resting your forehead to his as he continues to chant, his lips so close they brush against yours as he speaks.

“Bless this missing child,” he whispers, the only part of his chant in english, “She is home at last.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, every burning candle is suddenly extinguished by some force now filling the room. You blink in the darkness, your breath quickening as you grab Steve’s forearms.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he coos, stroking your bottom lip with his thumbs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

The room is full— so full of energy; power. It whips around you, electrifying your skin and blood, rattling your bones. It’s foreign— anomalous— but yet feels so comforting and warm. Like love. Like you're surrounded by family. You loosen your grip on Steve’s forearms as the fear drains from your body, a voice— a soft whisper in your ears. A voice you’ve never heard before but have somehow heard your whole life. It’s a language you don’t understand, but yet you know exactly what it’s saying.

Your eyes pop open suddenly and the room is washed in a warm light as the candles are suddenly lit again. Steve smiles at you softly as your eyes, now full of wonder and a new sacred knowledge, bounce back and forth between his deep blues. There’s a new electricity between the two of you, something unspoken, but written in the stars all the same.

The blood in your veins rushes hard, the sound of your thumping heart beating in your ears as goosebumps pop up over your skin again. Your stomach tightens as the molten of your ardor starts to pool and spread through your body, blazing a quick path. Steve’s thumbs still sweep over your lips, underneath your eyes, over your nose as you hold loosely onto his wrists. You grab your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes fall to his mouth before you inhale sharply— soft and pink, his lips.

His large palms spread warmth through your face, his thumbs still circling— still pushing along your smooth skin. Blue eyes dart around your face, continually meeting your deep brown eyes before dipping to your expectant lips. He pushes closer— so close that his pillowy lips rest against yours, but he doesn’t rush it— doesn’t press any harder.

He leaves it all up to you.

The energy is back in the room, swirling, filling you up with the power and presence with each breath you take. You press your lips to his as the sweet sirens start to whisper to you again. A moan slips from your mouth and into Steve’s, where he gobbles it up, exchanging a deep, pleased groan of his own.

His lips start to travel, moving down to your chin and jaw. He nuzzles into the soft, warm crook of your neck where he sucks lightly— his velvet tongue sneaking out and slipping along your skin. You push your chest into his as your back straightens, a gasp filling your lungs with the sweet air that surrounds you.

The emotion takes over in the heat of the moment— the fire of his lips and hands setting you a flame. Your leg hooks around his waist as you curl your fingers over his broad shoulders, digging your black painted nails into his shoulder blades. His teeth nip at your taut flesh and you lurch forward, your head tilting towards the ceiling as a choked moan strains in your throat.

You feel his deft fingertips on your naked calf, slipping along the length— over and around your knee, up your thigh— where he kneads and gropes, pulling heavier, louder sounds from you as his lips caress your flesh. A shiver rolls down your spine when his thick digits brush over your sticky panties. He doesn’t shy away, he sweeps the pads of his fingers over you again and again, finding a sweet little rhythm as he applies a gentle pressure.

Hips roll. Chests swell. Grips tighten as your head rolls back. Your mouth falls open as you drag in a breath, pushing it out with a husky groan. Your teeth grab your bottom lip again as you slide your hand around his wide back, hooking your arm around his neck. Humming, you open your eyes, blinking slowly back at four sets of hungry eyes trained on you and Steve. You inhale again, letting your lips part as you link eyes with each man at the table.

The men sit stark still— not moving a muscle as the flame from the candles light your bodies. Shadows dance across their masked faces as they watch in silence, but you can feel each and every one of them. Each energy is slightly different but acutely masculine, acutely tuned into you.

You don’t mind them watching. The scene salacious— vulgar.

Wrapped up in two large, muscly arms, you’re hoisted from the chair as Steve grabs your lips again with his own. He walks you to the table and sits you on the edge, right between two of the four men occupying it. The marble top is cool to the touch as he helps you up onto your feet, holding the tips of your fingers with his hand. He leads you into the center of the table, five heads all tilted up towards you as you stand there, the bottom of your dress dragging behind you as you move.

You feel like a princess with all of their eyes on you, hanging on to your every move, drinking in every inch of you. You twirl— a giggle falling from your lips before you sink down to your knees, peeking over your shoulder at the only brown eyed man in the room. You place your thin fingers over your lips, playing with them gently as you bat your eyes at him and sweep your hair over your shoulder— exposing the zipper of your dress.

He obliges without hesitation. Standing to his feet, he reaches for you— a warm hand on your bare shoulder, another grasping the zipper. You nuzzle your chin and cheek against his long fingers before brushing your lips over them quickly. His warm brown skin melts into yours as he pulls on your zipper, exposing more and more of your naked back as he goes.

The soft smile on your face grows wider as he centers his large palm in the middle of your back. Warm skin to warm skin. His eyes are ablaze— dark, blown pupils against a lighter brown iris— set dead on you as his lips part, showing off a distinctive gap in his teeth as his fingers whisk across your back and shoulder.

You turn to face him, still kneeling in the center of the table, and reach for his mask— pulling gently on the black tie until the bow falls away. He lets you remove it from him, a soft smile playing on his lips as you reveal the handsome face underneath.

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Steve offers softly.

Samuel tips his head towards you as you run the tips of your fingers along his softly bearded jaw, “S.T.W.” you say easy, recalling the last of your calling cards, “Hi Sam.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his— one gentle, chaste kiss before you break away from him with a soft smack.

You follow Steve with your eyes as he moves to the man seated next to Sam. Steve places his hand on his shoulder, “Andrew Stephen Barber.”

You bat your eyes at Andrew as he stands and takes your hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips, “Andy.” He supplies as he removes his mask and sits it gently on the table.

“A.S.B., thank you for the dress.”

His presence is calm— gentle, matching the softness of his beard and dark hair. You press your free hand into the halter top of your dress to keep it from falling, but all the modesty you once had is evaporating quickly. You feel like you’ve known them all forever.

The next pair of blue eyes bring a forceful energy, one of entitlement and defiance. Before Steve can get his name out, he’s standing, his mask in his hand revealing his boyish, clean face, “Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” He winks at you suggestively, “Ransom.”

He wraps his long arm around your waist and pulls you close, crashing his lips to yours in a fury. You giggle against him before accepting his velvety tongue into your mouth, letting it sweep along your bottom lip and then slide along yours. Steve taps his shoulder and after a beat… or two, Ransom releases you from his grip, a smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eye.

You turn to the fourth man— the dark haired man that Steve initially spoke to on the stairs. He’s standing, with Steve behind him, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of the long table. He’s the only one wearing gloves. His breathing is controlled, his eyes set on you as you inch towards him, sitting up on your knees in front of him.

You walk your fingers up his chest seductively, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you smile at him, “You must be J.B.B.”

He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I could be S.G.R.”

“While the guy named Steven stands behind you?” you squint playfully, reaching for his mask.

He grabs your wrist with his left hand, making you gasp. It’s a firm grip, but it excites something deep in you. You drop your hands into your lap, flattening them on your thighs as you take a deep breath and push it out of your nose. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, who nods just once before he turns back to face you and starts to pull at the fingers of his gloves. He removes the right hand first, tucking the black glove into his pocket before he starts on the left, pulling slowly— finger by finger.

Your mouth drops open as he pulls the nylon material away, your eyes going wide as he stretches out his digits, the candle light glinting off of the dark metal. The breath in your throat hitches as you watch him reach for his mask and untie it, pulling it away from his face to reveal a familiar one.

J.B.B.

James Buchanan Barnes.

So that means—

You blink towards Steve, whose mask is now off and sitting on the table. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he exhales deeply, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he then points at himself, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

You blink rapidly— completely dumbfounded as the two super soldiers stand before you. Bucky takes your hand, brushing his lips over your fingers before he pops them into his mouth, sucking gently on your digits as he flicks his eyes back up to yours. Your stomach tightens. A hum accompanies the breath that vibrates through your chest as he drags his left hand up and down your arm.

Steve cups your cheek and turns your head towards him before he traces your jaw and chin with his index finger, “We’re gonna take care of you baby girl,” he whispers as he places his fingertips on your forehead and brushes them down your face, “We’ve searched for you for so long.”

You believe him— you don’t know what he’s talking about, but you believe every word.

You push in and kiss Bucky, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and squeeze gently before you turn towards Steve, pulling him into another deep kiss, “Get this dress off of me.” You whisper.

Hands— so many hands, each pair distinctively different, are on your body within seconds, tugging and pulling at the heavy dress until you’re free of it. The only piece of clothing left on you is your thin thong as you lay back on the table, your hands over your bare breasts, covering them. You gaze up at the five men peering at you, their eyes wide and hungry.

Steve slips his hand down your sternum, the pads of his fingers sliding down your stomach to your hips, where he traces the thin band of your underwear— his touch making you raise your hips from the table. Sam drags his thumb along your chin and bottom lip before he pushes the tip just inside your all too eager mouth. You suck gently, running your tongue the length of his digit as Ransom pries your hands away from your breasts.

You moan softly, arching your back into Ransom’s hands as he starts to tweak your taut nipples, rolling them both between his fingers before he leans down and sucks your right breast into his mouth. Hands grab your thighs, kneading your flesh and pull them apart as Andy licks into your mouth, his tongue massaging the roof as he holds your chin.

The energy is back in the room— the power swirling as the men start to devour you. There’s tongues over your toes, hands on your tight nipples and abundant breasts, lips on your shoulders and neck. Fingernails scrape against your skin as they slink underneath the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and calves before they slide over your ankle and are discarded to the floor.

You feel the warm metal and flesh hand of Bucky around your ankles, drawing your legs up so they’re bent at the knee. He crawls onto the table, his heavy blue eyes drinking you in as he lets his metal fingers dance up and down the inside of your thigh. You start to shiver at his touch— your back arching away from the table as you gasp and hiss from the hands and mouths and tongues all over you.

Bucky sinks down— low, onto his belly— his eyes still trained on yours as he wraps his arms around your thighs. He starts to blow warm air against your sticky, hot sex, his eyes finally dipping away from yours and to your lower half as your hips jerk and whine. His metal fingers push through your folds gently, rubbing the sensitive nub at the center of you, then teasing your slit and opening.

Steve presses his balmy lips right in the valley of your breasts and peppers kisses along your jiggling flesh. The tip of his tongue circles your nipples before his teeth nip and bite. You gasp loud as a metal finger, and then a second push into your cunt— a thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips jut upward as you mewl, the sound quickly being covered up by Sam’s mouth as he kisses you hard.

Bucky blinks up at you as he withdrawals his fingers and waits— waits for you to make eye contact with him before he sucks them into his mouth, wiping them clean of your slick. He moans— heavy and hard as he closes his eyes, savoring your taste.

Your hips start to roll into his hand as he dips his fingers back into you, his breath washing over your quivering thighs. Ransom tickles your right knee, then skips his hand down the inside of your thigh, where he cups your sex around Bucky’s pushing fingers. Ransom starts to rub your clit, pressing firm circles into your wet flesh as Bucky curls his fingers to massage your muscles.

Andy sinks his teeth into your side before his tongue glances out over your stomach, circling your belly button before he sucks on your skin. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to add some pressure— Sam and Steve each taking a breast into their wet mouths, their tongues swishing and swirling.

You dig a hand into Steve’s hair and cup Sam’s head as they tease your nipples, a sharp yelp bursting through your lips as Sam bites down gently. Ransom spreads your folds with his index and middle fingers and suddenly, there’s a tongue— a warm, velvety tongue flattening against your clit. You push your head up to watch as Bucky sucks on your nub, his eyes searing into yours as he releases you with a smack, and then dives back in, the tip of his tongue flirting with your opening, his fingers still pumping.

Your head and hips roll as unrestrained groans rumble through your chest and fill the room, mingling with the deep moans and growls of the five men pleasing you. The sound of a zipper bounces off the walls— your hand then grabbed and pulled to your left. You gasp at the heavy warmth that fills your palm as your fingers wrap around Sam’s length. You roll your head towards him, biting your bottom lip as you watch your hand slide up and down his impressive girth.

You grab Steve’s hip with your free hand, digging your fingers into him as you lean up, beckoning him to come closer. You kiss him hard once he’s within distance, smacking your lips against his before you sound into his mouth as Ransom slaps your pussy, the gold band around his ring finger adding a heaviness to the strikes.

Bucky kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh every now and again until he reaches your ankle and foot. He thumbs at your black painted nails before he pulls your toes into his mouth as he massages your calf, “These are cute, these toes.” He murmurs, a light chuckle vibrating through him.

A chorus of zips start to sound, one right after the other. Their jackets soon hit the floor, the crisp, white sleeves of their button downs are rolled up their forearms before they all descend on you again. You’re lifted from the table into Andy’s arms as Sam slides into the space you once occupied on the table, his pants riding low on his hips. Andy kisses you deeply before placing you back on your feet on the top of the table, keeping a hold of your hand as you traipse along Sam’s side.

You throw your leg over Sam’s body and sit slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself on his lower stomach. You reach back, dragging your fingers through the curly patch of hair covering his lower half, tickling his skin. You slip your fingers into his unzipped pants and pull him free, stroking and squeezing him slowly before you swipe your fingers over his wet tip.

Two strong hands grip your waist— Ransom— as you slip your hand down to Sam’s base and lift upward, guiding him towards your entrance. Ransom holds you steady as you sit down on Sam, your cunt swallowing every delicious inch of Sam’s cock until he’s completely disappeared. You lean forward, splaying your fingers out on his wide, thick chest as he grabs hold of your thighs. You pull up, hissing as his cock slides out of the tight grasp of your pussy and then sit back down, moaning as he fills you again.

Ransom slips his hand up your spine and wraps his fingers over your shoulder as you start a slow rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Your hips roll as Sam starts to buck his hips up into you, each stroke a little harder, a little sharper than the one before it. There’s a chest to your back and then teeth nibbling at your earlobe as you lean back into the body and rest your head on a shoulder. Ransom’s mouth then covers yours as he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight as you ride Sam, your nails digging into his rich brown skin.

You gasp as a tongue teases your thick nipple, and then a hand closes over your left breast, squeezing and kneading gently. You slide your hand into Ransom’s hair as you watch Steve flick the tip of his tongue against your nipple before he sucks your breast into his mouth, moaning as his tongue swirls.

Andy slips his hand down your stomach and starts to work your clit, grabbing your chin with his free hand and tilting your head towards his. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes hooded as he peers down at you through his long, thick eye lashes. You whine as Sam’s pace quickens, fucking up into you hard as he grips your hips so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks behind. Andy snarls his lip as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, as your hips falter, as you get louder and less restrained. He licks into your mouth before he lays a filthy kiss on you— demanding and sloppy.

Ransom squeezes your shoulder before he pushes you forward with his other hand, nearly crushing you against Sam’s chest. You shiver when you feel his cock slide through your ass cheeks, leaving a wetness behind. He pulls back and the backs of his fingers glance over your ass, deep hisses and a grunt coming from him as he strokes his cock— a drop of his cum dribbling onto your skin.

He suddenly pushes his fingers into your mouth— index, middle, and ring— wetting them with your saliva before he drags them back through your ass, the tips circling your hole. There’s a tangy taste left in your mouth, some of you, some of him, as he slaps his dick against your ass and then spreads you apart. Sam slows beneath you and then stops as he drags his large hands up and down your forearms, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers into his warm mouth.

You slam your eyes closed, tensing as Ransom starts to push the head of his cock against your asshole. He places his hand against the center of your back, Bucky cups your face in his palms, sweeping his thumbs over your cheeks as he pecks your lips with his, singing gentle praise to help relax you.

“You can do it baby,” Bucky whispers, rubbing his nose against yours, smiling softly, “You can take him baby, I know you can. Can’t she Steve?”

Steve sinks his teeth into your shoulder, humming as he drags his red, swollen lips down your arm, “This pretty girl sure can,” he reassures, his voice smooth and low, “And it’s gonna feel so good, baby. You’re gonna feel so full, so stretched.”

You whimper loudly. You grab Bucky’s shoulder as Ransom’s dick finally breaks through your threshold. Ransom lets out a breath, the warm splashing over your back as he stills, a shuddering groan vibrating through his chest. Ransom squeezes your shoulder again, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your back, “More?”

Steve kisses your temple before he nuzzles into the side of your face, “You can do it sweet girl. You can take him all.”

Bucky kisses your lips again. Sam nibbles on the tips of your fingers as he nudges his hips into yours, burying deeper into you. You nod quickly— you do want more. More, more, more.

Ransom starts to push again, spreading your tight muscles as he forges, filling you right up. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out— his stomach now pressing into your ass as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky purrs as he reaches between you and Sam’s bodies, starting to play with your nub, “Such a sweet, pretty girl.”

Sam is the first to move, pressing up into you before he withdrawals slowly. Ransom counters his actions, pulling out when Sam pushes in, delving in when Sam drags out. It’s hypnotizing— the rhythm, the push and pull. Your mouth goes slack as Steve rolls your nipples in his hands, his tongue and teeth nipping and licking at your damp skin. You roll your hips, pushing back into Ransom as Sam fucks up into you as electricity flows through your veins.

“That’s it baby girl,” Bucky praises through impassioned kisses, his tongue slipping along your lips and the roof of your mouth, “Stuffed full, aren’t you sweetie?”

Your stomach tightens at the words, your heart beat pounding against your chest and in your ears as a tingle rushing up your spine. There’s a pull deep in your belly, a molten heat and the raw emotions spreading through you as your body tightens hard. Your hips jerk as a sudden current strikes you— your cunt closing around Sam. He shudders and you feel it, feel it rumble through his chest as his own hips get desperate.

Ransom fucks your ass with fluid motions, his enormous hands and long fingers digging into the supple flesh of your waist. He grunts, hard and grainy as the warmth of your insides caress his cock. Ransom gets loud, Sam gets loud, you get whimpery— needy, almost to the point of tears as the waves roll harder and faster through you. Each stroke, each thrust, each plow of their hips driving you closer and closer to your demise.

A moan chokes in your throat as your orgasm blooms across your skin, but soon the sounds are pouring out of you. Loud, desperate, relieved as the waves finally crash. Bucky bites his bottom lip hard as his fingers slap against your jumping clit. Steve pinches your nipples as he rests his forehead against the side of your face, his hot breath sticking to your skin.

Sam drives his hips into yours once more and digs his thumbs into the creases of your thighs as his cock starts to spit, over and over again, spilling into you. Ransom fucks through it all, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder until he too comes undone in your ass. He pushes deep, deep, deep inside as he spurts, watching as your hole spasms around him.

Ransom pulls out of you as soon as he’s milked and you feel his cum bubble out of you, slipping down the inside of your thigh. You’re lifted off of Sam— brought to the edge of the table, on your hands and knees, your feet hanging over the end. A massive hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest and head down onto the cool surface as you try and catch your breath. You jump when a pair of warm lips connect where your ass ends and your thigh begins, a soft beard brushing against your skin.

Andy drags his finger up the inside of your thigh, collecting the cum that’s spilled from you and pushes two fingers into your hot cunt— your muscles still quaking, still constricting. He fingers you slowly, skimming his fingertips up and down your thigh as he pushes his digits, cramming Sam and Ransom’s cum deep.

You hum with each stroke, lunging forward softly, your nipples grazing over the marble table top as you move. You blink slowly as you lift your head, watching as Bucky climbs onto the table, spreading his legs as they slide around you. He slides his flesh hand into his pants and starts to stroke his cock— long, languid pulls as his metal fingers pull on his tight balls. You wrap your hands around his thighs, the excitement bubbling up in your chest once more as you watch him.

Andy replaces his fingers with his dick in one fell swoop. You mewl, your tits bouncing as he starts a brisk pace. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls as Ransom, Sam, and Steve watch on, chests rising and falling hard as they tug their hands up and down their cocks at the sight.

You rock forward, your face inches from Bucky’s cock as he jerks himself, peering down his long body at you. Keeping your eyes on his, you push your tongue out from behind your teeth and lick at his shaft quickly before puckering your lips to kiss the thick vein running the length of him. You push your hands over his hips and up over his abs as your mouth slides over his wet, red mushroom tip.

Bucky moans deep, his back arching from the table as he pushes his hips up into your mouth, sending his cock right to the back of your throat. You pull upward as his hips sink back to the table, releasing him with a pop and smiling as his cock sways back and forth. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, wiggling him a little before you lower your mouth over his tip, sucking lightly as you swirl your tongue over his slit.

Your plump lips go slack around Bucky as Andy presses into a spot— sending a jolt right to your heart. Andy lets his hands roam along your back and sides as he fucks you, gripping and squeezing, groping and kneading your thick, soft flesh. He’ll push deep, and then just stay there for a few seconds, savoring the warmth, the tightness of your slick muscles before he wiggles his hips and withdrawals from you, just to plunge back in.

You release Bucky quickly to swallow the piquant spunk left on your tongue before you cram him back into your mouth. You suck on his cock head as you pump him up and down, twisting and turning your hand as you go. A muffled moan seeps from your mouth, vibrating around Bucky’s cock as you slam your eyes closed, feeling Andy’s strokes in your stomach.

The tingles are back— the pull in your belly. Your pussy tightens as the electricity within you starts to bounce around, synapses firing. Andy feels it, Bucky too, their hips pushing harder and faster. Your nails scratch at Bucky’s skin, squeezing uncontrollably as your heart beats in your ears, heat flushing your face.

Andy fucks into you good, hard and deep, sending you right over the edge once more. Your release spreads through you, warming every inch of flesh, every pore, every follicle. Andy thumbs your clit as he continues to pump his hips, fucking your right through your orgasm until your contracting muscles and slick coax his climax. Bucky erupts at nearly the same time— long, hot ribbons of his cum shooting from him, splattering on his stomach and dribbling down his cock.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, Steve standing from one of the chairs to grab your chin, pushing your head and face up towards him. He kisses you hard— sloppy, sucking on your bottom lip before he tongues the roof of your mouth. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands gently as he rubs his thumbs along your cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of affection.

“Such a good girl.” he whispers.

He pulls you into another kiss, but this time it’s softer— sweeter. Slower.

Andy pulls out of you, his hands still sweeping over your back and ass and thighs. He presses another kiss right into the creases of each cheek before he falls into a chair next to Sam. Bucky slides off of the table and sits next to Ransom, resting his head on the back of the chair and lets his mouth go slack as he lets out a breath.

Steve crawls onto the table as the four other men drag their chairs to the edges of the table, sitting up straighter once they get situated. Steve grabs your lips with his, a soft hum wavering in his throat. He separates from you but doesn’t go far— resting his forehead on yours as he nuzzles into you, rubbing the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours. He starts to guide you back, his hand behind your head, as he lays you down flat on the table, your knees drawn up, your feet flat against the cool surface.

You sweep your hands up and down your thighs in anticipation as you watch him unbutton his shirt slowly, his blue eyes wandering the length of your body as his fingers move. You push up onto your elbows, tilting your head as you blink at him when he pulls the material away from his buff torso.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you dip your eyes to his broad chest, his skin tanned and tight. There are faint scars littered along his skin— a few tiger stripes on his biceps and sides. His stomach is firm and flat, six perfect abs carved out, and the cutest belly button you think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. You sit up, placing your hand in the middle of his chest, right in the middle of those hard pecs and watch your hand move with each breath he takes. Your fingers fall, down his sternum, over those abs, and slightly into the dark blonde patch of hair that peeks out of his open pants.

You draw your bottom lip into your mouth and send your eyes up to his as your hand digs deeper— your dainty fingers wrapping around his hard, hot cock. His chest tightens at your touch. You inch your body closer to his, throwing your legs open and around either side of his body as you start to pump him slowly. You draw your hand up his shaft, sweeping your palm over his sensitive, weeping tip before you push back down, squeezing him gently— feeling him.

His breathing gets deeper, his chest and stomach constricting, his lips parting and quivering ever so lightly as you massage him. All five pairs of eyes are on you— unwavering, barely blinking as they consume you and only you. The power swells in your chest. You feel like a goddamn queen. Captivating. Strong.

You pull him free of his dark slacks and have to take a breath at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Thick and long, his tip shiny and wet and red— eager— his dick jumping every now and again as cum dribbles out of his slit. You sweep the pads of your fingers over the tip again, collecting the warm, cloudy spunk and push it down his shaft, along the thick vein that runs down him, wetting every inch of him.

He pulls you into his lap in one swift move, like you’re absolutely weightless. His cock settles against your pussy and clit, resting against your stomach as he wraps his arm around your back and waist. You instantly start to roll your hips, sliding your skin along his dick— coping a feel— letting it radiate through you.

The current in the room picks up. The flames of the candles start to flicker as if there’s a strong breeze that threatens to extinguish them. You push up with the help of Steve’s strength, your mouth hanging open as you guide him towards your entrance. You push his flesh through your folds, teasing yourself a little before you align him with you, starting to sink your hips down.

You dig your fingertips into his shoulders, let your head fall back as he opens you up inch by inch. A growl scratches at the back of your throat when you feel his hot lips on your neck, peppering kisses, tongue lapping, teeth nipping as you take him. The candles flicker hard as Steve bottoms out in you— hip to hip; flesh to flesh.

Throwing an arm around his neck, you really start to move, pulling up on that towering dick before sinking back down on it. Your tits bounce as your hips roll, a delicious burn starting to spread through your thighs. Steve’s hips fuck into yours, meeting you halfway as you crash down. There’s hands on you again— on your shoulders and arms, on your thighs, wrapping around your ankles— Andy, Ransom, Sam, and Bucky— grabbing, kneading, gripping, groping.

The electricity in the room bounces off the walls, energizing you, drawing you into Steve more and more with each passing second. The wind even kicks up outside, slamming against the sprawling house, shaking the lush trees. The warm moonlight cascades into the room and over your bodies as you fuck Steve unmercifully on top of the old table. You gasp and moan and pant— the sounds bitten off, choked, and heavy as your pussy constricts around him.

He appeases each whim of your hips, driving into you deep and hard, taking control when your hips jerk and shudder. He encourages you— they all do— sweet, tiny whispers, filthy, low declamations. Their voices rattle your brain and your bones as the candle light trembles again.

You’re slamming into each other, Steve bottoming out with each thrust. Your stomach is tight, your body warm and prickly, your clit stinging as another orgasm looms in the distance. Steve’s hips are rolling and pushing, his fingernails scratching your skin as he rakes them down your naked back. There’s teeth on your shoulders and neck, lips over your nipples, fingers prodding against your clit until you come undone, shouting and pleading to every God you know.

A sudden burst of warmth explodes inside of you— Steve’s strangled groans growing loud as he comes. Your face breaks with passion, tears threatening to spill as ungodly, high-pitched sounds spill from your lips. You’re all shrouded in darkness. The candle light whipped away, suddenly extinguished by the invisible forces in the room.

The candles relight again out of nowhere as you collapse against Steve as your body finally gives out after the thorough fuck session. You’re heavy and limp, air rushing out of your mouth, sticking to his damp, humid skin. You can’t even keep your eyes open. You hum intermittently as their hands brush over your skin before they pull you away from him, laying you back down on the table.

Their voices ring out, all in sink, chanting again in French. Sam sprinkles your body with the flask, from your head to your toes— Steve traces a cross on your chest. They all flatten your hands on you as their chorus finishes, and you hear the soft voices again. They’re warm and happy, the feminine voices, as the love— the familial undercurrent— fills the room again.

You’re lifted into arms, pressed against a chest before one of their discarded jackets is thrown over your shoulders. Your head is foggy, thoughts slow as someone carries you out of the room. You feel their protection, the fierce safeguard of you as suddenly you’re the center of attention. It feels as if hundreds of eyes are on you— because there are as they walk you right through the center of the party.

“Our missing child is home.” Steve announces, smiling softly down on you, sweeping his large hand over your forehead, “The family is complete once more.”

An exuberant applause erupts.

You’re moving again, slowly the eyes on you disappearing as the fivesome moves you through the house. A door clicks, the sound of the bottom of it sweeping across the carpet filling your ears. A warmth surrounds you as you’re laid down onto a bed, a large, full comforter covering your naked body. You squirm, your head rolling against the pillow as you murmur and whimper.

“Shh shh shh, little one,” Sam purrs, stroking your face with his thick fingers, “You’re safe.”

“We’re all here sweet girl. Just rest.” Andy says calmly, brushing his lips over the backs of your fingers.

Naked bodies surround you— cram you right in the middle of them. Arms and legs are thrown over you, fingers thread with yours, lips and beards glance over your skin as they whisper and blether. You roll into a body, you’re not even sure who’s, and you hold onto them tight, letting the sleep seep in, letting it pull you away into the deep.

SATURDAY

There’s an intrusive light burning into your face. You shift, rolling your head away from it before rolling your entire body over onto your side. You stretch your arms out and sigh slowly, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the soft, deep slumber that had been disturbed— but your brain has other plans. It slowly starts to awaken, the fog lifting, memories and visions of the night before playing before your eyes. Hands on your skin, lips locked on yours, eyes following your every move.

You spring upwards.

Your eyes pop open as you inhale sharply. You snap your head to the right and then the left before you scan the room, finding it completely empty. You turn back towards the windows, squinting and blinking as the sun belts into the room, the light spilling over the floor and bed. Voices float towards you— warm, male laughter— before it dies away again and all you hear are the random chirps of birds and the soft swish of the breeze against the trees and house.

That’s when the soreness seeps in. You roll your shoulders as you recognize the subtle pain, roll your neck before stretching your arms above your head. There’s laughter again, the clatter of pans and dishes and you blink at the closed bedroom door. Questions start to populate and swarm, pushing away the rest of the sleepy fog in your mind.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but throw your hands back on the mattress as you stumble, having to steady yourself. Your legs are jelly. A hum vibrates in your chest and throat as you take a step after a few sobering seconds. The muscles of your sex scream at you— achy and tight— used. It’s sharp but also dull, nagging and deep— the soreness. It feels good. Feels right.

Spotting an egg shaped floor length mirror leaning up against the far wall, you pad towards it, squinting and hissing as pangs of the delicious pain prickle along your skin and muscles. You peer at your body, twisting and turning. You’re marked beyond belief— suck marks on your neck and shoulders, red raised welts on your sides and thighs, deep bruises and teeth marks scattered along your body like a map.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You spot a small bench in front of the bed, a pink satin tank top and matching shorts tossed over it. You slip the tank top over your arms to cover your bare torso and pull the shorts up your legs, your ample behind poking out of the bottom of them. You start for the door and move into a long hallway, following the laughter and voices emanating from deep in the house.

This is a really big house. It takes a while, well, you’re nosey so you peek into each room you pass and stop to eye the paintings on the wall, but you finally find the source of all the noise. You turn into the vast kitchen, finding five men placed throughout it. Sam is over the stove, cracking eggs and flipping potatoes and fresh vegetables. Andy sits at the bar, his nose buried in the Saturday paper as he sips on a black coffee. Bucky and Steve sit at the table, talking hushly over some old papers, and Ransom leans against the fridge, thumbing through his phone.

Bucky’s the first to notice you. He greets you with a wide, bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his nose scrunching, “Good morning beautiful.”

The rest of the men all blink at you and a warmth flushes through your face as you play with your fingers. Before you can respond, Ransom sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing you hard and deep before he sits you back down and swats your behind, “Mornin’ doll.”

“Don’t be so rough with her,” Andy chides the slightly younger man. He grabs your wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Sleep well, baby?”

“I did, thank you.” You smile, nervous but flattered by the attention.

“Hope you’re hungry sweetie,” Sam says, leaning into you to peck your lips as you move towards him.

“I’m starving.”

“I bet. You slept hard last night.” He winks, nudging you with his shoulder, “Ransom, plates.”

“I’m not the help, Wilson.”

“Well you are to-fuckin-day. Get the plates, trust fund baby.”

You laugh as you move towards the table, getting swept up into another breathless kiss by Bucky before Steve pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose over the back of your shoulder. Ransom and Sam hand out the plates one by one, taking drink orders and handing them out before they take their seats at the long table. You stay in Steve’s lap as you eat, listening as they all chat and cut up a little, teasing the youngest of them, Ransom, and listening intently as Andy talks about his latest case.

“I bet baby girl over here has some questions, hmm?” Bucky says after a while, cutting into his sausage and popping a small piece into his mouth.

You nod as you chew and swallow, before your eyes go wide, “Oh shit! My sister MJ! I bet she’s—”

Ransom slides your phone towards you, “I texted her for you last night and again this morning. Convinced her not to call the cops— she’s a feisty one.”

“Oh God, thank you.” You sigh, glancing over the texts.

“You can call her if you’d like. We can step out.” Steve offers, peering at you over your shoulder.

“No, no. She seems to be pacified for the moment. I’ll call her in a little while. So,” you lead in, “How, um, what is all of this? How do you guys know me, or my mom, to be more specific?”

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him before he takes a breath, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s a really long story.”

“I got time,” you laugh, “It’s the only reason I came last night. Didn’t expect to get fucked by five dudes, but, you know,” you giggle, “Shit happens.”

“Steve and I,” Bucky starts, “We knew your great-grandmother, Marie-Angelie Paris Laveau of New Orleans. Steve was… sickly.” You nod quickly, having read everything there is to know about the great Steve Rogers, “I had heard that there was this new religion, down south. A woman that claimed to be a healer and Steve was my best friend, so, we decided to check it out in the early forties— wanted to see if she could help him.”

“When we finally got to Louisiana and tracked Marie-Angelie down, it was nothing that Bucky and I had ever seen before.” Steve chuckles, “Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, had thousands of followers, just like her mother, and her mother before her.”

“Followers?” You ask, furrowing your brow.

Bucky shifts his eyes to Steve before they land back on you, “You’re a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of the French quarter.”

Your eyes widen at the words.

“The elder Marie was a very powerful woman, passed down her knowledge and her gift to her daughters who kept her spirit and her craft alive. Marie-Angelie took one look at Steve and knew she could help. So,” Bucky takes a breath, holding it in his chest for a second before he pushes it out, “We made our offerings, appeased the spirits and we had Steve stay with her for the night.”

“She prayed over me all night. Chanted, offered the spirits many gifts, had me drink this potion that she’d made,” Steve says slowly, “I’m not too sure what happened. I just remember waking up and looking like this. It came with conditions of course, one of which she told us about, the other she didn’t.”

“What were they?” you breathe, engrossed in the story.

“The condition we knew about was that Bucky and I had to join the society.” You raise your eyebrows, prompting Steve to smile, “The elder Marie, your great-great-great-great grandmother entered into a pact with Sam’s great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“He was a farmer,” Sam says after he takes a sip of his coffee, taking over the story, “My great-great-great-great granddaddy went to Marie for a little advice and to have her pray for his crops. He was flat broke, about to lose the farm, Louisiana was going through a terrible drought— he offered Marie the last dollar he had in his pocket. His crop came in more bountiful than ever, in fact, it was the only farm that yielded that season. Made him a millionaire overnight. So, in exchange for her prayers, he offered her and her offspring protection. As long as there's a Laveau bloodline, the Wilson’s will watch over them.”

Silence falls over the room as you blink back at Sam, unable to speak. Bucky leans forward, placing his flesh hand over yours and rubs gently as concern fills his blue eyes, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, closing your eyes as you swallow, “Yeah, I, um, so… okay, so Sam, Steve and you are bound to protect me? Because of this society that was formed?”

“Us too,” Andy adds, “My great-great-great-great grandfather, Reginald Barber was a politician, went to Marie for some help around the same time as Sam’s granddad did, and when she fulfilled his request, he also joined.”

“My grandad is a writer, he too ended up joining the society in the early sixties with your grandmother when his first novel blew up.” Ransom says, “Harland Thrombey.”

“Harland Thrombey, the mystery writer, right? I thought he had a daughter?”

“That’s my mom. When I was born, I took her place in the order.”

You lift your eyebrows, nodding your head, “Wow.” you laugh a little, “So, what exactly do you guys do for me?”

“We just keep you safe. Watch over you, try to fulfill all of your… needs.” Sam answers with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, “Keep the bloodline going, if need be.”

You squint suddenly as the wheels and gears in your brain turn, “Wait so, this is passed down? From generation to generation?”

“Yes.” Andy answers simply.

“So, that means that all of your fathers, had sex with my mother? Am I.. oh my god,” your hands fly to your face, “Am I related to you one you?”

“No, oh my god!” Ransom recoils, his face screwed up in disgust, “The fuck do you think we are, weirdos? No.”

Steve laughs, rubbing your stomach with his large hand, “Your father is James Rhodes. He’s part of the congregation, the followers of your grandmothers. He was chosen for your mother, just like your partner will be chosen for you.”

You blink, your mind empty, “Chosen?”

“It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation.” Steve nods, “Either way, your partner will be someone who will understand our debt to you and your family. If your partner is indeed someone in the society, that person is then removed, so there’s no impropriety, and someone in the congregation will take his place to keep the society full. Once you’re paired with whoever, we all then have a duty to reproduce so our children can take care of yours— again, with women in the congregation who understand our duty, and so on and so forth.”

You fall back against Steve’s chest, slumping a little at all of the information, “It’s a lot,” Sam reassures, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Insane is what it is, you think, rubbing your forehead with your manicured fingers. Somehow though, it all just kind of makes sense, “You said there was another condition? After you and Bucky went to Louisiana? What was it?”

“Me.” Bucky smiles, leaning back into his seat as his eyes fall into his lap.

You glance back at Steve, “I don’t understand.”

“In order for me to achieve this,” Steve motions towards his body, “Something had to be sacrificed, “The spirits chose Bucky. Some years later, after we joined the army—”

You gasp, covering your mouth again, “When he fell from the train.” You finish for him.

Steve just nods, “I put two and two together after a while. I went back to Marie and told her I was done— I wanted out and I didn’t care what happened to me for it. So I ended up just kind of floating through life. Threw myself into my work and saving the world. I didn’t know at the time that some of my blood had gotten into the hands of the Germans during the war. They studied it— noticed that my enzymes were nearly indestructible. They created the super soldier serum to replicate my strength and healing abilities.”

“Hydra, is what they were called. They found me and started experimenting.” A sad smile covers Bucky’s face. You lean forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and rub your thumb just under his eye. His smile turns upward as he nuzzles into your warm palm, “I’m alright.”

“I got wind of Bucky in the eighties, he had assassinated this researcher, they actually got a picture of him. I had to bring him home,” Steve shrugs, “But he was tricky— elusive. I tracked him for a few years but I couldn’t ever get close, and I knew I only had one option at that point.” Steve rests his lips against your shoulder, brushing them back and forth slowly against your warm skin, “I tracked down your grandmother and your mom for help.”

You feel him smile against you and you turn, throwing your arms around his neck as he continues his story, “You were barely walking when I met you the first time. You were so cute, so little. Even though I was still pissed, you stole my heart as soon as I saw you. You were the only innocence in this craziness.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his fingers, smiling softly at you as you’re overcome with emotion, “Did you used to read to me?” you ask with a shaky voice, the early, fragmented memories you have of a blonde, blue eyed man suddenly making sense.

“Tamerlane by Edgar Allan Poe was your favorite.” he smiles, “That’s how I knew it was you last night. Poe was your favorite, even back then.”

You hug him tightly and feel hands on your back and shoulders, a pair of lips on the top of your head and the side of your face as Andy, Bucky, Ransom, and Sam crowd around you, “We brought you home now.” Sam voices gently, “We’ll take care of you baby. From now until the end of days.”

You let them soothe you. Let them stroke your hair and whisper their sweet nothings. Let them kiss your skin and wipe away the tears as the sun cutting into the room through the windows washes you in warmth. You lean back after what seems like forever, sniffling gently as Steve brushes those fingers underneath your eyes, “I want to meet my mom.”

“Of course. We’ll take you to her whenever you’re ready. She was supposed to be here but, she couldn’t deal with the heartbreak again if it wasn’t you. She’s been looking for you for so long— they both have.”

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you rest your head against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him, “Why was I taken?”

“Somebody sent a tip to the police that your mother was living in a commune—” you feel him tense, his tone going harsh, “Just a nosey ass woman who didn’t have anything better to do with her time. Made up some shit about drug trafficking coming out of the house. It was raided while I was in Europe— they took you, put you up for adoption. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”

“You're protecting me now. That’s all that matters.” You whisper, “But,” your voice drops away as you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Ransom’s massive hand runs up and down your back, “What is it, honey?”

“My sister. My mom and my dad— the people that raised me. I love them.”

“We are not going to take you away from them,” Bucky answers quickly, “They’re a part of you. We understand that.”

“Can’t wait to meet that sister of yours,” Ransom adds, “She seems fun.”

You laugh through the fresh wave of tears that have wetted your face, “She is fun. She has a boyfriend named Peter, he loves you two,” you smile, gesturing towards Steve and Bucky, “He’s gonna shit his pants.”

You close your eyes again, your head starting to pound from all of the information that’s been placed at your feet. Your stomach churns and you shiver, causing Steve to tighten his grip, “Let’s lay you down, huh? That was a lot to take in.”

They all follow you and Steve back into the bedroom where you first woke up that morning. You’re stripped naked again, crowded in the middle of their hulky bodies. They let you cry. They let you talk aimlessly. They let you get angry, and then sad, and then content as you work through your sordid history. One by one, their lips are on yours again. Hands dig into your sides and grip your thighs. Languid thrusts, hot breaths, short whimpers, and long cries fill the room as they make love to you over and over.

Your bones are liquid. Your body, your cunt stretched and used— so sore you’re not even sure your limbs are connected anymore. You come, time and time again, from their mouths, their fingers, their wet, hard cocks. You take it all— two of them stuffing you full while a third occupies your mouth, the other two not-so-patiently waiting for their turn at you.

Sleep tugs at you from every angle after a while and you fade in and out as the day drags on. Women come to you in your dreams— the women of your family. They whisper to you, the great secrets of your long lineage. They smile and lay their hands on you, filling you with their spirits, their love.

You’re suddenly at a large body of water— Bayou St. John. A woman perches by the bank, her hand swishing back and forth in the cool water. You traipse towards her through the tall grass, your feet sinking into the wet ground. You kneel next to her as she sings a native song. She’s wrapped in a red, white, and blue shawl, her eyes sparkling as she turns towards you. She cups your face, running her hand down your cheek and jaw before she reaches into the water and pulls out a large, multicolored fish.

You spring forward, gasping hard and deep as you wake from the vivid dream. You cover your face with your hands as a chill runs down your spine, your forehead covered in a cold sweat. Without thinking, you splay your hand over your stomach as your heart stills. There’s movement behind you— Steve slinks his hand around your middle, settling his hand over your much smaller one.

You peek over your shoulder and he’s staring at you, his lips parted slightly, his blue eyes wide and full of knowing. His words from earlier coming back to you. Your partner will be chosen for you. It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation. You lay back down, curling into him, tracing his nose and jaw, his chin and eyes with your fingers as he blinks back at you.

“Did you see her too?” You breathe. Great-great-great-great grandmother Marie Laveau.

He nods, “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers as Sam, Andy, Ransom, and Bucky all sprawl out around the two of you, “I promise.”

You nod, smiling slowly, “I know.”

You mean it. You know he will— that they all will.

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