#it's like yes i am well aware that it is not in debate that the aztecs and the maya practiced blood sacrifices

[bat2pony]

There are a few flaws in your argument but I appreciate your thoughts!

I would like to state that yes I am aware the school does teach young adults and adults, but it ALSO teaches children. Otherwise, why would Cozy Glow be there? I don't know the exact ages of the new mane 6 (gallus, smolder, silver stream, yona, osealus and sandbar) but I always interpreted them between ages 14-17. I could be wrong, but I always viewed them as children. They need to have their parents/guardians contacted in order to go home which speaks volumes to this.

And just to remind you, Starlight was unaware that stopping the mane 6 from ever meeting destroyed the world. She had no idea. Her goal was to make Twilight feel the same way she felt when Sunburst left her: alone. She wanted Twilight to understand what it felt like to have everything taken away from her. Is this justified? Absolutely not, it was a horrible thing to do. But it was fixed because Twilight showed Starlight what the future looked like without the Mane 6, which is where Starlight's redemption arc began because she realized she destroyed the world.

And this debate was not about Cozy Glow but I absolutely agree. I am astounded that such a young foal was stuck in Tartarus. She could very well be viewed as a troubled child who simply needs to be steered down a better path, and I would have loved to see this happen with her character. If anything, Cozy Glow deserves redemption above Chancellor Neigh Say. I also think there's more potential with her character if they did that.

I just finished season 8 of FiM.

Chancellor Neigh Say shouldn't have been redeemed.

[pseudophan]

i'm so extremely irrationally annoyed by people not knowing what various terms mean and using them incorrectly like i feel like that's such an asshole thing to care about but oh my god stop

[grimm-the-tiger]

Studying Scandinavian history is downright painful sometimes. Excuse me, sir, I don't want to read about your weird opinions on racial superiority, I just want to read about Denmark and Sweden kicking each other around like footballs.

[thewidowsledger]

Good Luck, Babe

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: College Student Natasha Romanoff x College Student Female Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Tags | Warnings: +18, smut, ANGST, jealousy, cheating (we're cheating on Steve with Natasha), Natasha has a penis, top!Natasha, bottom!reader, fingering (r receiving), dirty talk, car sex, mirror sex, hate sex (?), choking, slapping, dacryphilia, blowjob (Natasha receiving), breeding kink only if you dare to squint, Natasha fucking r like a guitar, if I missed something I am going to throw hands

Author's Note: I’ll be back in 3 weeks I guess, I already scheduled some chapters for my fics, one each week. For this week, I serve you this one-shot🤲💗 This is something I wrote when I was supposed to be studying, lol. The title says it all. I did not proofread this one and I decided to remove some parts because I feel like it's getting too long. I hope y’all are doing okay! Enjoy!

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

“I realize I just wanted to stay home, have a quiet night in.”

“Oh, you intend to be quiet?”

You furrowed your brows at her question, “Yeah, why would I be loud?” You asked innocently, not aware of the redhead's innuendo, your back was facing her as you started to remove the heels you have been wearing.

“Well, if I am going to fuck someone’s girlfriend, I might want to hear her scream my name.”

⧗

You stirred from your sleep in the middle of the night, woken by the gentle sound of Natasha's snore. As you looked up at her, her auburn locks lay scattered, half-veiling her face in peaceful slumber. You gently pulled the strands aside, you admired the way her features were soft and unguarded in sleep as if she didn't drive you into the brink of ecstasy a while ago.

You watched, entranced, as the steady rise and fall of her chest painted a tranquil rhythm, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

Her eyelashes fluttered softly, like fragile butterfly wings beating in the night.

Soft breaths escaped her lips and with each exhale, her warmth wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, enveloping you in comfort and security.

Your fingers traced the marks that marred her otherwise smooth skin. There were long, deep scratches on her back as you clawed to her dear life when she rammed into you, bringing you both to the peak of your own highs.

Unable to resist the urge, you leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I love you, Natasha.”

⧗

Natasha was behind the wheel of her convertible and you were riding shotgun. You both planned to get away before the graduation, a secret escape for just the two of you.

Yes, it was a secret escape, just like your clandestine affair. For the past year, you had been meeting secretly, your passionate trysts hidden away from the prying eyes around your campus.

How could one imagine that the epitome of perfection in the eyes of many, from students, professors, and school staff had chosen a band guitarist to share your deepest desires and secrets with?

The fact that you, the student body president of the College of Liberal Arts, the volleyball captain ball, the campus' debate team leader, and the devoted girlfriend of the campus’ student council Steve Rogers has been in an entangled affair with Natasha Romanoff, the school's band guitarist, was kept strictly under wraps.

Only a select few were aware of the tangled web you both were weaving behind the scenes. A few that only you, Natasha and her sister Yelena know about the affair that you’ve been keeping closely a guarded secret.

With your hands held high up in the air, you relished the feeling of the wind whipping through the open top of Natasha's convertible. The rush of air against your skin felt incredibly free and exhilarating.

As you stood there in the open wind, blissfully unaware, Natasha watched you intently, cherishing the unguarded moment between the two of you. Taking in every detail as she glanced at you the way your hair tousled in the breeze, the sparkle in your eyes as you smiled and the way your pink sundress fluttered in the wind. It was in these small moments, when she could watch you in your carefree state, where she could openly watch you and admire your carefree happiness without the need for secrecy or hiding.

Unlike when you were on campus Natasha could only watch you from a distance. Whether it was her playing with the band during a night blast events your campus would trimonthly organize, searching for your familiar face in the crowd, or her sitting in the audience far enough for her not to be seen by you, watching you shine in a debate competition you joined.

Just for once, it's only the two of you, completely unburdened by your secret affair.

“How did your send off go by the way?” Natasha asked, as she put her hands on your lower back.

“As usual, every player, even the new recruits had to spike a ball into me!” you rolled your eyes in the air. You glance at the redhead who is staring admiringly at you, you smile at her, biting your lip when she slowly dragged her hand all the way down to the curve of your ass.

“Two hands on the wheel, Romanoff.”

Natasha chuckled, tearing her right hand away from you, you slumped on the passenger seat as she did so, “And coach just told me that Bishop will be the next captain ball.”

“She's in the same position as you, right?” Natasha asked, now putting a hand over your thighs, unable to resist the temptation to touch you.

“During her residency coach had to train her as an opposite because we had filled the quota for each position. She was originally middle.”

Natasha hummed at your response. Her fingers can't help but stray, tracing patterns on your thighs. Her hands begin to move of their own accord, sneaking higher and higher up your thighs with every pass.

Her touch sends shivers down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat as her fingers make contact with your sensitive skin. You can't help but let out a soft moan, involuntarily arching towards her touch.

“Natasha,” you warned softly.

Her gaze flickers to yours innocently but she doesn't stop, her fingers continuing to trace patterns on your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, “What’s wrong?” She watches you carefully, her hands pausing in their ministrations as she waits for your response.

“Stop the car,” you demanded and she didn't hesitate. Her eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror, spotting an empty side street just ahead. She swings the car in that direction, pulling over and turning off the engine in record time.

She barely has time to register your movement before you're on her. Your legs straddling her, your body pressed close against hers as you take control of the situation. Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she grins, her hands coming up to grip your hips and pull you closer.

She trails kisses down your neck, softly nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, careful not to make any marks even though she has been dying to mark you—to make you really hers.

Without warning, she thrusted her fingers deep inside you.

“Oh, Nat!” You cried in pleasure as she drove you higher and higher. Her fingers move faster, her thumb applying more pressure to your clit. She can feel you trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“I can't believe you didn't wear any panties baby,” she chuckled, “what if someone saw my pussy while you stood there in your seat huh?”

“I-I, I—”

“Close baby?” She smirked on your neck, she added another finger curling in your tight walls that made you gasp and buck harder towards her digits.

“Nat, I’m gon’, I’m gonna…” you trailed off, finally hitting the peak of your orgasm. You chased your own breath when Natasha pulled you into a deep kiss and you let her dominate you again as she pushed her tongue onto yours.

She smirked at you as she pulled away, “You always loved quickies, baby.” She teased, licking her digits that were coated with your arousal.

You hummed, placing your forehead on hers, “Because that's what only we can afford.” You said in a small voice, your breath fanning over her mouth.

“Not now though, we have all the time in the world.” Natasha replied as she stroked your cheek, the pain was evident in her voice as she spoke. You both never really had time alone inside the campus without prying eyes or suspicions of others. The only time you have is this, when you two would plan a night out every month or when Natasha would occasionally do late-night visits where she would sneak into your dorm and the two of you would spend the night making love to each other.

“That’s the thing, Nat. We’re on our way back to the world, the real world,” you kissed her neck all the way up to her jaw and to her lips. You eyed her and kissed her nose before moving away from her lap back to the passenger seat.

The drive to the campus’ dorm complex was quick just like the quickie you had half an hour ago. Natasha pulled the car to a quiet secluded area and got out of her car. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” Natasha asked as she opened the passenger door, you stepped out with your training bag that you brought with you.

“Steve will pick me up tomorrow,” you said as you looked at her, you placed a kiss on her cheek, “But I for sure will see you tomorrow, alright?”

You and Natasha had agreed upon certain rules during the course of your…affair and one of those rules was that you would never mention your boyfriend's name when she was present. In this moment, however, you inadvertently forgot about this rule and his name slipped from your lips without a second thought.

Natasha just concealed her jealousy and aching heart but when you softly leaned on her, your head comfortably resting on her shoulder it was quick to soothe her. She then asked, “You don't want me to accompany you upstairs?”

“I might not let you go if I let you come with me.” You confessed but the redhead knew this too. Your eyes, however, betrayed your hidden desires, silently pleading with her to disregard any resistance and come to the dorm with you.

“Baby, don't give me those eyes,” Natasha softly whined.

You chuckled and painfully tore yourself away from your secret lover, “Good night, Nat.”

⧗

It is Tony's tradition to host a party before the school year comes to a close and has become a much-anticipated event in your campus. But this year the party held a somber undertone as it marks the end of the journey for your entire batch. Tomorrow is your graduation day and everyone will finally embark on different paths. So this night will hold a memory for all of you as you hold a bittersweet celebration bidding farewell to school days and the journey you had together.

Your boyfriend, Steve, just picked you up at your dorm and as soon as you arrived at Tony's place, your eyes scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of your secret lover. Despite Steve's firm grip on your hand, your attention was elsewhere, the need of seeing your secret lover making your heart skip a beat. You tried to remain composed, pretending to engage in conversation with Steve.

“I finished my graduation speech, love,” he told you, his voice cutting through the loud party music. Your mind was preoccupied with searching for your secret lover and you only half-listened to his words, caught up in your own thoughts.

“What? Sorry baby,” you apologized, your attention finally shifting to him.

“I said,” he held both of your hands and pulled you closer to him, eager to pull you away from whatever is distracting you, “I just finished my graduation speech,” he whispered to your ear.

You smiled, reaching up to pinch Steve's cheek proudly, “My council president.” Eyes shining with pride and happiness for him—genuinely.

Steve is a quintessential all-rounder; a true gentleman who excelled academically and was a beacon for the students as he is the student council president.

He is a good boyfriend too. He was consistent in picking you up from your classes, walking you back to your dorm. You couldn't help but notice that he possessed a mildly possessive nature, because he seemed to want to keep you shielded, no, away from the outside world because your life just revolves around the campus, gym, organization faculty, and dorm and your boyfriend made sure of that.

Whenever you attended training, tune ups or participated in debates, Steve is always there, observing and sometimes engaging in your activities. He had a subtle ego, where he'd train you, play as your opponent during debates and literally break you, pushing you through your limits because he told you that he wants you to do good, do better—he wants you to win.

He doesn't want losers and he always wins and you knew that the day he won your “yes” when he asked you on a date—he always gets what he wants—he always wins and everytime you let him.

“Stop giving Y/N those blue gooey eyes, Rogers,” Tony's joke broke the moment between you and Steve as he offered drinks. “Lovebirds, drinks?” You cringe at his words, it doesn't feel right to you.

Steve accepted a cup for himself but when you were about to get one for yourself he swiftly interjected, shielding your hand away from the tray declining the offer on your behalf. You gave Tony a strained smile, “I’m good, Tony, thanks.”

How did you even bother to get one when he never lets you drink alcohol or engage in any activities he deemed unsuitable for himself when you were out together? You often felt trapped and restricted, as if you could never truly enjoy yourself when you’re with him. He constantly kept a watchful eye on you, ensuring your compliance to his rules—making you feel constantly monitored and controlled like right now you’re basically trapped and isolated in the corner, his towering body shielding you away from the crowd in the party.

Sure, he is a good boyfriend.

“Stop, fucking in the corner blondie!” You heard his friend Sam shout at the distance and Steve just gave him a finger but still facing you.

Steve is never the one who fucks around, he always maintained decency and in fact—he is a celibate and no one knew actually—just you. It was an agreement to the both of you when your relationship began which you completely agreed and respected but what he didn't know was that you were secretly breaking that agreement by satisfying your desires every night with your secret lover.

And your secret lover, concealed by the presence of others at the party, watched despite Steve's imposing frame blocking her view. She watched as you laughed at his words and planted a kiss on his cheek every now and then. She watched Steve as he wrapped your hands around his neck, you looked happy—too happy she thought, considering she knew the truth about your secret. And the secret in question? Is her.

She clenched her jaw as you placed a final, chaste kiss on Steve's cheek, she almost lost it when your boyfriend tried to attempt to kiss your mouth but you gently stopped him by placing a finger on his lips, keeping him at bay and chuckling slightly as you finally walked away from him and from the crowd of the party.

⧗

You managed to convince Steve that you could make it back to your dorm alone, insisting that you'd see each tomorrow at graduation rites. Steve begrudgingly agreed, though you could tell he really wanted to walk you back as he usually did.

As you walked back to your dorm complex in the chill of the night, the absence of your secret lover weighed heavily on you. You didn't see a glimpse of the redhead tonight, she was nowhere to be seen at the party, leaving you to wonder where she disappeared to.

You took a deep breath before opening the door of your dorm only to be greeted by none other than your secret lover who you have been looking for the whole night.

“Out early in the party huh?”

You bit your lip pretending to not be shocked by her presence, you forgot that she had duplicated your dorm key, “I realize I just wanted to stay home, have a quiet night in.”

“Oh, you intend to be quiet?”

You furrowed your brows at her question, “Yeah, why would I be loud?” You asked innocently, not aware of the redhead's innuendo, your back was facing her as you started to remove the heels you have been wearing.

“Well, if I am going to fuck someone’s girlfriend, I might want to hear her scream my name.” She stepped forward and grabbed your hips, you sucked in a little breath as she inhaled in your neck. “So tell me, will you be loud for me? Y/N? Will you…scream my name?” She husked, her breath warm against your skin.

You turned to her, green orbs dilated as you looked straight at her eyes.

“Don’t I?” You whispered in a very dangerous tone as you ran your thumb against her lips, “always,” you caressed her cheek and traced your fingers along her tense jawline, “scream your name?”

A growl ripped out through her, she immediately grabbed your hips and turned your back on her front. Her lips found your neck and she sucked and bit gently, leaving a faint mark. With a swift movement, you yelped a little as Natasha pulled your left leg up, causing your skimpy dress to roll up even further. Her hand instinctively went up to the back of your thigh, gripping it tightly.

You didn't notice that you were both facing your vanity mirror. Natasha's eyes darkened while yours widened as you looked at your reflection through the mirror. Natasha's right hand sneaks through your panties, finding its way to your core. She begins to rub gentle circles, causing you to gasp and lean back against her.

“Fuck!”

Natasha's left hand grips your thigh with the same precision and strength as when she holds her electric guitar during their gigs. Meanwhile, her right hand continues to strum your core like how she played a wild solo on her guitar.

She was the artist and you were the art.

“Oh yes, yes ah!”

Your moans fill the air, her fingers moving with a skilled rhythm that could make any musician jealous. To her, your moans and the sloppy sound of your pussy are like music to her ears, a symphony of pleasure that she herself is producing. Your moans crescendo, becoming louder and more frequent as she pushes her fingers in and out of you while her thumb continues to strum your clit. Your moans are like a song she is composing right this moment and the only lyrics is her name.

“Natasha!” You moaned out in pleasure.

Her breath hitches as she continues to pleasure you. She leans in close to your ear again, her voice a low purr. “Open your eyes and look in the mirror.”

You hazily opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was her smokey eyes filled with lust, desire, and pleasure. You then dragged your gaze down to her digits disappearing inside your cunt—the sight only brought you closer to the edge.

“C-cum—please let me cum,” you whined, a tear falling down your cheek. You can feel her lips curling into a predatory smile on your neck as she hears your plea. She doesn't respond with words, instead choosing to increase the tempo of her fingers.

“Only if you open those pretty eyes of yours and look at the mirror, detka.”

You squeezed your eyes shut before managing to open them again, looking straight at her through the mirror.

“Come and scream my name.”

“Oh f—fu—Natasha!”

You finally fall over, throwing your head back on her shoulder, a triumphant cry escaping your lips as she feels your body tremble against her. As the waves of pleasure subside, Natasha removes her fingers and you watch her in the mirror as she brings them to her lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied purr. She immediately catches your trembling body, still recovering from your orgasm, she then carries you into a bridal style and gently places you to the bed.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hummed pulling her by her leather jacket, “Please stay, Natty.”

Natasha watches as your eyes flutter closed, she carefully extracts herself from your embrace, but you cling to her, your grip tightening on her jacket. Natasha pauses, her heart heavy in her chest as she looks down at your sleeping form. She knows she had planned to talk to you tonight, to finally come clean about her feelings, but now that the moment is here, she can't just bring herself to wake you up.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. She remembers the first time she saw you, how easy it was to slip into her role as a recluse and simply observe. You were the most popular student on campus, an achiever, the captain ball, always surrounded by a group of admirers. It made it all too easy to keep her feelings under wraps. That's why she couldn't believe the moment her sister told her that you wanted to meet her and it ended up with you in her car, begging her to let you come.

It wasn't long before things took a turn. You would find yourself asking her to come to your dorm after your classes were over, even if Natasha’s class isn't, she would immediately have an early out just to go to you only for the two of you to spend the night relentlessly fucking each other until neither of you could move anymore.

One time her sister brought her to your game. And she saw you struggling to keep up with the rest of your team—having a bad day to play. She watched you go to Steve and how he threw you your towel and handed you your tumbler being the supportive boyfriend that everyone thinks he is when he is acting like an entitled self-proclaimed coach just watching you, not even cheering or hyping you up.

And before she knew it, when you walked towards where she sat during the game completely shocked at her presence, she leaned enough for everyone not to notice—she offered to fuck you as a reward if ever you win the game. Only if she knew that you have a game, she would bring everything she thinks you might need, she’ll bring you a jug of water, different colors of kinesiology tape, hell, she would buy you new shoes. But right now motivation is all she can offer because it's too high of a risk if she did all these things.

It was the first time she had seen you play because it was one of your rules, for her not to show up whenever you're in a competition, games, tune ups or in an event organized by you or your organization. You had explained to her that you preferred to keep things hidden, no, low-key, to avoid attracting unwanted attention that could arise from others noticing the two of you. She agreed, not even thinking a bit of it because she wanted you safe as you hold a lot of titles in you. She doesn't want to ruin your image though it breaks her heart not being able to watch you win and be successful in each game or competition.

Would that still be important if after you win it was her you would spend the night with where she’ll see you in all your glory as she makes you feel like a champion once more?

At first, keeping your affair a secret had been easy. It was a necessary precaution, one that she understood and respected. But as time went on, Natasha found herself yearning for more.

Sometimes she wishes she would be the one you’re running to after you won a game. She wanted to be able to cheer you on from the sidelines as you won game after game, competition after competition, events after events. She wanted to be there every time you win and every moment of loss—she’ll be there no matter what.

But that will happen anymore, Natasha could already feel the weight of the unknown future bearing down on her. This was it, the moment she had both been looking forward to and dreading. You two are graduating tomorrow, new chapters, new beginnings and things aren't still settled for the both of you, you never opened up, you never told her where you stood in this…clandestine affair.

And that made her want you more. She yearned to be by your side, proudly and openly. She craved for the day when she didn't have to hide her feelings for you or keep her presence a secret. She hoped for the day when she could stand beside you, not as a shadow, not a secret but as a partner—your lover.

Is that too much to ask for?

⧗

The sun was beating down on the graduates and their families, sweat glistening on their foreheads as they chatted and laughed, snapping pictures and the students—graduates hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces as they said their goodbyes.

Natasha's eyes frantically searched for you. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clutched her trencher, every second feeling like an eternity as she scanned the sea of faces—and there you were standing with Steve and she assumed his family—deep in conversation and laughter.

In the midst of the chaotic crowd around you, both of your gazes met and everything else faded away—it felt like the whole world stopped and it’s just the two of you.

You snapped back to reality as Steve pulled you into a warm embrace and kissed the side of your head, his family looking on with teasing grins. But you couldn't help but feel a twinge of cringe because you knew Natasha was watching all this happen.

“Love, I’ll just go see my friends and Mom.” You said, pulling back from Steve’s suffocating embrace. You gave him a small convincing smile as you tried to get yourself away from the situation.

When he nodded you immediately excused yourself to his family and ran towards the direction where you last saw the redhead. Before you could even go away there was a hand who stopped you from walking-running, you gasped as warm and strong arms pulled you into embrace—not a suffocating one.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Nat.” You sighed, leaning closer to her. Her scent envelopes your senses.

You were suddenly jolted back into reality, and swiftly disentangled yourself from Natasha's embrace. You could see the pain flickering in Natasha's eyes as you retreated hastily. You despised yourself for causing her this, yet you couldn't explain your actions just yet. It wasn't that you didn't care for her—quite the opposite, but the fear of exposure and being not accepted prevented you from being out with her freely.

How you wished you could tell her that.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

“Nat, I need to find mom, we…” you trailed off, unsure on how to tell her, “we’re gonna have lunch with Steve’s family.”

Nat's eyes searched your face, sensing the turmoil within you. She seemed to want to say something but held back, her silent gaze speaking volumes. You didn't miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes and the sorrow etched on her face. You were all too familiar with this. So, you swiftly reassured her, placing a gentle hand against her cheek, silently begging her to focus on you.

“Nat, don't forget our week-long plans,” you reminded her softly, your thumb tenderly caressing her cheek. “I’ll be all yours, just you and me.”

Natasha despised how effortlessly you could coax her, and yet, she surrendered willingly as she always did—her love for you overriding all the resistance. Every time you whispered sweet reassurances and gave a comforting touch, she melted, her resolve crumbling effortlessly.

She could never say no to you.

Just as you were about to lean in to steal a kiss from Natasha, a sharp call of your name pierced through the air.

“Y/N.”

You turned around to see your mother watching the two of you, “Mama…”

How you wished she didn't see you lean in for Natasha and to alleviate the awkwardness, you introduce them both to each other.

Nervously, you began, your voice quivering slightly, “Mom, this is Nat…” you trailed off, unsure on how to introduce your lover because you cannot just introduce her as your lover yet since your mom knew about Steve and ‘friend’ just didn't seem adequate to describe what you shared with Natasha, not if you both know what each other tasted like. The thing between you and Natasha was too complex, too dangerous, too intense to be boxed into a single label.

You looked towards Natasha, offering a strained smile, silently begging her to make a good impression. Your mother was known for being judgmental at times, and the last thing you wanted was for her to disapprove of the person dearest to you.

Natasha took the initiative, greeting your mom, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” and she extended a hand. However, your mom's gaze remained fixed, her eyes honed in on the intertwined fingers of your hands with redhead. The subtle gesture didn't escape your mom's keen eyes.

Sensing your mom's penetrating stare, you quickly withdrew your hand from Natasha, creating a bit of distance between the two of you. Your mother seemed lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to reality and reaching out to shake Natasha's hand.

“Congratulations.” She greeted with her unreadable expression and the redhead gave her a warm smile and thanked her.

“Steve and his family are waiting for us.”

You nod, acknowledging your mom's reminder before she started walking away. You turned towards Natasha and you found her looking down, she then handed you a box and whispered, “You should go.”

Despite the aching in your chest, you managed a feeble smile, holding the box she had handed you. It is a necklace with a guitar pendant similar with the electric guitar she's using during her gigs, “It's beautiful.”

No reply came out from the redhead and her silence is making you hard to leave, you longed to remain here—to embrace her. Your heart clenched in your chest as you attempted to suppress the tears threatening to spill, “I'll see you, Nat. Okay?”

Natasha stood there, her eyes fixated on you as you walked away. A soft whisper escaped her lips, lost in the air, wishing that these words are enough to make you stay.

“I love you.”

⧗

Two months had crept by since your graduation day and the affair with Natasha remained a secretive yet constant part of your life. The thrill and passion you shared with her continued to burn brightly, with neither of you daring to mention the status of the affair. The question of what it meant would remain locked away, hidden beneath layers of secrecy.

Not until you kept another secret from your secret lover herself.

“So when are you going to tell me about it?” Natasha's voice was cold as she cut through the silence, her anger barely contained.

You froze under her intense gaze, your body shaking as you fought back tears.

“I...I'm sorry,” you whispered.

Shaking her head, Natasha continued, her eyes flickering with hurt and anger. “Engaged? And you didn’t tell me?”

Your tears finally cascaded down your face as you relived the memories of four days ago, when Steve had proposed to you. How could you say no? He decided to propose to you in front of his parents and your mother. And the sickening weight of expectations and the pressure of you saying yes to him had overwhelmed you causing you to yield without hesitation.

Natasha had learned about the proposal from Steve himself and he had even made a joke about her reuniting with the campus band and playing at your wedding.

It was no secret because you were planning to tell her, of course you are, you were just looking for the right time but when she showed up at your apartment minutes ago, her intoxication evident in her glassy eyes and the strong smell of alcohol that hung heavy got to her, you knew—but you didn't know that it came from your fiance himself.

Natasha's voice cracked in anger and despair, “I did everything you wanted! I followed your rules, your demands. I stayed away when you asked, I played along to keep our…fuck!” She suddenly broke off, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Relationship isn't even the right word. We're not even a couple, right?”

“Stupid,” she chuckled, “stupid! stupid, stupid!” Natasha unleashed a punch to each word, slamming into the wall next to her. You flinched and fought the urge to soothe her but she turned to you, tears streaming down her face.

“I played along to…” she choked back a sob, “to keep you!” She spat, pointing a finger on you.

Maybe it was too much to ask for.

Her words hit you like a knife to the heart, causing you to physically flinch. Your tears welled up and fell uncontrollably, your whole body quivering with sobs as you struggled to hold yourself together.

“Sorry.”

Your heart was heavy with guilt for causing Natasha so much pain. The single word didn't seem enough to fix the hurt you had done, but it was all you could manage in this moment.

“I just wan…” she breathed, “I just want you to be mine.”

“I am yours, Natasha.” You managed to immediately say between sobs, placing your palm over your chest emphasizing each word.

“Are you?” Her brows knit together, “with that ring on your finger?”

Natasha approached you and with every inch she advanced, you slowly retreated, your body moving back in response to her encroaching presence. Natasha finally stood close, her body towering over you. You could feel the heat of her breath on your skin, infused with the strong scent of alcohol. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath she took.

“Y/N you were never mine to begin with and I had to live up with that.”

You were looking away from her, arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a protective manner. Natasha's fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. Her touch was electrifying as she slid her fingers down to your arm, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“I chose to live up with that.”

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she took your engagement ring off your finger and examined it before letting it bounce to the carpet of your bedroom.

“Engaged, hm?” Natasha smirked, the pads of her thumb wiping the tears running down your cheek, “did you let Steve finally fuck you after you said yes to him?”

You breath hitched at the question but you immediately shook your head sideways, her hands slipped at the back of your neck and hissed.

“I am the only one who can make you say yes over and over again.”

“Natasha, y-you’re drunk,” you stuttered, you would never deny the redhead but you feel uncertain and scared around her right now.

She heard you but she didn't care, she then pulled you into a bruising kiss. Her lips were cold and demanding, silencing any further protests. She held the back of your neck tightly, “Shut up.”

She walked you backwards as she kissed you, the kisses becoming sloppy with each step. You felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees and as she kissed you deeply, you slowly sank down onto the mattress.

“Lie down.”

“Nat, please…we can talk late—” you were cut short when she shoved her forefinger in your mouth. She watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, finally giving up, your lips sucking gently around her finger.

You chased her finger when she removed it out your mouth then your gaze went down as she moved to remove her belt. Her movements were deliberate as she undid the buckle and pulled it from the loops of her pants, causing them to fall open with her boxers.

Natasha's hand wrapped around a fistful of your hair, harshly tugging your head forward and forcing you to kneel in front of her. Your hands instinctively held her the back of her legs for support, her length inches on your faces as if you knew what to do, your hands slowly reached out to touch her. You wrapped your fingers around her shaft, feeling its thickness and hardness, your thumb rubbing the tip with the pre-cum that covered it.

“Open your mouth,” she plainly said, a command rather than a request. Your lips parted slowly and without a second she pushed forward, easing herself into your mouth. Natasha's expression hardened as she gripped your hair, her hips bucking forward aggressively. She thrust into your mouth without remorse, tears welled in your eyes, but she remained unmoved, solely focused on her own pleasure.

She fucked your mouth ruthlessly, her thighs trembling with the force of her movements. Your nose was pressed against her pelvis, your eyes watering from the rough treatment. The only sound was the sloppy wet noises of her thrusting and your muffled cries.

Natasha was one to fight her moans and grunts back, but she was unable to hold them as she unleashed a thick, hot load directly into your mouth. The force of her orgasm sent ropes of cum shooting down your throat, making you choke and gag on the sheer volume.

In a sudden move, Natasha yanked you up by your hair, her cock slipping out of your mouth with an audible pop. She took a step back, leaving you panting and disoriented, your mouth agape, tears falling down your cheek, spit on the side of your lips and her cum inside you mouth. She reached down and yanked your hair again, forcing you to look up at her. She spat into your open mouth, watching as the saliva mingled with her cum.

“Swallow.”

She squeezed your chin, applying pressure until your throat opened up. You looked straight into her eyes, you felt the lump of cum and spit lodge in your mouth, and then you swallowed the liquid sliding down your throat.

Natasha released her hold on your chin and hair, her voice taking on a dismissive tone. “Bed,” she ordered, turning away from you to clean herself up. You scrambled to your feet, quickly making your way to the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin.

Natasha hovered on top of you, you tried looking into her bloodshot eyes but you couldn't see anything. You couldn't see her. Her eyes didn't sparkle the way it did when you two were making love…is this even making love?

You wanted to make it up to her, you wanted her to use you for what you did to her. For hurting her, it is all that you could do as of now—it’s all that you could offer. But you wanted her to talk to you through it like she always had, but right now she doesn't seem to care about what you need.

Natasha locked her knees on yours, her thighs squeezing tight to keep you pinned in place. She surged forward, burying her face in the crook of your neck. You could smell the alcohol on her breath as she trailed kisses down your body. She then nipped at your skin, her teeth sinking in hard enough to leave bruises. Right now, she didn't care. In fact, she wanted you to be marked, marked by her and not by your stupid fiance.

“N-Nat…Steve might com—” before you could even finish your sentence, Natasha slapped you hard across the face, the sting making your eyes water.

“Don't fucking say his name when you're underneath me,” she snarled and as if losing her patience she harshly pulled you by your thighs towards her. Without giving you a chance to protest, Natasha thrust into your core with a ferocity you hadn't expected. You could feel yourself stretching around her, each movement of her hips sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Natasha folded your thighs towards your chest, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. You eyed her, tears ready to fall down as she fucked you with reckless abandon. She was like a different person, all rough edges and sharp angles, her usually composed, sweet, and caring nature replaced by a harsh, uncaring desire. Her usually gentle features were twisted into a snarl, her eyes cold and hard, lacking the warmth and spark that usually dwelled within them.

You couldn't help but wince as she thrust into you again and again, the pain dulling the pleasure, yet you let her continue. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you bit back a moan, your mouth agape in a silent scream as she took what she wanted.

You

You tried to claw her back, but she was too quick for you. She wiggled and before you knew it, she had gripped both of your hands on her own, pinning them above your head. She didn't want you to touch her and the realization stung.

She then suckled your tits hard, biting and pulling on them until you cried out in pain and pleasure. The rough treatment and seeing you in pain seemed to turn her on more, and she then continued to abuse your sensitive breasts.

“Say you're mine,” at least just this moment.

“Natasha, I’m yours, I’m yours.” You moaned reassuringly—genuinely and you wanted her to see it, to feel it. “I—I'm yours, I'm you...yours,” you breathe, having a hard time to utter a word as she rammed into you.

Natasha's eyes become glossy again, she shook her head sideways as if she's trying to remove what you just said in her head that is now finally ingrained, she asked you to say it, of course you would say it back, but it sounded real and she hated it.

“You're not,” she slurred, “but I am going to make you.”

Natasha’s grunts grew louder, more primal as she neared her peak. Her face contorted, eyes screwed shut, and her movements became jerky, uncoordinated. She touched your lower abdomen to feel her cock bulging in and out. She was close, so close, and you could do nothing but lie helpless beneath her, tears leaving a trail on your cheeks as she held you down and used your body.

She finally let out a guttural growl, her body spasming as she emptied herself inside of you.

At least in this way she could make you really hers.

You jolted awake from the dream as the sound of your baby's cry made you alarmed. It's an instinct that you developed since you had your baby, whatever sound she made you'll be quick to get or coo her, doesn't matter if you're in the shower, cooking or asleep.

You slowly sat in the bed, wiping the sweat that glistened on your neck. You breathed in and out to calm yourself. It was a dream, just a dream, you're not new to it, it's same dream you always dream. It did happen but it never failed to visit—haunt you even in your sleep.

It was a dream but what you're living right now is a nightmare.

You looked over at Steve's body, deep in slumber beside you, the sight of him only causing a lump to form in your throat. The tears began to well up in your eyes, and you quickly looked away, unable to bear the ache and guilt any longer.

You quietly moved away from the bed, the sound of your baby's cries growing louder with every step you took. Your heart swelled as you reached the crib, carefully picking up your child and cradling her in your arms. You gently shushed your baby, cooing softly as you fixed the red hair that had become mussed during her sleep, her little face scrunched up as she wailed.

“Shh, mommy's here.” You whispered as you blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision to fight back your own tears.

As if she was actually listening to you, her cries became silent as her small chubby hand reached up, her fingers wrapping around the delicate chain of your necklace. She tugged gently and your heart skipped a beat as she pulled the guitar dangle free, holding it in her tiny grasp.

You gently rocked your baby, cooing soft lullaby as you tried to soothe her back to sleep. But as you looked down at her, her green orbs shimmering with unshed tears was looking innocently straight at you. Your heart shattered at the sight and the tears you'd been holding back began to fall, softly dripping onto your baby's soft skin.

“I love you, little one.”

[tgcg]

the master baiter

TG: dont be mad

TG: ok thats like asking water not to be wet but

CG: WATER ISN'T FUCKING WET GOD DAMMIT.

TG: look whatever remember when you said you would die for me

TG: is that karkat in the room with us right now

======

CG: I'M DYING "FOR YOU" EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU PEEL OPEN THOSE SHIT-EATING LIPS YOU KEEP PULLED TAUT OVER YOUR DRONING IGNORANCE SHAFT.

TG: heheheh

======

CG: YOUR WORDSLUDGE SPEARS EVERY PARTICLE OF MY BODY WITH PINPOINT STRIDERIAN IDIOCY.

TG: oh shit here we go

CG: A VERBAL BARRAGE THAT PULVERIZES MY FLESH INTO A FINE RED MIST, KILLING ME INSTANTLY. WIPING ME THE FUCK OUT, TO SUCH AN INCREDIBLE DEGREE THAT PALEONTOLOGISTS CAN'T FULLY DISCERN IF A "KARKAT" FUCKING EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: THEY'D BE SCRATCHING THEIR NUGBONES OVER IT FOR FUCKING SWEEPS, IF NOT FOR THE SHOCKING REALIZATION MERE MINUTES INTO THEIR DEBATES THAT NOBODY ACTUALLY GAVE A SHIT.

======

CG: AND YET THE TEMPORAL DEVICE STILL SWAYS TO AND FRO IN CONSTERNATION. VEXED BY THE COMPLETE MENTAL VACANCY PUT BEFORE IT BY MY HUMBLE SACRIFICE, BOUND BY ITS COSMIC ROLE, BEGRUDGED BY MY UNSOLICITED DEATH CLOCKING IT INTO OVERTIME. IT HAS BETTER SHIT TO DO, GOD DAMMIT! IT HAS A LUSUS AND A HIVE TO GET BACK TO!

CG: "WHAT IS THIS. WHO LET THIS ASSHOLE IN HERE," IT SAYS. THEY AREN'T EVEN QUESTIONS, JUST ORBITAL SIGHS OF AN UNCARING UNIVERSE. A REALITY NOW KEENLY AWARE OF ITS OWN LAUGH TRACK.

CG: AND ITS PENDULUM TEETERS, TENTATIVE IN ITS OWN DISBELIEF AND PROFOUND APATHY.

TG: damn

======

CG: "THIS SCUMBAG ISN'T EVEN GODTIER YET," IT POINTS OUT. THE AUDIENCE FLIPS THEIR COLLECTIVE SHIT, AGHAST AT THIS REVELATION.

TG: hahaha

CG: IT WELLS UP SUCH A THRUM OF FUCKING ENNUI THAT THE TIMEPIECE FLIPS OFF-KILTER, LANDING SQUARELY IN THE "DUMBASS" ZONE WITH A "FUCK IT" LOUD ENOUGH TO REVERBERATE THROUGHOUT PARADOX SPACE.

======

CG: IT THEN ELECTS TO KICK MY PATHETIC FUCKING HALF-CORPSE BACK INTO THE LIVING PLANE AND FORCE ME, VENGEFULLY FROM THE AUDACITY OF MY OWN IDIOCY, TO REPEAT THIS CYCLE AD NAUSEAM

CG: UNTIL EXISTENCE ITSELF FINALLY CROAKS UNDER THE COMBINED WEIGHT OF OUR COLOSSAL STUPIDITY.

CG: BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK WOULD I BE IF I EVER GOT TO HAVE A BREAK?

======

TG: yep there he is thats him offincer

TG: the man after my own heart

TG: thats a karkat brand "soft yes" if i ever heard one and i know my karkatisms dude im a goddamn graduate in karkatology

TG: i got my degree in this shit

TG: im rocking up to our convos with the dumbass black square hat thing cocked 45 degrees

TG: literally incapable of snapping it back kinda by design of the stupid thing but damn if im not doing it anyways im emanating the snappitudes

TG: im rocking my intelligence right now

TG: also water is absolutely wet dude its like the wettest thing on the planet

CG: I'M NOT REPEATING MYSELF AGAIN

TG: yeah you are

CG: FUCK. I AM.

======

CG: I SAID THE LAST THREE TIMES IT'S A CONDITIONAL TERM--

TG: and im saying its common sense like being wet isnt conditional when youre the perpetual thing of wettening

CG: NO

TG: and brother it is THE wet

TG: like following your conditional argument

TG: if water isnt wet then the other water molecules are constantly making each other fuckin wet so its a moot point

TG: great philosophical debate

TG: which came first the water or the wet?

CG: DAVE

TG: think about it all those particles are wetting each other up all the time and shit

TG: its a fucked up display

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

======

TG: pretty much a perpetual orgy of the elements

CG: DUDE.

TG: that sounds kinda sick actually if you dont think about what it means

TG: h2orgy

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO VETO THIS STUPID DISCUSSION--

TG: tell me im wrong dude

CG: I'M UNIVERSE-APPOINTED TO HOVER AROUND YOU POINTING OUT EVERY DUMBASS TAKE YOU HAVE FOR THE REST OF TIME.

TG: thats so beautiful to me

TG: i could cry

[astronicht]

Hi I hope this isn't presumptuous, but so, that post you made about Tolkien making the lads leave their weapons outside the hall and CS Lewis thinking the hall was gonna get burned down by a lady who also wanted to kill herself... what's the historical precedent for that? Is there a trope in medieval lit where people like... do that? I ask because uh. I am obsessed with Children of Hurin and there's a scene where that like, happens. And I'm obsessed with that scene, and would love to know if there's like, cultural/mythic context that would enrich my knowledge!

OH BOY, sorry I'm getting to this late, it's been uhhh a summer, but one, this is a very good question!! And two, yes there is absolutely precedent, particularly in early medieval literature, and high medieval literature set in the early medieval (circa 500-1100 AD) past. I'll let someone else debate how often people actually historically locked their enemies into a hall and burned them, but especially in Old Norse literature (and if Fellowship felt like it leaned a little more on Old English literature, Two Towers, where Eowyn appears, felt a little more Old Norse) this is common. Off the top of my head, you've got many Icelandic family feuds ending in burning the whole family in their hall, like Njal's Saga (Old Norse), Attila the Hun dramas (yeah he's a big guy in the burning halls circuit, but actually not in the way you might expect) like his cameos in Volsung Saga (Old Norse) and Nibelungelied (Middle High German), and my vague recollection of a few Irish and Welsh versions that no search engine is giving up for me right now.

This, predictably, got long and slightly off topic.

Disclaimer: As usual, I should say I come from an Old English-centric background, and Old English literature is actually notable among all its neighbors for not burning down too many halls. Second disclaimer, all links are not proper citations, they just go to wiki.

Hall-burning in literature is, to my understanding, part of the concerns of a few early medieval cultures in which revenge is not only expected but in many cases legally reinforced and codified, and one in which conflicts could spiral to engulf -- figuratively, or literally and in flames -- entire families. Many medieval Icelandic sagas are focused on this exact type of destruction of whole families or friendship/community units. Most relevant of these to Eowyn, Two Towers, and the vibes of Edoras (since alas I am only partway into RotK and can't speak to Children of Hurin yet!) is Volsung Saga, which is set on the Continent, not Iceland, and actually has to do with Attila the Hun. As mentioned before, an incredible amount of stuff turns out to have to do with Attila. We will come back to him!

So, on the particular post you're talking about, a few people iirc have replied pointing out that the hall in TT is clearly supposed to be based on a hall from Old English literature, namely the hall in Beowulf, which famously did not actually get burnt down. And that's all true! I was not posting with much nuance; I was mostly having a joke at the expense of CS Lewis. However, I was also referencing a very very common trope in Old Norse/early medieval stories, and I personally think JRR was as well (AND I think Beowulf was also very consciously referencing the exact same motif anyway) (no one has to agree with me, a tumblr blog, on any of these points).

The thing about the hall when our heroes approach is that the scariest damn thing in that hall is Eowyn. Certainly not every hall-burning story requires a woman with no other recourse to set the fire (in fact, the "warrior band approaches unknown hall which might have a grudge against them" is a trope that can get you killed in a pretty homosocial environment, as I guess Aragorn at least was aware, being a big reader). Still, the presence of a woman who is swiftly running out of options does fit what I'd consider one of the or perhaps The best known version of the early medieval burning hall trope: Gudrun, who shows up in at least a dozen different texts in both the Scandinavian and the German language traditions, including Volsung Saga, a text which itself often gets paraded around as the basis of lotr (which I'm sure it is, in that JRR appears to have simply and very fairly based lotr on every piece of early medieval vernacular literature I can think of).

In a portion of Gudrun's story (which of course changes a bit in each retelling), after her first marriage she is unhappily married to Atli, who is none other than our main man Attila the Hun. After Attila kills her brothers for reasons (in one version, her father), seeing no other way to take the necessary revenge and no other way out, she kills the two sons she had by him, serves them to Attila for dinner, has Attila killed, and then sets fire to the hall with everyone in it. After this, she attempts to drown herself.

The self-destruction of this act is a really important beat, and has only gotten more-so as a comparison to Eowyn the further I've read into RotK (currently, I'm at the houses of healing after merry and eowyn take on the witch king). It's a lot clearer in the book than the films, for me, that Eowyn going off to battle was not so a straightforward empowering and/or freeing move, despite allowing her some agency, but more the one path she saw as available to her with which to die with honor (which was pretty much exactly what Gudrun was facing as well). Like Gudrun, whose first husband was a great hero but has died, Eowyn's romantic choice is a hero who is presumed dead (sorry Aragorn they did Not believe in your ghost skills). In fact, in some versions Gudrun does put on armor and fight with her brothers before they're killed. She kills Attila with her own hand, with the help of another man who needs to avenge a blood feud against Attila.

So while Eowyn didn't get forced into marriage to Attila Wormtongue (with apologies to both historical Attila and that one historical skald also called Wormtongue who was reportedly hot) and burn the whole place down, she's still trapped, and like Gudrun chooses destruction alongside her household.

Reading her arc feels so much like watching Tolkien write a fix-it for Gudrun. What if she got this one little chance, and this one other little chance, and this one more -- tiny little shifts in the narrative that allow her to get out, and not through fire, and not through death.

Anyway, this got away from me. I hope it added some context to the Children of Hurin arson case! Thanks for the ask

[anxious-witch]

I think the reason why there are so many amazing ships in Dead Boy Detectives is because the show manages to show different versions of love/lust/devotion through different relationships all characters have.

Like, love triangles have been doing the whole "a girl has to choose between two guys who each being out a different side of her" for over a decade in popular media, some more, some less successfully. But the pitfall they often fall into is that those differences seem very shallow and often ignore the other aspect of the main person who have to choose between the love interests.

Dead Boy Detectives makes sure to not do that.

When we look at how Charles is with Crystal vs how he is with Edwin, we can clearly see the difference. In the beginning of his and Crystal's dynamic, he is flirtier and puts more if a bravado, but he pretty quickly opens up to her. Because he sees that she very quickly sees past his facade he puts up with his constant happy-go-lucky persona. Only when he starts opening up to her and showing his emotions does their relationship progress. Because after David, Crystal needs someone who can be emotionally vulnerable with her and in turn, Charles offers her the same, and offers her a safe space.

In contrast, we see that Charles is more at ease around Edwin. They know each other deeply, and are also woven into each other at this point. It's easy, like breathing. One thing it doesn't do is challenge either of them from the status quo they have built over the years. But there is a sense of ease there, and such devotion. There is no question about what they would do for each other because the answer is everything.

That said, while they both bring out different sides of Charles, those sides of him feel intricately linked to one another! Which is why Crystal coming into the pictures begins changing Charles' relationship with Edwin as well! It brings to light things they have ignored. And in turn, Charles' clear and unwavering devotion and loyalty to Edwin prompts Crystal to learn it herself. To quote Jenny in ep 8, "you were about to leave and never see these boys again, but now you are going to save them"? And yes, she does exactly that.

This even has influence on Edwin and Crystal's rs directly, which I can't recall ever seeing in a love triangle before, at least not in a positive sense. But it's so clear that Charles loves both of them that the other learns to love them too, and they realize their own similarities through it, too!

As for Edwin and his many love interests, well. I know there has been a lot of debate, especially around Cat King vs Charles dyankics with Edwin, but the thing is-you are comparing apples ajd oranges here.

The Cat King is enamored, fascinated by Edwin, and yeah above all, attracted to him. This dynamic serves to challenge both of their characters' beliefs and shake up the power dynamics between them. Whenever you like the Cat King or not Edwin clearly reciprocates the attraction part, at the very least.

Charles loves Edwin and is devoted to him and Edwin to him turn, as discussed above. What is difficult about their relationship is that it became stagnant due to lack of communication, which is why they needed other relationships to shake up that dynamic.

But to address the most prominent comparison I saw, which is the Cat King saying he'll wait for Edwin vs Charles going to Hell to save him.

Both are types of devotion, is the thing. A profession of love, if you will. To this day, we consider Penelope a faithful, loving and devoted wife for waiting for Odyssey for 20 years. Cat King saying he'd wait for Edwin isn't any small confession, given he is aware it could take decades, if not more.

Don't get me wrong, Charles going to literal Hell to save Edwin and succeeding where Orpheus and Eurydice failed is an enormous success and a way to show you love someone. I am not minimalizing that at all.

I am just saying that, for who these characters are and given their rs with Edwin, they did exactly what they were supposed to. They expressed in which ways Edwin had influenced them and what they can offer him if that dynamic becomes romantic.

Cat King represents experience, patience. As an immortal he has all the time in the world to wait for Edwin to return from hell, because he believes Edwin is strong enough to return on his own.

Charles represents love that breaks all obstacles in their way. He goes to save Edwin because he believes Edwin deserves to be helped in the way he helps others. He deserves to be saved.

My point is, there is no better of worse way of loving someone. The character in the love triangle choose the person that better alignes with who they are and who they wish to be as a person. So yes, you are absolutely allowed to say "I think this character would choose person a because it alignes better with their character development" but comparing the two as one being superior is kinda pointless imo? Exploring different dynamic of a character is the goal here, right? Either through canon or fanon.

...I was gonna talk about Crystal/Niko and Edwin/Monty too but this post got away from me to uhh. Might do another one if anyone is interested but in their way! I adore the way DBDA explores different sides of characters while still making them feel like a fully rounded person and doesn't shy away from letting one rs influence other rs character has.

[thrashkink-coven]

Special reminder to all the new Luciferians that forgot that he is the adversary, yeah, he’s gonna fuck with you FOR FUN.

If you’ve been working with Lucifer for a week or so and have started getting “conflicting” messages, you are not alone 😩. Lucifer loves to test us, he loves to see how deep our values go. He will purposely say things you disagree with or it would seem like he would disagree with just to fuck with you. This dude LOVES to debate.

For example, a large part of my relationship with Lucifer involved coming to terms with my neurodivergency. For weeks we were working on accepting my limits, being aware of my disorders and having patience for myself. But during a meditation I got the very strong message from him “People with mental illnesses are just looking for an excuse to be lazy”

and I was like ????? what the fuck???? No they’re not??? You fucking idiot???? Who am I talking to right now???? And he was like “yes and anyone who claims to have a disorder without a diagnosis are just looking for attention. Prove me wrong if you think differently”

and I blew up, providing so many arguments for why he’s wrong and why that stance is so stupid, and eventually after a while he was like “Hm… that’s interesting. I guess you’re right. Now that we’ve established this I guess we won’t need entertain the idea anymore”

and any time after that, when I was having self doubts, maybe I’m just faking it for attention, maybe I’m just lazy, Lucifer has been like “OH! So I guess I WAS right!” and I’ve been like NOOO!!!!!! YOURE WRONG!!! THE ENTIRE IDEA IS STUPID AND I WONT LET YOU TELL ME OTHERWISE!!!

and Lucifer will then be like “Oh, good then. Don’t let you tell you otherwise either”.

He will press your boundaries, even if only to make sure YOU know where your boundaries are. When writing a spell together Lucifer has been like “yes, we will also need to sacrifice a cat”

and I’ve been like “wtf no we’re not sacrificing a cat why the hell would I do that”

and he’s responded “Because I said so. You will obey my order without question.” (again, extremely out of character, this is a test’!)

until I finally put my foot down and say “I don’t care who or what you are, doing this goes against my core values and I will not abandon those for you or anyone. With all due respect I refuse to do this task”

and Lucifer will be like “I’m just fucking with you, I really liked the way you stood your ground against me though, that was very hot”

and for even less obvious things, Lucifer will test you. He wants to know why you think the things you think. We recently had a very long conversation about the concept of Pedophilia. Super uncomfortable, a conversation I didn’t know we’d ever have, but it was important. He starts by asking me if pedophilia is wrong. Um what??? Obviously???

“Why is it wrong? Explain your reasoning.”

Well because it hurts kids.

“What about non offending pedophiles? What about pre offending reformed pedophiles?”

You don’t have to have the answer to those questions, but you must understand that the answers to those questions matter, even though they are incredibly uncomfortable. Are there evil people? Do evil people deserve empathy? What is an evil person? I don’t like thinking about that, that’s the reason why I don’t have an answer. Lucifer will force you to come to that answer.

“How do we conduct a society where we prevent pedophiles from hurting children without creating another form of discrimination? Do you believe pedophiles deserve empathy? Do they deserve to die? How do we deal with murderers and rapists without becoming murderers and rapists ourselves? How do you console yourself with the reality that some people genuinely enjoy evil things? If you were the Emperor of Hell, how would you manage all the most wicked people who have ever lived? Why is incest bad? Why is murder bad? Do racists deserve to die? Do war criminals deserve to die? Who should be allowed to determine who deserves to die? How far does your empathy extend to people who have done horrible things? How does your moral compass navigate these complex scenarios? What is right and what is wrong? Why do you believe the things you believe?”

There will be times when it seems like he’s trying to do everything in his power to just disagree with you. It’ll seem like he’s leading you to argue with him, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’ll ask you questions that should seem like common sense. He’s establishing that not only is it okay to disagree with him, but that at times, he will force you to, to ensure that you are not deriving your own personal values from “whatever God tells you”. He will lie to you, just to see if you’re able to identity a lie. He will say things that he obviously doesn’t believe, only to hear why YOU don’t believe it. It’s important to be firm on your boundaries even if your God is pushing them. You should not be afraid to disagree. You should not be afraid to disobey if it is important to you. Lucifer is not a Shepard and you are not a sheep. You need to understand your own morality alone, without God, without a cheat sheet telling you the answers. and you need to be firm on those. To the point that if God Himself told you differently, you wouldn’t budge.

So if you’ve started working with him recently and are confused as to why he suddenly started saying things you disagree with, investigate what he may be trying to get across. You’ll learn a lot more about yourself.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

see more and more “entire life told/thought i high function but actually am just very high support need” (autism context) and get more and more annoy at that

everytime see everytime click into page and everytime realize by “very high support” (yes see multiple include the “very”) they mean comorbid anxiety depression cptsd trouble make friends because people think “weird” bullied lose speech need remind shower need remind things (but able do and if no remind after a while will do) trouble school trouble job etc am forget.

and all that hard struggle yes no deny. deserve all the help and am not say it easy.

but it not “very high support need.” not even “high support need.” have higher need than what nondisabled neurotypical society expect you to is not “high support need.” yes, know many people do this because want validate self and past and trauma. but. not need be high support to be valid or to receive support. not need be high support for past trauma & past neglect & past not get support to be valid.

and. it water down definition of “high support need.” kick actual high support need out. us who extra vulnerable because need physical help most or all bADLs. need constant 24/7 supervision to be alive to not accidental harm self or die. need medical services for stuff people (include these people) take for granted, like just be able communicate, walk (yes many high support need autistic people struggle with that even without specific physical disability dx), feeding, etc. no awareness of self or other people or surroundings or danger. need 24/7 behavioral support. experience explosive emotions that even terrify self self no understand and cannot control behavior so destructive. many very high support, if not get support they literally die. not exaggerate. that how high of support they need.

(and even debate about whether should write this list. because. unless you high support yourself or experience these same amount yourself or close to someone who is or give care for them, very high chance you not get degree of symptom am talk about. plenty autistic struggle emotional regulation, for example. some struggle with severe intense lose control explosive behavior, include some level 1s. but unless you experience it self or read lot lot lot lot about & by people who do, found that average person include average autism community person not know what am mean by explosive emotion.)

it not “gatekeeping” or “call fake.” it me get frustrate at people misuse medical term that used describe extremely vulnerable population, who rely on other people to keep basic alive, many us have trouble or have limited language communication or have none at all, we need keep medical term describe us because many us cannot explain cannot list you our support need, either because long or private or make us feel awful or literal no communication/intellectual ability.

by validate self you harming us. “well it just one person identify themself not affect you [eye roll].” no, not just one person. but even if just one person, people around them see, and think, oh, that high support need, that very high support need, am educated. and that spread. and actual high support need people like am describe are ignored people don’t think they exist.

please. talk about own experience. no matter “there people more struggle than me.” am not say cannot. am not say “look at these actual struggles yours mild shut up.” it autism spectrum, there spectrum of experience. there more than “no support need” vs “high support need.” there things in middle. even low support need—that just mean low compare to other autistics. not “your support need your trauma not important.”

but please. remember us. leave our terms alone.

[lost-in-fandoms]

This is inspired by my own post. Don't even look at me.

It's a long shot, and Daniel is perfectly aware of it as he rides the elevator up to Max's room, but he refuses to think too hard about it, afraid he will reconsider the sanity of it and turn back.

You see, they used to have this...thing, back in the day. It didn't happen often enough to give a name to it, but when Daniel got pole or won a race, Max would find him and get on his knees for him.

It had started in 2016, Max fresh faced and wide eyed, pulling him into the bathroom of the club they were in. Not in Monaco, not even Max was bold enough for that, but in Malaysia. It had been hot and wet, and Daniel had tangled his fingers in Max's sweaty hair, pulling hard enough to make tears spring in his blue eyes, before coming down his throat.

Their thing had always been one way only. Max had been the one getting on his knees, and Daniel had never offered to get him back. It had been a relief, when Max had started winning more than him, he didn't want to owe blowjobs that often. Not that Max would have hold him to that if Daniel didn't want to, but it would have been a matter of pride, and justice, or whatever.

Daniel has spent a lot of time in the last couple of years thinking about it. Not much about the act itself, even if he has gotten off to the memories of Max's mouth more times than he can count, but about the whole concept of it. He had started wondering if it had been Max's first (debatable, kid had been too sure of himself, but again Max always was), if Max had wanted more (probably, he had seen the looks he would get on his face sometimes), why Max had never tried to talk to him about it. Why Daniel, arguably the more mature of the two, hadn't done it. If Max still thought about it too. If he thought about it as much as Daniel did.

The last time they had done this it had been Monza, in 2021. Max had shoved in his motorhome, flushed and furious, and had sucked Daniel off with such a passionate drive it had felt like maybe he was trying to get Daniel's soul too. Or like maybe he was trying to suck Daniel's P1 out of him through his dick. It had been one of the best blowjobs of his life, had left him dazed and panting on the couch while Max had bit out a congratulations and stormed out again, his shoulders just marginally less stiff.

And now Daniel is in front of Max's door, with a P5 that feels like a P1, feeling like he's going to be taking a step right out of a plane.

He hears shuffling when he finally knocks, and it's only when he hears Max open the door that the uncertainty hits him in full force. He has not thought this through at all. Or well, he has, just not further than this. How do you ask someone "hey it's been almost three years but I would like to cash in a blowjob"??

Max looks...soft. He has a pair of sweats on, one of his white tshirts, hair freshly washed and unstyled. The blank expression and small polite smile he's sporting when he opens the door, as if he was expecting to have to send someone away, immediately morph into a blinding smile when he spots Daniel. It's always been so easy, at least for Daniel, to make Max smile like that.

"Daniel!" he says, eyes crinkling, moving to the side to let Daniel in without having to be asked.

"Hello, Max."

His room is fairly tidy, his luggage open in a corner with a few team shirts spilling out just as it had always been, but the blankets on the bed are all askew, a comfy little nest around Max's open laptop.

"Am I interrupting something?" Daniel asks, motioning towards it. He never knows when Max is working, watching something, or playing with his friends, but he hopes it's nothing important. If it's something important and Max sends him away, Daniel knows he will never find the guts to do this ever again.

"No," Max starts, then turns, smiling more, "well, yes. I was watching Lando's onboards. But they are not important now."

It hits him unexpectedly hard, the casual acknowledgement that Daniel's presence is more important than whatever Max was already planning for his evening. It's nothing new, but it's been a while since Daniel has felt it, the way Max loves him so simply. Since he has felt deserving of it.

Something must show on his face, because Max's smile turns soft as he sits down on the couch near the window, patting the space next to him for Daniel to join him.

"Why are you here?" From anyone else, it would sound rude, but Daniel has been used to Max's bluntness since day one, misses it sometimes these days, now that he's a little more careful with it, so he knows Max only means exactly what he's asking.

Daniel also knows this could be the moment to bring it up, his request, but it feels wrong to just barge in on Max's evening, get an orgasm and leave. Back then he would have done it, but they're both different people now.

"I wanted to see you, Maxy," he says, aiming for joke and hitting fond instead. It's not a lie, but the way Max goes all pink and pleased feels too dangerous for his heart, so Daniel redirects. "P2, yeah?"

It's enough to set Max off, talking about corners and turns and steering and this car. Not my car, Daniel notes. He's not surprised by the difference, but he wonders if Max means to make it so obvious, how he feels about this year's car. Or maybe Daniel is just really versed in Max-speak.

He also notices the tension around his eyes a couple of times, when Max mentions the team, and if it was another night he maybe would have asked; it never took much for Max to tell Daniel things, especially when he was unhappy about something. But today he got P5, and something about the blush growing on Max's cheeks as he gets more and more animated, making his eyes looks even more blue, firmly sets him back on jumping off the plane and send it plans.

He waits for Max to slow down a little, then nudges his calf with his foot, enjoying the way Max immediately reacts by jabbing a finger into Daniel's side, tension disappearing from his face.

"P5 is not P2, but it's still pretty good, right?"

Max's smile is his best one yet, all bright and proud as he nods, reaching for Daniel again to squeeze his shoulder.

"Of course, you have been very good today, Daniel! I am glad you are again feeling the car right."

Always so sweet and earnest. If he hadn't already teared up a little before press, face hidden in Blake's shoulder, Daniel would have probably done it now. As it is, he just smiles back, lets Max talk through his lap, quietly pleased by the knowledge that Max had obviously watched his onboard already, before Lando's. Maybe, if he dares to hope it, even before George's.

It's probably that, feeling like he's still important to Max, what gives him the confidence to throw things into motion.

"Feels like a P1, mate."

For a split second, he doesn't know what to expect. Will Max understand what he means? Maybe Max has not been thinking about their past times together, maybe saying P1 will mean nothing to him, maybe he will just go on another rant on how different P1 is of course from P5. Or maybe he will understand Daniel, and he will just slide off the couch and onto his knees, and Daniel won't have to say anything else.

Max, obviously, because he's Max, does neither thing.

His expression changes, something focused and pinched, as he tilts his head a little and stares at Daniel, lips slightly pursed.

"You want to feel like P1?" he asks. To someone else it would sound like a perfectly normal question, but Daniel knows that Max has understood, because somehow Max always gets him, even now. He also knows that he will not get out of this without talking about it at least a little. They're both different people, he has to remind himself. He's not the only one who's changed.

He nods, because he's not one to go back on his steps when he's already decided to send it, but he doesn't say anything else.

Max still looks deep in thought.

"We..." he starts, then immediately changes trajectory, "I can. If that is what you want."

As if Daniel might have walked all the way over without wanting this, without wanting Max. He nods again, watches as Max shifts a little, eyes flicking down to Daniel's lap, then to his own hands. His ears are red.

"Why now?" he blurts out, fingers twisting together. "You have of course got P5 before, but you have never come to me."

For a second, Daniel feels breathless with the knowledge that this whole time, Max would have been willing. This whole time, he could have asked and Max would have said yes, even after all these years, even after his championships, even after 2022.

"It didn't feel the same," he answers, before adding in a whisper, a belated confession, "I missed you."

He sees the way Max's shoulders jolt, his head snapping up again, eyes wide and surprised. Daniel doesn't get it, they have said it before, but he doesn't get time to dwell on it before Max is smiling again, grabbing a pillow and gracelessly following it on the floor.

Suddenly, just from seeing Max on his knees, Daniel is half hard. No wanking memory could hold a light to the real thing, to Max, broad and solid and real.

He lets Max get his hands on his legs, spreading them gently and shuffling forward, fingers sliding up to his thighs. It's hard to swallow now, the air in the room suddenly heavy with anticipation.

"I have missed you," Max rasps, kneading at Daniel's legs, not even reaching for his waistband yet. "I have missed doing this for you."

Daniel closes his eyes, lets his head fall back, but he regrets it immediately when he realizes it means not looking at Max anymore. Max, who's now looking up at him, pupils blown and lips red. For a moment, Daniel wishes things were different, wishes this thing was one where they kissed too, where he got to drag Max in his lap and get to touch him, feel all the way he's different now.

"Up," is all Max says, breaking his dangerous train of thought, and Daniel just obeys, lifting his hips and letting Max take down his pants, leaving them pooled at his ankles.

He's sure he's imagining the sigh Max lets out, the way his fingers are trembling a little when they reach just barely inside his underwear, grazing the top of his thigh.

And then Max leans forward and licks over one of Daniel's tattoos.

The sound Daniel lets out is a mix of a yelp and a moan. He can feel the little shit smiling against his skin, right before he does it again, adding a bite at the end, followed by an apology kiss, and this too is different from how they used to do it, quick and dirty, straight to the prize. Daniel is not going to complain.

Max takes his time, kissing and licking his way up his tattoos, until his nose hits the side of Daniel's clothed dick, now well on its way to fully hard.

"Hello," Max whispers, like a nerd, flashing a cheeky smile up at Daniel, who's tempted to swat at him until Max opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head of his cock, underwear and all.

Daniel barely has time to squeak out a curse, hips bucking up in surprise, before Max steps back, smile gone. When he looks up again, he looks so intensely hungry Daniel struggles to swallow, and for his next revelation of the day, he understands that the gangly and overenthusiastic teenager who had drooled all over his dick in a club in Malaysia must have gained quite a lot of experience since then.

He refuses to analyze how that makes him feel, at least for now.

Max doesn't waste any more time, luckily, since Daniel is now hot and straining, making quick work of Daniel's boxers and of putting his mouth on him. For a second, with Max's lips around his tip, Daniel gets thrown back in time, and maybe things are not so different after all. Then Max takes a breath and sinks all the way down.

"What the...shit!" Daniel swears, scrambling for something to hold onto and finding Max's shoulders, as his brain goes completely blank, fuzzy with static and pleasure.

Yes, Max has definitely gotten more experience, because what the fuck is this. He's still enthusiastic, moaning and drooling around Daniel, tongue swirling as if his dick is some sort of delicacy, but the technique is different now. It's like he graduated in cock sucking or something, like he's trying to prove he's not only a racing champion, but a sex champion, or maybe like he's trying to kill Daniel. Or all three together.

Daniel knows he's being loud, moans and swears tumbling from his lips without hope of being restrained, but it seems to only spur Max on, as he fucking deepthroats him again with no sign of gagging. What the fuck.

"Max, Maxy, babe," Daniel tugs at Max's hair, struggling to string enough words together to let him know that, embarrassingly, he's already close, but all that does is make Max moan, the vibration of it feeling like sparks up Daniel's back.

Luckily, Max seems to still get the message though, because he lets up a little, gently suckling at Daniel's tip, pressing a kiss to it before pulling back completely to look up at Daniel.

He's like a vision, cheeks red and eyes bright, mouth spit slicked and a bit swollen, hair falling on his forehead, and Daniel's desire to kiss him comes back in full force. Again, almost as if he was reading it on Daniel's face, Max stops that particular train of though.

"Can I swallow?" Max asks, voice rough, as if it is a totally normal question and not a way to make Daniel feel like he's going to die on the spot.

"Do you want to?" Somehow, Daniel's voice is worse than Max's, all breathy and fucked up, and he can see Max being pleased about it. Menace.

"I always want to."

Max always used to, even back then, but Daniel had never questioned if it was because he thought that was how it was supposed to be or because he wanted to. Having the answer now is devastating. He groans, letting his head fall back and nodding weakly, hoping Max will just have mercy on him and finally kill him, but it doesn't seem good enough for the other, who reaches up to grab Daniel's chin, gently but firmly pulling his head back down.

"Yes?"

Daniel is acutely aware he had never explicitly asked for consent before, and neither had Max.

Things are different now.

"Yes."

It doesn't take long after that, Max throwing himself back into it like a man starved, and Daniel falling apart under him, unable to control his hands, his hips or the volume of his voice. He swears Max moans when Daniel finally comes down his throat, shaking and twitching as Max sucks him through it. He's still dazed and out of it while Max helps him back into his clothes, fondly patting his dick before tucking it in, and he can only watch as Max hauls himself to his feet again, wincing slightly, and dropping back on the couch next to Daniel.

"Good?" Max asks, because he's a nerd and a little shit.

Daniel limply hits him with his eyes still closed, feeling himself smile in response to Max's laugh.

This is different too, he distantly thinks. Usually it was Max coming to him, and he would always leave immediately after, never hanging out for Daniel's comedown. Now, when he finally opens his eyes, Max is curled up next to him, still looking flushed and happy. Still obviously hard.

Things are different now, Daniel reminds himself, checking with himself for a second as he reaches forward to tap on Max's knee.

"Want help with that?"

[asgardian--angels]

Izzy Discourse Masterpost

Hey all, given the amount of awful splintering and wank happening in ofmd fandom rn regarding Izzy's death, including the flat-out immature and unacceptable harassment of David Jenkins and Co, I wanted to just make this one all-encompassing post to address the various grievances and complaints I've seen (almost entirely on Twitter). If I've missed anything, please feel free to add on. I'm putting most of this under a read-more for length.

Please be aware, I say all of this as an Izzy fan. I've loved his character since season 1, and while I was sad to see him go, I completely understand and support David & Co's reasons for concluding his arc, and I think it was done respectfully in a way fitting to his character. So let's break down some of the takes I've seen. I am not referencing specific posts or people here, I just want to address the general themes that I keep seeing about why some people are upset.

Izzy's death served no narrative purpose.

Look, this is one that I'm sure fans will debate for the rest of the hiatus. It's completely within your right to disagree with this writing choice, but Izzy's death did serve a narrative purpose in the story that David Jenkins is telling - and he has spoken to this end in several interviews already. I can only summarize here, and fans may find other perspectives in time as well. What we need to remember is that Our Flag Means Death is, at the end of the day, Ed and Stede's love story. That has been made abundantly, explicitly clear. The show has been fantastic at fleshing out the other supporting characters, but that's what they are - supporting characters. They often have their own subplots but ultimately the narrative seeks to move Ed and Stede's story forward and they are tools to spur Ed and Stede's growth or mirror their struggles. Izzy has been a wonderfully complex, multifaceted character but we must remember that all characters are vessels through which stories are told, lessons are imparted, and metaphors are established. He's not a real person who 'deserves' any particular fate. David said he's always intended for Izzy to die at the end of his arc.

Firstly, Izzy (now canonically, through his own dying words) represents part of Blackbeard. He enabled and encouraged Ed's darker side, they were mutually toxic forces to each other. Ed is attempting to cope with and move on from this phase of his life, and like Stede in season 1, set out a free man, unshackled by expectations and loose ends of those he's hurt and been hurt by (though we realize this is an ongoing process that takes time). This lovely gifset sums it up nicely, with Izzy being the Mary parallel, and making s2 mirror s1. Blackbeard is both Ed and Izzy; Ed cannot be free of Blackbeard while Izzy is in his life, and when Izzy is gone he will never truly be Blackbeard again. They are each other's rotting leg!! Yet, they love each other - and David has said that for Ed, this has developed into a mentor and father relationship, and where Ed has previously despised his father figures (his actual father, Hornigold) he does not want to lose Izzy. This time, Izzy brings out Ed, not Blackbeard - and that's where we get the callback to 'there he is', bringing their impact on each other full circle, freeing Ed, getting approval of sorts that he never had, to be soft, to be loved (and there are parallels to Zheng and Auntie here as well that others have made) from that force that drove him to stay in line all this time. David has said in multiple interviews now that he was going for the idea of the mentor/father figure dying and the hero living on and trying to do justice to them.

From Izzy's side, Izzy cannot be free while Edward remains either (Mary cannot find peace while Stede remains). The scar never truly healed, the leg will always be a reminder. At this point the argument becomes 'yes, but why did he have to die? Why not just sail off with the crew of the Revenge?' David has stated that he feels they've done everything they can with, and for, Izzy; he's come leagues from season 1, he's found community, he's found hope, he's found new parts of himself, and he's made good memories. He's found worth outside of what he can be to others. That's more than most pirates could hope for. Where would his character go from there, when the Golden Age of Piracy he belongs to has burned to the ground? Would he stay around and whittle on the Revenge? If he were a real person, yes, that would be lovely, and he'd deserve all the quiet peaceful happiness in the world. But as I explain several points below, he's not interested in being a captain. He's not up for the hard physical labor of regular crew, and he's extremely overqualified for that besides. He has served his narrative purpose, and symbolically, to enter a new age, everything must go. He's connected to the old age of piracy, to the Republic of Pirates, that is now demolished. To him, fighting for what he believes in, for the family he's found, bringing down an army of British twats in the process, is how he should go. It's a pirate's death, and as Izzy's said, he's a pirate - unlike Blackbeard who's succeeding in breaking away from piracy, Izzy never wanted to stop being a pirate, throughout his arc. To me, that's why Izzy remains trapped in the narrative, trapped in history, whereas Ed and Stede will escape history. They leave piracy, and canon, behind, while Izzy was content to remain a pirate and face a pirate's fate.

Burying him on land, right next to Ed and Stede's beach house, shows that his sacrifice was not in vain - they start this new life together, thanks to Izzy's mentorship, his role in their lives that sometimes for worse, sometimes for better, made their love what it was and made their breakaway possible. The new age is built on the foundations of the old age, and is stronger for it.

As we're well aware by now, David tweeted that there's no version of ofmd without Izzy. Whether that's literal or not, symbolically it's true. Izzy's arc of growth affected everyone on the Revenge. Jim fondly remembered fighting for a time when life meant something on that ship; the crew helped give Izzy new meaning in life, and he helped them in return. When he dies, they mourn and have a funeral; that wouldn't have happened under Blackbeard's watch in episode 2. His life meant something to them. He influenced Ed and Stede immensely, and they will take that with them. As David's said, they're all a family, and Izzy was a part of that family, and his loss unites them and brings them closer to continue to fight for that family they've built. It's a tragic, sudden death of someone they've all grown to care for, and that steels their reserve to keep the torch lit. They literally sail off into the sunset to hunt down Ricky to avenge Izzy; he will always be a part of this show. And, of course, with the brief appearance of seagull Buttons, the door is left open for anything.

If this was The Izzy Show, then sure, we'd be content to see him simply engaged in shenanigans every episode. But the plot, and therefore the characters, need to keep moving forward, and Izzy got his growth and development. He got what he needed for his character to have closure, and he served his symbolic narrative purpose in Ed's (and Stede's) story. You may have your own ideas and perspectives, and that's great - that's what fandom is for. But we cannot say his death was pointless when David Jenkins and the writers clearly had a well-defined motive for pushing the narrative in this direction. I actually think the narrative around Ed and Izzy is the most well-developed in the entire show. I for one am so happy we got such an interesting and complex character, and had the brilliant Con O'Neill to portray him.

Izzy's growth & healing arc was rendered pointless by his death.

As this post so eloquently puts it, it's pretty bleak to have the outlook that taking steps to heal and find meaning in life is worthless if it's later lost. Seeking happiness and self-actualization is worthwhile for its own sake; no one knows what's down the road, and we all die eventually. Find meaning in life now. Would you rather have had Izzy not miss with his bullet in ep2? He was given the chance to experience joy, freedom, and hope for the first time in potentially a long time, and when he died he did so with those happy memories. As mentioned, Izzy's death was decided long beforehand given the narrative, and the point of storytelling is to make you feel emotions. We were given impetus to connect and relate to Izzy's character through his process of healing, so when he did die, we felt it keenly. That's how stories work actually! We felt what Ed felt. It moved us. It's not a bad thing that Izzy's arc made him more likeable to fans before his death. It's not a bad thing to lose a beloved character - guess what, it happens constantly in stories - and it's not bad to grieve over it either, but to say that it made his journey pointless is just not true. People saying that Con must be upset that they snatched his character away from him after getting to develop him so much - again I say, would you rather him have died in ep 2 before he had the chance to grow? Or how about in s1, when the crew tried to mutiny? How'd you feel when Stede killed him in his dream, in the very first scene of the season? I think Con's probably glad for the opportunity to have explored this character so much in season 2. Ask him if he thinks it was pointless.

Killing off Izzy was bad for queer rep/burying your gays/"Izzy was the queer heart of the show"

I'm putting 'bury your gays' on the top shelf so people can't use it when it doesn't actually apply. Most of the main cast of characters in this show are queer, and it's a show about pirates with a good amount of violence. Ergo, chances are a queer character will die in the course of Things Happening In Stories. Izzy didn't die because he was queer, and he wasn't the token queer rep. Please turn your attention to the boatloads (literally) of queer characters that are happy and thriving (how about the LuPete wedding immediately afterwards??). As for Izzy being the "queer heart of the show," this is literally the Ed and Stede show. You know, the two queer leads whose queer love the show revolves around, per David Jenkins himself. I'm glad folks connected with and derived joy from Izzy's growth and especially his performance in Calypso's birthday, but he is not the main character of the show. The queer heart of the show is in fact, the entire show, all of their characters and the community & found family they create aboard the Revenge. Not to mention the fan community as well. Izzy was never carrying the show's representation on his back, and frankly that's an absurdly wild take to have (esp when he spent most of s1 actively working against the main queer relationships in the show, attempting to maintain the oppressive status quo of pirate society).

It was bad and irresponsible to have a suicidal character die

Are we forgetting the entire first half of the season where Ed, who was suicidal, kept trying to passively kill himself because he felt he was an unlovable monster, only to be shown that he is in fact loved unconditionally and it gives him the strength to fight for life and triumph against his own self-doubt? The show has spent quite a lot of effort telling viewers that despite feeling damaged or broken you are worthy of love and that you are loved even if it may be hard to see it when you're in a bad place. That you don't need to be fully healed to deserve love and care, and that love and support will help you along your journey. It's incredibly wild to disregard this major plot point and fundamental message of s2 to try and spin this the opposite way for Izzy's character.

Secondly, where are people getting 'Izzy is suicidal' from? Are we going back all the way to episode 2, when he's at his lowest point and fails at his suicide attempt, only to be figuratively reborn after removing the metaphorical rotten leg? By the time of the finale he's shown to be in a good place, thanks to the arc of healing and growth he's gotten, through the support of the Revenge crew and his 'breakup' with Blackbeard allowing him to find his own way in life, realizing he doesn't need a purpose to have value and enjoying his time on the Revenge and the bonds he's made with Stede and the crew. He is, in the words of Ivan, "the most open and available I've ever seen him" by the finale. To take episode 2 as evidence he's suicidal is to erase his whole season of growth, which is an ironic thing to do in the context of these arguments. There's no canon evidence Izzy Hands was suicidal post-'Fun and Games'.

As for 'irresponsible,' once again I say, David Jenkins is not your therapist, he's not 'Dad,' and has no responsibility to tell his story any other way than he intended to tell it. Please find media that gives you what you want or need, and if the death of a fictional character causes you this much distress please seek help. I mean this kindly but seriously.

Killing off Izzy was ableist/bad for disability rep.

I point once again to the rest of the characters, several of which are disabled in varied ways. There are literally multiple other amputee characters specifically. It's not good storytelling to wholly avoid killing off any character that is disabled/queer/poc/female or [insert marginalized group here], especially when a) it makes sense narratively, and b) there's plenty of representation of these groups in the media in question. The answer isn't making such characters invincible and immortal, it's increasing the number of these characters in shows so it's not devastating when some do die in the course of natural storytelling.

OFMD was my comfort show/safe space show, now it's ruined for me

I am not trying to be insensitive here when I say that's a problem that is yours and nobody else's. David Jenkins created this show with a three-season vision and a story in mind, and he is telling that story to the best of his ability the way he wants to. It's already been said that he and the crew did not anticipate the fandom becoming as large and passionate as it has. The plot of the show was never intended to be 'fan service,' and it's ironic that there were people complaining this season that there's been too many fanservice tropes, up until David and the rest of the writers room made a narrative decision they did not like, then the complaints changed to not coddling the fans enough.

We as viewers can derive joy from this show, it can be a comfort to us, it can be important to us. But it was not designed specifically for that purpose, therefore it cannot fail in that respect. We do not have the right to harass writers for not steering the ship in the direction we want - it's their work of art, and we can choose to either come along for the ride or not. It's rare to see creators actually given the chance to tell their story the way they intend (budget cuts aside), so let him do that. He should not cater to fans, or cave and change the story to appease us. Respect his right to create his art, and remember you have the right to create your own. That's what fanfiction is for - write fix-its to your heart's content, but keep these realms separate. David Jenkins and Co hold zero, and I mean zero, responsibility to you. He could not please everyone no matter what he did, it would be fruitless to try, and it would certainly compromise the quality of the story he set out to tell.

You are absolutely allowed to dislike choices made in any show. Curate your media experience. If this show no longer brings you joy, stop watching. But it was never David's purpose nor responsibility to juggle the mental health of millions of fans. Trying to put that on him will only make him less enthusiastic about interacting with fans or continuing to make this show. This isn't rocket science. You're responsible for yourself, not this guy you call 'Dad' that you've developed a parasocial-therapist relationship with.

Izzy should have become captain of the Revenge.

Really?? Firstly, we did actually get that already in s1. He was tyrannical and the crew mutinied. But even if you think 'well after his character arc he'd be better suited to it,' it goes against the point of this arc. He's found value in not having a distinct role or purpose on the ship, decoupling his worth from the job he's expected to perform. He's found his place amongst the crew, not commanding it. There's no narrative reason to put him in charge when he's expressed no further interest in slotting himself back into a role full of pressure and expectations.

Con O'Neill was only told halfway through filming, it's cruel to just kill off the character he loves so much.

Guys, he's an actor. More than that, an actor with a theater background. I think he's used to characters dying. You don't need to look out for him. Con and David spoke one on one about it at length so they were on the same page, and David even said that Con took it well. I'm sure Con had input, just as other members of the cast have influenced their characters' stories, costumes, backstories, etc. Do you really think David Jenkins hurt Con's feelings or something? The writers (remember, it's not just David, it's a whole team of hard-working people coming up with these ideas) gave Con such a chance to shine this season, really developing Izzy beyond what he was given in s1 and letting Con show off his full acting range. Why are you only focusing on the destination rather than the journey? Sure, Con's probably sad to see Izzy go, but please do not project your distress onto him or try and accuse David & Co of being 'cruel' to their cast. That's really ridiculous. It's constantly evident how close they all are.

More importantly, do you actually, seriously think that Con O'Neill would want fans to harass each other or the writers over his character? The man who preaches being kind above all? There is no better way to make an actor uncomfortable about a show and its fanbase than to start treating fictional characters like they're more important than real people. He would not want you to bully people over Izzy Hands, and it's mind-boggling that some of you have convinced yourself otherwise.

Lastly, I just want to talk about the fact that some people are holding OFMD to absurdly high expectations.

Our Flag Means Death has been a pioneer series for its diverse representation, earnest storytelling, and themes of hope, community, and love. It's fine to discuss aspects of the show with a critical eye, but so much of the discourse has truly felt like folks are trying to find fault in a show that is leagues ahead of the average tv series that we still enjoy. How many fan favorites are killed off all the time? How many plotlines are scrapped, or drawn out without closure, or contradicted the very next season? How many shows are indifferent or actively hostile towards their fanbase? How many have any queer characters, or actually do bury them? The bar's so low, and OFMD has risen above to give us so much. Some are holding the show to astronomical expectations, waiting for it to fall from the pedestal it's been placed on. If something you don't like happens in the show, it's not suddenly ruined or demoted to being ~just as bad as those other shows~. Give them some breathing room, have some perspective on how progressive the show is, and that perfection is impossible, especially meeting every single viewer's idea of it. This is basically a repeat of the recent Good Omens drama, with an absurd number of people harassing Neil Gaiman for breaking up Aziraphale and Crowley and leaving the second of three acts on a very predictable cliffhanger. Let stories be told, let them unfold as they may, and you are free to leave anytime. It's so wonderful that more queer love stories are becoming popular and even mainstream, but let's not shoot ourselves in the foot by tearing them down when they don't go exactly the way you want it, which often seems to mean no drama, no character deaths, and therefore no conflict or even plot!

Just, please be civil human beings, and while this seems to be a difficult thing for so many fandoms to do, just keep your fan opinions in the fan space. Never bring your grievances to the writers, never bully them and persecute them for telling a story that you opted into viewing. That's something that goes entirely against everything this show, and this cast and crew, have imparted onto us - the importance of kindness, support, community, and love. I'll say it again because it bears repeating: the fate of a fictional character is never more important than how you treat real people. Just be kind in real life, which includes the internet. Thanks.

Now please, let's work together to ensure we get a season 3. There's so much more story to be told, and if you want to see Izzy back, whether that's as flashbacks, as a ghost haunting the inn, or in the gravy basket, we'll need more episodes! #RenewAsACrew

[brunchable]

Winter King, Chapter 6 : Tolerate it. [18+]

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 13.5K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: LOVE SCENE [18+]. Big size difference, Outdoor Sex, Sex. . .in a thunder storm ;D Summary: Y/N wrestles with her decision to make Wanda Bucky's consort, while political tensions escalate in the Kingdom. The council questions Bucky's absences, and Isaac continues to test him especially regarding Y/N. Bucky struggles with guilt and growing distance between him and Y/N. A/N: I have seen your votes and I am listening. Whoever wanted to dive deeper between Steve and Y/N, here you go lol. I am about to go to work asdfghjkl, will fix this later.

You sat at the head of the table, Bucky’s absence growing more noticeable. Prime Minister Fury, along with Lords Stark, Maximoff, Laufeyson, Odinson, and others, filled the seats, their gazes occasionally flicking toward the empty one usually occupied by the king.

Lord Stark leaned forward. “Your Majesty, we’ve received word that His Majesty has traveled to Annecy once more. This marks the third visit this month.”

You nodded, composed. “Yes, the king is attending to personal matters.”

Lord Maximoff exchanged a glance with Stark. “Of course, Your Majesty. Though His Majesty’s absences have not gone unnoticed.”

There was a murmur of agreement before Lord Laufeyson added smoothly, “The court speaks, Your Majesty. Questions have arisen—might there be more to His Majesty’s visits than we are aware of?”

Your eyes flickered slightly, but you kept your tone steady. “His visits are personal, Lord Laufeyson. The kingdom remains secure.”

Lord Carter leaned forward, his tone careful. “Naturally, Your Majesty. However, the council seeks clarity. His Majesty’s frequent absences—”

“The king’s affairs are his own,” you interrupted, your voice cool. “He has my trust, and the kingdom’s needs are being met.”

Lord Pierce, joining Carter’s line of inquiry, spoke mildly. “No one doubts that, Your Majesty. But the council must be informed, should any issues arise.”

The tension thickened, your patience thinning as you responded sharply, “The king’s reasons are not for debate. Focus on matters within your purview.”

Before the lords could press further, Isaac leaned forward, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Her Majesty has made herself clear. The king’s business is not for idle curiosity.”

Carter shifted uncomfortably, silenced by Isaac’s cold gaze. Laufeyson’s usual smirk faltered. “No disrespect, Your Majesty, but when the court whispers, it is our duty to listen.”

Isaac’s gaze turned to Laufeyson, his smile cold. “The council’s duty is to ensure the kingdom runs smoothly, not pry into matters the queen has deemed private.”

Stark nodded in agreement. “The prince is right. Let’s not overstep.”

Lord Maximoff bowed his head respectfully. “Our loyalty to the crown remains unwavering, Your Majesty. We trust your judgment.”

You glanced at Isaac, catching his sharp, protective gaze. His intensity spoke volumes in that brief, silent exchange, a warning the lords could not miss.

Prime Minister Fury seized the moment. “Very well. Let’s move on to the next matter.”

With that, the conversation shifted, but the underlying curiosity about Bucky’s frequent trips lingered in the room, a silent thread that would continue to pull at the minds of the council.

× × × ×

The subtle fragrance of lavender drifting in from the garden outside made the day peaceful, but beneath the calm exterior, your mind raced with the gravity of what you were about to ask a close friend.

Sitting at the head of the table, you clasped your hands tightly around the delicate porcelain teacup before you. Though everything around you seemed serene, the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. You can’t afford to question yourself now, but you were. The thought of—the thought of James bedding another woman—

A soft knock echoed through the room, and Scott stepped aside to reveal Lady Wanda Maximoff, with her older twin brother, Lord Pietro, following behind her. Wanda carried herself with her usual poise, her warm presence immediately comforting, while Pietro’s charming smile and easy nature always seemed to brighten the room.

“Your Majesty,” Wanda greeted with a graceful bow, and Pietro mirrored her gesture. "Thank you for inviting me."

You smiled, rising from your seat to greet them. “Wanda, Lord Pietro, it’s good to see you both. Please, come in.”

Pietro inclined his head, a touch of humor in his voice as he glanced at his sister. “I hope I’m not intruding, Your Majesty. I haven’t had much time with Wanda lately with all the work piling up.” He gestured to the scrolls under his arm, evidence of his duties to the kingdom.

“Not at all,” you replied with a soft laugh. “In fact, I’m glad you both came. There’s no need for formalities today.”

You gestured toward the plush chairs arranged around the table, and the twins took their seats. Wanda settled in gracefully, though you noticed curiosity in your friend’s eyes. Pietro, ever the lighthearted one, leaned back comfortably in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips as Scott began to pour the tea.

As the tea was served, you took a deep breath, your hands resting in your lap as you prepared yourself for what was to come. The conversation that had been playing in your mind was about to become reality.

“Wanda,” you began, “I’ve asked you here today because there is something I need to discuss with you.” Your gaze flickered briefly to Pietro before returning to Wanda. “It concerns the future of the kingdom… and James.”

Wanda’s expression shifted to one of concern, her brows knitting together slightly. “Of course, Your Majesty. You know I will do anything I can to help.”

You offered a small smile of gratitude before lowering your gaze to your teacup. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and after much consideration… I’ve decided to choose you as James’s consort.”

The room seemed to freeze, silence falling over you all. Wanda’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth parting slightly as she stared at you in disbelief. Pietro, who had been sipping his tea with a relaxed air, almost choked, lowering his cup abruptly as he blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation.

“Your Majesty—Y/N,” Wanda began, shaking her head slowly, her voice soft as a whisper, “I can’t… I can’t do that.”

You looked at your friend with pleading eyes. “Wanda, I’m asking you as a friend, not just as your queen. You would be doing me a great favor.”

Wanda cast a glance at her brother, who remained silent but watchful, his eyes reflecting concern. Pietro had told her about the council’s last meeting, but none of them was expecting Wanda to be chosen. It should feel like a privilege since it shows how much you trusted her, but to Wanda, it felt more like a betrayal if she accepted.

“But why me?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Why would you ask this of me? I’m not… I can’t be his consort. You are my friend—James is your husband—asking me to bear his heir feels wrong—utterly wrong.”

You leaned forward, your hands trembling as you clasped them together. “Wanda, you’re strong, compassionate, and loyal. You’ve always been kind to me from the start. And more than anything, I trust you. This kingdom needs someone like you—someone who is loyal to James and for the future of the throne.”

Wanda shook her head again, her eyes filled with both disbelief and a deep reluctance. “But, Your Majesty—”

“Please, Wanda,” You interrupted, your voice soft but carrying the weight of desperation. “The council is pressing from all sides. I… I’ve failed to give what this kingdom needs—security. If I don’t choose someone, they’ll force another woman on him—someone we can’t trust.”

The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and Wanda’s face softened, though her inner turmoil was evident. “Y/N, I can only imagine the pressure you’re under. I do. But this… this is so much more than just a favor. It’s a lifetime commitment.”

Pietro, who had been quiet until now, cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. “Your Majesty, you know my sister has always stood by you,” he said gently. “But what you’re asking of her… it’s monumental. It’s not just a title; it’s her life.”

You met his gaze with steady eyes, your voice unwavering. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice. But I trust Wanda. I’d trust her with my life. And with the future of this kingdom.”

Wanda’s gaze shifted to her brother, who nodded in silent support, though the weight of the decision was evident in his eyes. She let out a slow breath, her heart torn between loyalty to her friend and the enormity of what was being asked of her.

After a long silence, Wanda finally spoke, her voice trembling but resolute. “Your Majesty… Y/N, I understand the gravity of this, and I promise you I’ll help in any way I can.”

Her voice broke slightly as she continued, “I won’t let anyone else take this role, not if it means protecting you, the kingdom, and James. I will be his consort.”

A wave of relief washed over you, though it was bittersweet. “Thank you, Wanda,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes.

Wanda’s hand reached out to gently squeeze your hand, her warmth and understanding flowing through the touch. “I will do it—for you.”

The tension in the room eased slightly, though the weight of your request still hung in the air like a dense fog. As the conversation moved to lighter topics, the gravity of the decision lingered, each word spoken wrapped in the knowledge that the future of the kingdom—and your friendship—was on the line.

× × × ×

It had been Steve’s idea to take you into the town square for a change of pace. When he offered, his tone casual but warm, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. The thought of escaping the palace, even for a few hours, was too tempting to resist. And now, as you stepped into the bustling square, you felt an unexpected sense of freedom.

The town center buzzed with life, a vibrant contrast to the quiet, heavy halls of the palace. It was filled with market stalls, vendors shouting their wares, and the scent of freshly baked bread filling the air.

Beside you, Steve adjusted the simple cloak he wore, his usual stoic presence somehow softened by the commoner's garb. It felt strange to see him like this, blending in with the people. The usual lines of authority and formality blurred here. 

“This is more peaceful than I expected,” you mused, your gaze following a group of children chasing one another around a fountain, their laughter light and carefree.

Steve offered a small smile as he glanced around the square—noticing the other palace guards in their disguise following from a distance. “It’s nice to step away from everything for a bit. You don’t get many chances to see the kingdom like this.”

You nodded, your eyes sweeping over the bustling scene. There was a warmth here that you hadn’t realized you missed—a connection to the people you rarely felt while locked inside the palace walls. The air was filled with the hum of everyday life, and for a moment, you felt like part of it.

As you strolled along, a vendor’s booth caught your eye, its table lined with small, delicate flowers arranged in neat bouquets. Steve noticed your lingering gaze and, without a word, he picked up a small violet bloom and handed it to you with a smile.

The gesture was so simple, but the warmth of his hand as your fingers brushed could make any woman’s heart skip. 

“For you, my Queen,” he whispered discreetly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected flutter in your chest. “Thank you, Captain.” you whispered back, your fingers closing around the stem.

Steve smiled again, a little wider this time, and you continued walking through the square, the easy silence between you punctuated by the liveliness around. Every so often, you felt his gaze on you, lingering a second longer than it should.

You paused by a stall selling woven scarves, your hand brushing over the soft fabric as Steve stepped up beside you.

“Do you miss it?” Steve asked suddenly, his voice gentle. “Being able to walk among the people without being noticed?”

You let out a soft laugh, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. “I think I miss the simplicity of it all—the freedom to just be without expectations.”

Steve’s gaze softened. “Hm. Well, if her majesty will allow, perhaps I can take you here every once in a while. I’m sure Bucky would like that.”

Before you could reply, a sudden shout caught your attention. One of the vendors was struggling to move a cart, its heavy wheels stuck in the dirt. Without hesitation, Steve stepped forward, pushing up his sleeves until his elbows as he approached the man.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice kind but firm.

The vendor looked up, surprised but grateful. “I’d appreciate it, Sir.”

You watched as Steve bent down, gripping the cart’s handle with both hands. The muscles in his arms flexed as he heaved the cart forward, the wheels finally shifting free from the dirt. A small crowd of onlookers cheered as the cart rolled smoothly once more, and Steve, being humble, gave a small nod before stepping back to your side.

“Very impressive, Captain,” you said, your voice teasing, though you couldn’t deny the admiration in your tone.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “Just helping out.”

You nodded, allowing a soft chuckle tone escape you before you continued strolling down the busy street. 

The sound of lively music drifted toward you as you approached the center of the square, where a small group of villagers had begun dancing in a wide circle. You smiled at the scene—children twirling with their parents, couples laughing as they spun each other around. The joy was infectious.

Your gaze was drawn to a group of children playing nearby, their laughter echoing through the air. One of them tripped and fell, and second thought, you stepped forward, helping the little girl to her feet who began to whimper.

“Oh darling, are you alright?” you asked gently, kneeling down to brush the dirt off her knees.

The girl nodded, sniffling a bit but clearly comforted by your presence. The other children quickly surrounded the two of you, their curiosity piqued by the tall, kind stranger and the mysterious woman in the hooded cloak. One of the children, a boy with a messy head of hair, approached you shyly, holding up a delicate flower crown made of wildflowers and small ribbons.

“Here, miss,” he said, offering it to you with wide eyes, his small hands shaking slightly.

You knelt down to his level, offering a warm smile as you gently took the flower crown from him. 

“Thank you,” you said softly, your heart warming at the innocent gesture. The other children gathered closer, watching in awe as you carefully placed the crown on your head.

Steve, standing nearby, watched the scene unfold with a soft expression, his usual seriousness melting away. “It suits you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“Do you think so?” you asked, adjusting the crown slightly, a playful glint in your eyes.

Steve nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I do. You look...” He paused, his gaze lingering on you. “Beautiful.”

——

The sun was beginning its descent by the time Steve escorted you back to the palace. The energy of the town square still lingered within you, filling you with a warmth and joy you had not felt in some time. 

As soon as you crossed the threshold of the palace, the atmosphere changed. Waiting in the grand entrance hall, pacing with obvious anxiety, was Scott. The moment he caught sight of you, he rushed forward, nearly stumbling in his haste.

“Your Highness! Where have you been?” Scott’s voice was pitched high with panic, his eyes scanning over you as though searching for signs of harm. “I’ve looked everywhere—no one could tell me where you were! I feared the worst.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by his fervent concern. “Scott, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Fine?” Scott gasped, his hands finding his hips as he stared at you in disbelief. “Fine? You vanished without a word! Where in the world have you been?”

“I went to the town square,” you explained calmly, offering an apologetic smile. “Steve accompanied me. I simply needed some air.”

Scott’s eyes widened in shock, darting between you and Steve. “The town square? Among the commoners?” His voice carried a note of disbelief before he rounded on Steve, panic still evident in his expression. “What were you thinking Captain, taking her there? She is the queen! If something had happened—”

Steve, composed and resolute, crossed his arms as he met Scott’s gaze. “It was for her well-being, Scott,” he said, his voice steady. “She cannot be confined to the palace at all times. She needed space—an opportunity to see the kingdom beyond these walls.”

Scott spluttered, momentarily caught off guard by Steve’s calm defense. “But—there are risks! The security—what if someone had recognized her?”

“We were not careless,” Steve replied, his tone unflinching. “Guards were stationed in disguise, monitoring the surroundings. She was never in any danger.”

Scott huffed, searching for a retort but finding none. “Still, what if—”

“She is not a prisoner, Scott,” Steve interjected, his voice quiet but firm. “She needed a reprieve. It was crucial for her to reconnect with the people. You cannot shield her from the world indefinitely.”

Scott’s mouth opened as though to argue further, but he quickly closed it, recognizing the futility of his protest. His shoulders slumped slightly as he let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I understand, truly. But in the future, could we at least be informed? For peace of mind, if nothing else.”

You stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Scott’s arm, your smile gentle. “I apologize for causing you undue concern. You are right, of course. Next time, I shall ensure you are aware of my whereabouts. But I must say, it was a refreshing change. I needed that.”

Scott’s expression softened, his worry easing into relief. “Very well. Just… no more disappearing without notice, alright? I nearly summoned the entire palace guard.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “I promise.”

Steve offered you a slight nod, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “She was safe, Scott. And happier.”

Scott shook his head with a wry smile, exhaling deeply. “Alright, alright. But please, no more impromptu trips without informing someone.”

You nodded, feeling lighter now that the tension had passed. “Agreed.”

As Scott walked away, still muttering about protocols and safety measures, you and Steve exchanged a brief glance. There was something in his eyes—perhaps pride, or maybe simple relief—that remained unspoken as he gave you a final nod before turning and heading down the corridor.

Standing there, back within the grand and imposing walls of the palace, the wildflower crown still resting lightly upon your head, you found yourself smiling softly.

× × × ×

The grand ballroom had been meticulously prepared, every detail perfected, every corner gleaming under the soft glow of candlelight. It should have felt triumphant, a moment of quiet pride in the flawless execution of the evening’s preparations, but instead, the room’s silence only seemed to amplify the tension winding through Steve’s chest.

Natasha was nearby, adjusting the final touches on an arrangement of roses. Steve had always admired her composure, the way she managed to balance so much with such grace. But today, as he watched her, something felt different—his thoughts were scattered, a feeling pulling at him that he hadn’t quite acknowledged yet.

Taking a steadying breath, Steve stepped forward, clearing his throat softly. “Lady Romanoff,” he greeted, his voice formal, though he immediately felt how stiff it sounded.

Natasha turned, a flicker of surprise in her eyes before her familiar teasing smile appeared. 

“Captain Rogers,” she replied, her voice like smooth velvet. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy after all that heavy lifting? I wouldn’t want you injuring yourself before the ball.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Steve said with a faint smile, though his heart felt heavy in his chest. His fingers fidgeted at his sides as he gathered the courage for the conversation he’d been meaning to have. “I was hoping we could talk for a moment. If you have time.”

Natasha arched a playful brow. “You sound so formal, Captain. Of course, I have time.” She turned to face him fully, folding her arms lightly in front of her. “What’s on your mind?”

Steve hesitated, the words he’d rehearsed so many times refusing to form. He had planned to speak to Natasha about the rumors circulating regarding him and the queen, to assure her there was no truth to them. Yet now, standing in front of her, the urgency of that confession seemed to dissipate.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell her the rumors were false, but something inside him made him stop. He swallowed, unsure why the words felt so wrong now.

“I… I wanted to ask you,” he began, his voice faltering slightly before he forced it to remain steady, “about the dance at the Queen Dowager’s ball.”

Natasha blinked, clearly taken aback by the shift in topic. “The dance?”

“Yes.” Steve nodded, though the tension in his chest hadn’t eased. “I realized I never asked you to dance at the royal wedding, and… I regretted it.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, though a trace of amusement lingered in her gaze. “You regretted not asking me to dance?”

Steve’s jaw tightened briefly before he replied. “Yes. I kept telling myself it wasn’t the right time, and then… the moment passed. I’ve thought about it more than I should.”

For a fleeting moment, Natasha seemed genuinely surprised, her usual calm exterior slipping ever so slightly. 

“Well,” she said softly, her voice gentle, “you have another opportunity now, don’t you?”

Steve frowned, feeling the unspoken weight of her words, but unsure how to respond. “What do you mean?”

“The ball, Steve.” Natasha’s lips quirked into a small smile, “If you still wish to, you can ask me to dance.”

Her words settled over him like a revelation, but instead of the satisfaction he’d expected, there was only a strange disquiet stirring within him. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Natasha—he did, deeply—but something had shifted.

He exhaled slowly, trying to push aside the conflicting emotions swirling inside him. “Yes,” he replied, though the words felt heavier than they should. “I’d like that.”

Natasha’s smile softened, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—understanding, perhaps, or something more knowing. She stepped a little closer, her voice quieter. 

“Steve, I appreciate the gesture, but… I sense there’s something else weighing on you.”

Steve’s heart gave a slight stutter. He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Natasha always seemed to see more than most, and he couldn’t hide the shift in his own feelings from her—not entirely.

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to explain the strange conflict inside him. He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s just been… a lot as of late.”

Natasha studied him for a moment longer before offering a quiet nod. “We all carry our own burdens, Steve,” she said softly, her tone understanding. “But I’ll accept your offer for the dance. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Her kindness cut deeper than he expected, and for a moment, Steve felt a pang of guilt that twisted uncomfortably in his chest. But for now, he would do what felt familiar—maintain the normalcy that had been part of his life for so long.

“I’ll see you at the ball,” he promised, his voice softer than before.

Natasha gave him a gentle smile, but there was a knowing glimmer in her eyes that told him she sensed more than she let on. “I look forward to it, Captain.”

With one last glance, Natasha turned and made her way toward the door, her footsteps light against the marble floor. Steve watched her go, his chest tight with a confusion he hadn’t been prepared for. As the door closed softly behind her, he stood alone in the grand ballroom, his thoughts drifting back to you despite his best efforts.

× × × ×

Bucky sat in a wooden chair by the fireplace, his brow furrowed as he stared down at the letter in his hands.

The seal had been unmistakable—yours. His heart had leapt at the sight of it, though it had been weighed down immediately by the crushing guilt that had plagued him since he’d left the palace.

With a heavy sigh, he broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, and began to read.

——

My Dearest James,

I hope this letter finds you well, though I fear you are not. I know how you are—how you retreat within yourself when guilt wraps its cold fingers around your heart. And I know you will carry that burden far longer than you should.

But you must stop.

The last time we spoke… I know it ended on a bitter note. But I need you to hear me now, if you couldn’t hear me then.

I am not afraid. Not of you. Not of what happened. I know you blame yourself—your heart is too full of love not to. But you must understand, I do not hold you accountable for what you couldn’t control.

You think I am scared, but I am not. I’ve always known the man you are—the man who has stood beside me, who has fought for this kingdom, and for me, with more strength than you give yourself credit for.

I do not fear the Winter Soldier.

I fear for you, James. I fear the way you punish yourself for something you could never have prevented.

I forgive you. I forgave you the moment it happened. You must forgive yourself now, James.

Yours, Y/N.

——

Bucky’s fingers tightened around the edges of the letter, his eyes scanning the words again and again. His heart twisted painfully as he read the part where you had written, I am not afraid of you. It was the one thing he couldn’t accept—how could you not fear him after what he had done? After the way the Winter Soldier had surfaced, unchecked, almost hurting you beyond repair?

He had left to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe from the monster lurking inside him.

But your words clawed at the guilt he had buried so deep, tearing it open again. You didn’t blame him. You were asking him to return—to stand beside your as he always had.

Bucky swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to ease. He glanced at the fire, the flames casting a warm glow, but all he felt was the chill of self-loathing that had gripped him since that fateful night.

But beneath the weight of guilt, something stirred—a glimmer of hope. You still wanted him. You weren't scared. You were asking him to come back.

Bucky crumpled the letter slightly in his hands, his eyes closing as he leaned back in the chair, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. How could you forgive him so easily?

But you had.

And you were waiting.

Slowly, Bucky rose from his chair, his eyes still fixed on the letter in his hand. The firelight flickered over his face as he stood, staring at the words coming back as though they were a lifeline.

With a final glance at the flickering flames, Bucky folded the letter carefully and slipped it into his coat. His decision was made.

× × × ×

Flashback 

The night was cold, the moon barely visible through the thick, looming clouds. Isaac pulled his hood low as he made his way through the filthy streets of the capital. Beside him, Bucky moved in silence, his face obscured by a mask and hooded cloak. This part of the city—dark alleys, hidden corners, and rotting taverns—was a far cry from the opulence of the palace, but it was where the true nature of power showed its teeth. Here, loyalty was cheap, and secrets were traded like coin.

Bucky’s presence at Isaac’s side was a necessity, though he moved with the quiet menace of someone accustomed to shadowy work. His metal arm, though hidden beneath the cloak, gave him an edge in this world of underhanded dealings.

Isaac and Bucky approached the door of a small, decrepit tavern. No banners hung here, no signs to mark its presence—just a door swollen with age and damp, creaking on rusty hinges. This wasn’t the place for princes or kings, but neither Isaac nor Bucky minded getting their hands dirty.

They slipped inside, the rank stench of sweat and ale assaulting them as they moved toward the back of the tavern. A few patrons glanced up, indifferent, except for one man sitting in the far corner—a man Isaac had been chasing for weeks. He was a smuggler, an informant, and more importantly, the one holding the key to the web of intrigue brewing outside the palace walls.

Isaac’s eyes narrowed as they approached the table. The smuggler’s sly grin faltered when he caught sight of Bucky, whose presence was more foreboding than Isaac’s ever was. The man took a long gulp of his ale, trying to mask his uneasiness.

“Prince Isaac,” the man drawled, leaning back in his chair. “And… a guest. How delightful.” His eyes flicked warily to Bucky, whose silence was more menacing than any threat. “Thought you’d prefer more… respectable company.”

“I’m not here for your jests,” Isaac replied coldly, sliding into the seat opposite him. Bucky remained standing, the hood of his cloak casting his face in shadow, the gleam of the mask only just visible. Isaac kept his voice low, his tone sharp. “You know why I’m here.”

The man chuckled, swirling his ale lazily, though his gaze kept flickering toward Bucky. “Of course, Your Highness. You’re lookin’ for answers. But answers, they come at a price.”

Isaac slammed a small bag of coin onto the table, the gold clinking loudly enough to draw a few stares. The smuggler eyed it greedily, but his hand remained still. 

“I didn’t mean coin,” he said, leaning forward, his grin turning into something darker. “You want the kind of information that gets a man killed for knowing it. I want somethin’ in return.”

Bucky’s fist clenched beneath his cloak, the metal making a faint sound, causing the smuggler’s grin to falter further. Isaac noticed the shift, his own expression hardening. “What do you want?”

The smuggler glanced at the tavern’s patrons, then back to Isaac, lowering his voice. “There’s men—guards at the docks. They’ve been a thorn in my side for months, keeping my shipments from flowing as freely as they should. You take care of them… and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Bucky shifted, his presence radiating danger, but Isaac raised a hand to stop him. They didn’t have the luxury of refusing. Lives, including yours, were at stake, and time was running short.

Isaac nodded once, signaling his agreement. Without another word, he and Bucky left the tavern.

———

The docks were eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the gentle lapping of the water and the occasional distant shout from further down the wharf. Isaac crouched in the shadows, his eyes scanning the area. Beside him, Bucky stood tall and silent, his hood pulled low, mask concealing his features.

But they weren’t alone this time. Five guards patrolled the area, unaware that death was already circling them.

Isaac’s hand hovered over the hilt of his dagger as he eyed the guards, his pulse quickening with dark anticipation. These weren’t simple dockhands—no, they moved with too much precision. Whoever had sent them knew exactly what they were doing. But so did Isaac. He wasn’t here to simply observe anymore. He wanted blood.

Bucky shifted beside him, his eyes locked on the nearest guard, the metal of his arm barely visible under his cloak. The two brothers shared a brief glance, a silent understanding passing between them. There was no need for words. This would be quick and brutal.

Isaac moved first.

With deadly grace, he stepped out from the shadows, his dagger flashing in the moonlight as he approached the first guard. Before the man could even react, Isaac’s arm was around his neck, pulling him into the darkness. A quick, precise slice across the throat, and the guard crumpled to the ground without a sound. Isaac wiped the blood from his blade, his eyes cold and calculating as he surveyed the other guards.

But Bucky was already in motion.

Like a predator, he descended on the second guard, his metal arm gleaming in the faint light. The guard barely had time to shout before Bucky grabbed him by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The man’s hands clawed at Bucky’s grip, his face turning red as he struggled for air, but it was useless. With a swift motion, Bucky hurled him into the nearest crate, the wood splintering with the force of the impact. The guard’s body slumped, lifeless.

Another guard, hearing the commotion, turned to draw his sword, but Bucky was faster. He darted forward, his cloak billowing behind him as he closed the distance in seconds. His fist collided with the guard’s chest with a sickening crack, the force sending the man crashing into the water below. Bucky didn’t even glance as the guard sank beneath the surface.

Isaac, meanwhile, had already set his sights on the remaining two guards. His heart pounded with dark satisfaction as he drew his second dagger, moving like a shadow toward them. The guards turned just in time to see him, but it was too late.

Isaac dodged a clumsy sword swing, slipping under the blade with ease, and in one fluid motion, plunged his dagger into the guard’s ribs. The man gasped, his eyes wide with shock as Isaac twisted the blade for good measure. The guard dropped to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.

The last guard turned to flee, his terror evident, but Bucky was already there. With lightning speed, Bucky grabbed the fleeing man by the shoulder, yanking him back with such force that he stumbled and fell to his knees.

Isaac strode over, his dagger dripping with blood as he crouched beside the terrified guard. 

“Who sent you?” His voice was calm, but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The guard shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. “I—I don’t know! I swear!”

Bucky, crouched on the other side, his masked face making the guard visibly shiver, growled low and menacingly. “That’s not the answer we’re looking for.”

The guard swallowed hard, glancing between the two brothers. “It’s… it's a few noblemen! That’s all I know! They sent us to monitor the docks, to make sure no shipments went out without their approval!”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Noblemen?”

The guard nodded frantically, his fear palpable. “I swear it’s true! They’re moving in the shadows, controlling shipments, manipulating trade routes—anything to build their influence, to gain control over the kingdom’s economy. They’re preparing for something. But I don’t know who exactly is behind it. Please, let me go!”

Bucky exchanged a look with Isaac, his jaw tight. Whoever these noblemen were, they were building power, controlling the very lifeblood of the kingdom’s trade in order to position themselves for something far more dangerous.

Isaac glanced at Bucky, then back at the guard. He stood slowly, wiping his blade on the guard’s tunic. “You should’ve picked a better employer.”

Isaac stood slowly, his expression hardening. Without a word, he raised his blade, his intent clear. The guard’s eyes widened in terror, hyperventilating, bracing for his demise as Isaac stepped forward.

Just as Isaac moved to strike, Bucky’s hand shot out, grabbing Isaac’s wrist, stopping the blade mid-air. “Not yet,” Bucky growled, his voice firm. “We might need him later.”

Isaac’s cold eyes flicked to Bucky, causing tension between them. For a moment, Isaac seemed ready to argue, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. “And what good is he now? He’s just said he told us all he knows.”

Bucky’s grip on Isaac’s wrist tightened. “We don’t know how deep this goes, he might be able to recognise faces,” Bucky said, his voice low but steady. “If it’s any of our men in the council, we’ll need leverage. Alive, he’s useful. Dead, he’s nothing.”

Isaac’s eyes lingered on Bucky for a long moment before he slowly lowered his blade, his smile fading into a smirk. “Fine,” he muttered, stepping back. “But if he’s lying, I won’t hesitate next time.”

Bucky released Isaac’s wrist and turned back to the guard, who was shaking in fear, eyes darting between the brothers. Without a word, Bucky pulled back his fist and delivered a swift, calculated blow to the guard’s temple. The man slumped instantly, unconscious but still alive.

Isaac sighed, straightening himself before bringing two fingers to his lips and whistling sharply. From the shadows, a few of his trusted men appeared, their steps silent and measured, as if they’d been waiting for the signal.

Isaac turned to them, his tone commanding but quiet. “Take him back to the palace dungeon. Make sure you’re not seen.”

The men nodded, quickly moving to lift the unconscious guard. As they hauled him away into the shadows, Isaac glanced at Bucky, an eyebrow raised.

Bucky scoffed softly, crossing his arms. “I thought this was our mission.”

Isaac smirked, folding his arms in return. “It is,” he replied smoothly. “I’m just ensuring our hard work doesn’t go to waste. You know, for someone who likes control, you seem oddly protective of this man.”

Bucky shook his head, turning toward the alley that led back to their horses. “I just don’t like loose ends.”

Isaac chuckled darkly, falling into step beside him. “Neither do I, brother. Neither do I.”

Without another word, the two brothers disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving the carnage behind them. This was only the start, and Isaac intended to get to the bottom of it, no matter how much blood he had to spill.

———

Back in the tavern, the smuggler was waiting, though his grin had vanished when he saw the cold, expressionless mask Bucky still wore. Isaac slid into his seat once again, his eyes locking onto the smuggler’s.

“It’s done,” Isaac said, his voice a quiet warning.

The smuggler nodded quickly, pulling out a worn piece of parchment and sliding it across the table. “Here’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

Isaac snatched it up, his eyes scanning the faded ink. His breath hitched as he read the details—plans for a campaign. Meetings were being held in secret locations outside the city, and there were rumors of certain council members working to increase their influence. But nothing too specific, just enough to suggest the wheels of a larger plot were in motion.

“They’re on the move,” the smuggler whispered, his voice low. “But there’s a lot of money and promises changin’ hands. They’re layin’ groundwork, buildin’ influence. If enough doubt is stirred, starting with the queen’s inability to produce an heir—the crown weakens…”

Isaac’s grip on the parchment tightened, but the smuggler wasn’t finished.

“They want to keep the queen under pressure. Some are pushin’ for an heir—others for more drastic changes. It’s a game of patience, see? Slow moves, whispers in the right ears. The goal’s not to strike all at once, but to erode confidence in her.”

Isaac’s jaw tightened as he thought about the council meetings. But the smuggler gave no names, just the vague idea that influence was being traded, setting the stage for something bigger.

Isaac leaned in, his voice cold and precise. “What’s the end result?”

The smuggler smirked, but his eyes were cautious. “They want control—no different from any power game. But they’re not lookin’ to overthrow the queen outright. They want her weakened, agreeable to the council, so they can rule through her. If she slips too far, they’ll push for changes that make them indispensable.”

Isaac stood, the parchment slipping into his cloak as his gaze bore into the smuggler. “If you’re lying—”

“I’m not,” the smuggler said quickly, his fear palpable. “But you’d better act fast. Things are already in motion.”

Isaac nodded once, his mind already calculating their next move. Without a word, he and Bucky left the tavern, the night swallowing them as they headed back toward the palace. Their hands were bloodied, but the path ahead was clear.

End of Flashback

× × × ×

Next evening.

You stand in the queen’s private garden, sheltered within the gazebo, your heart heavy with the decisions you made—the favor you asked of Wanda. She agreed to be Bucky’s consort. It wasn’t unexpected, but that doesn’t soften the sting. You grip the wooden railing of the gazebo, trying to steady your thoughts, your mind racing as you imagine how you’ll face him when the time comes. The weight of the decision hangs in the air like a storm about to break.

He’s been gone so much lately, you think bitterly. His absences have started to feel like an extension of the growing distance between you. Annecy. The word alone churns something uneasy within you. What was he doing there? What could he not tell you? And now, Wanda…

Wanda, your closest friend, someone you trust. The idea of her stepping into that role—bearing an heir for Bucky—feels like a deep betrayal, even though you know it’s the council pressing the issue. It’s not Wanda’s fault, you remind yourself, but the weight doesn’t lift. Can you really face her now? Can you look Bucky in the eyes knowing what you’ve asked of her?

You exhale shakily, forcing your thoughts to still. This is for the kingdom. This is what needs to be done. It doesn’t matter what I feel.

But the truth is, it does matter. It gnaws at you, refusing to be ignored. The doubts, the questions, the longing for things to go back to the way they were before the weight of the crown came between you.

Before you can gather your composure, a pair of familiar hands slide gently over your eyes, warm and solid. You tense for a heartbeat, then instantly relax, recognizing the touch you know better than your own. His scent—the hint of leather, metal, and something uniquely James—washes over you, pulling you from the storm raging in your thoughts.

“Guess who,” comes the deep murmur, his voice laced with playful warmth. Your heart begins racing for an entirely different reason now.

“Bucky…” you whisper, feeling your body react to the surprise of his return. His hands slide away, and you spin around, eyes wide with disbelief. He stands before you, looking slightly worn but still very much the man you love. His expression is soft, eyes gleaming with affection as he drinks you in.

Your hands reach for him, clutching the fabric of his coat as though needing to confirm he’s truly there. The questions about Annecy, about Wanda—they all evaporate in that moment. You can’t bring yourself to ask, not yet. Instead, you act on instinct.

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a tight embrace. The relief of having him here, safe and in your arms, makes your chest ache.

You tip up onto your toes, your breath warm against his lips as you whisper, “I missed you.”

Bucky’s arms circle your waist, pulling you flush against him, his touch both firm and tender. He lowers his head, and you rise on your toes, meeting him halfway. The moment your lips touch, it feels as though they lock together perfectly, fitting like two pieces meant to be whole. The kiss begins soft, almost tentative, but the warmth quickly spreads, drawing you deeper into the moment.

The kiss deepens naturally, as though you’re trying to reclaim the time you’ve lost, and every moment pulls you closer, his lips parting slightly to capture yours again and again, coaxing you into the heat of it.

Your heart pounds as the intensity builds, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, anchoring you to him, while his other arm tightens around your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside fades, leaving only the sensation of his lips moving against yours, perfectly aligned, as if this is where you’ve always belonged.

But even as you kiss him, the questions gnaw at the back of your mind. What is happening in Annecy?

Bucky smiles against your lips, his rough voice betraying just how much he’s missed you too. 

“I missed you too, my queen,” he murmurs between soft, lingering kisses, his hands tightening around your waist as if he never wants to let you go.

For a moment, the world outside vanishes. Annecy, the council, Wanda—it all dissolves, and there is only Bucky and you, wrapped in each other’s arms. Your fingers weave into his hair, and you kiss him again, this time slower, savoring every second of his return. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this—how much you needed him.

But how long will he stay? The thought slips in, uninvited, and for a moment, your body tenses in his arms.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you keep your hands on his chest, looking up at him with a soft smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming back,” you say, your tone teasing, though your eyes betray the flood of emotion you’re holding back.

Bucky chuckles, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

“You did,” you whisper, still gazing up at him, the weight of your earlier thoughts pressing at the back of your mind. You can’t stop thinking about him being in Annecy and now Wanda. Would he be mad that Wanda agreed to the council’s demands? Would he—

No, you stop yourself. Not now.

Bucky’s arms tighten around you again as if sensing your unease.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling you back into his embrace. His voice is low, comforting. You rest your head against his chest, closing your eyes as you listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. For now, that’s enough.

For now, the rest of the world can wait. But deep down, you know the questions won’t stay buried for long.

× × × ×

Bucky backed you up against one of the wooden beams, shoved your dress up around your hips, and parted your thighs with his knee. He reached between your legs and hummed in approval when he found you slick and bare for him. 

“Already wet, my queen?” Bucky purred. “I has been a while since…” he nipped your bottom lip and thrust a finger into your tight, wet heat, smiling when he heard you gasp. “I missed this.” 

Your hips bucked up when he pushed another finger inside you. Bucky worked them in and out, slowly at first, then speeding up until he was knuckles deep inside you and the filthy sounds of his fingers fucking in and out of you mingled with your moans. 

Your eyes were half-closed, your mouth half-open. Your head fell back against the beam, exposing the slender length of your throat, and your entire body trembled as you neared orgasm. Bucky slowed his pace at the last minute, earning himself a frustrated groan. 

“Please.” You clutched at his arms, your nails digging tiny crescents into his skin. 

“Please what?” Bucky thrust his fingers into you again, hard, until your body bowed and you let out a tiny yelp. 

“Please what?” Bucky repeated. Sweat beaded his skin, and his cock strained at his pants, so hard it could pound nails. He was fucking dying, desperate to get inside you, but he could also watch you like this all night. No pressures, no inhibitions, just pleasure and wild abandonment as your cunt convulsed around his fingers and coated them with your juices. So fucking beautiful. So fucking his. 

“Fuck me,” you gasped. Your nails dug harder into his bicep until a tiny bead of blood welled on his skin. “Please fuck me.” 

“Such a dirty mouth for a Queen.” Bucky worked his cock out of his pants before he yanked his fingers out, lifted you up, and hooked your legs around his waist. “You know I’m yours right?” 

“I know.” Your eyes were wide and trusting and glazed with lust. His chest clenched. Bucky positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance and waited for a heartbeat before he slammed into you with one forceful thrust. You were so wet he slid in almost frictionlessly, but he could still feel your pussy stretching and struggling to accommodate his size. You cried out, your walls clamping around him like a vise, and Bucky let out a string of curses. Hot. Wet. Tight. So tight. 

“You’re killing me,” Bucky groaned. He dropped his forehead to yours and closed his eyes, picturing the unsexiest things he could think of—Lord Carter, horseshit—until he mustered enough control to continue. Bucky slid his cock out until just the tip remained, then slammed forward again. And again. And again. 

He set up a fast, deep, brutal rhythm, making you take every inch of him until his balls slapped against your skin and your moans became screams. 

“Shh. They’ll hear us.” Bucky pushed the neckline of your dress down. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your nipples pebbled with arousal, and the sight almost set me off. 

Bucky gritted his teeth. Not yet. 

Bucky lowered his head and licked and sucked on your nipples while he savagely fucked in and out of your tight, clenching pussy. By that point, he was more animal than man, driven by nothing more than a primal need to bury himself into you as deep as he could and claim you so completely you would never get each other out from under your skin. 

Thunder boomed in the distance, muffling the sounds of his groans and your squeals. Dimly, Bucky realized it was about to rain and there was no umbrella or anything to cover you both once you left the gazebo, but he’d worry about that later. Right now, the only thing that mattered to him was you and him. 

“James. Oh, God,” you sobbed. “I can’t…I need—” 

“What do you need?” Bucky grazed his teeth over your nipple. “You need to come? Hmm?” 

“Y-yes.” 

It came out as a half plea, half moan. You were wrecked. Your hair a mess, your face streaked with tears, your skin slick with sweat and hot with arousal. Bucky lifted his head and dragged his mouth up your neck until he reached your ear, where he whispered, 

“Come for me, my queen.” Bucky pinched your nipple and fucked into you with the hardest thrust yet, and you exploded, your mouth falling open in a soundless scream while your cunt strangled his cock. 

Thunder boomed again, closer this time. 

Bucky held your limp, shaking body up against the beam until you caught your breath. Once you did, Bucky set you on the floor, turned you around, and bent you over. He hadn’t come yet—the old trick of reciting royal decrees still worked—and his body vibrated with barely controlled tension. 

“Again?” you panted as Bucky slid his cock along your slick folds. 

“Darling, I wouldn’t be a good husband if you didn’t come on my cock at least three times tonight.” 

The storm broke right as he pushed into yoy, and rain lashed sideways at you both as he fucked you against the wooden beam. Lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating the curve of your shoulder as you clung to the railing for dear life. You’d turned your head sideways so your cheek pressed against the wood, and buck could see your mouth fall open as you struggled to catch your breath between his thrusts.

Bucky wrapped your hair around his fist and used it as leverage to make you take him deeper. You moaned, feeling your wetness drip down your legs as he pistoned into you without losing his rhythm

“This is for all the times you didn’t listen.” Bucky squeezed your ass before delivering a sharp slap that made you yelp. 

Slap. “That is for giving me away.” 

Slap. “And this is for being too good for me.” 

His pent-up frustration bloomed across your skin in red, and a dark chuckle rose in his throat when you bucked harder against him with each slap. 

“You like that?” Bucky pulled your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “You like getting your ass slapped while I pound that tight royal cunt with my hard cock?” 

“Yes.” The word broke into a moan, and your knees buckled. 

Bucky hissed out a breath. God, you were perfect. In every way. Bucky wrapped one arm below your waist, holding you up, and bent over you until his chest pressed against your back. Bucky covered most of your smaller build with his, shielding you from the splashes of rain as he buried penetrated so deep inside you he didn’t think he would ever get out. He didn’t want to. This right here, this was all he wanted. You. Just you. 

“Oh, holy—James!” The sound of his name on your lips as you shattered around him again finally did him in. 

Bucky came right after you with a loud groan, your orgasm tearing through him like a hurricane. He swore he lost his hearing for a moment, but when his senses returned, everything felt amplified—the smell of rain and earth mixed with the lingering scent of sex and sweat, the rhythmic patter of rain against wood, and the cool droplets on his overheated skin.

You trembled beneath him, and he gently moved you further into the gazebo, away from the rain.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his breathing finally easing as he slid the straps of your dress back onto your shoulders, smoothing your hair from your face before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You nodded, though your body still shook slightly. He kept his arm around you, holding you close as you pressed your face into his chest, seeking comfort. A fierce protectiveness welled up in him, his mind racing.

God, this woman... she has no idea the things I would do for her.

The two of you sat quietly in the gazebo, listening to the rain. You sighed heavily, breaking the silence. Bucky seemed lost in thought too, his brow furrowed.

You were thinking of only one thing—Bucky would have to do this with someone else.

"Care to share what's on your mind?" he asked softly, his gaze searching your face.

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts too much to say aloud.

Another heavy sigh escaped you, and Bucky pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours, eyes looking deeply into yours

“We don’t have to go through this—”he whispered, though you both knew the truth. You spoke of duty, of sacrifice, and of the inevitability of what was coming. You reminded him of the council’s pressures, the way they were closing in on you both with relentless demands.

Bucky had resisted fiercely, a storm brewing behind his eyes every time the subject of a consort was mentioned. But you knew, deep down, he had agreed—not because he wanted to, but because duty demanded it.

“I’ll do it,” he had said reluctantly, his voice tight with emotion, his eyes heavy with sadness as he stared into the dark courtyard. “But not because I want to.” 

You nodded, your heart sinking, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. It felt like an unwinnable war—a chess game where you were being cornered at every turn.

Then, suddenly, Bucky’s hands cupped your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “But know this,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion, his words trembling but certain. “I love you.”

Your breath hitched. It was the first time he had said those words. Your heart stilled in your chest, and you felt the air shift between you. His gaze never wavered, his grip on you firm as if grounding you in that moment.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice quieter but no less determined. “No council, no consort, no crown can ever change that.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and for a moment, the world outside—the rain, the duty, the pressure—all faded away. All that remained was the man before you, his love for you laid bare.

“I love you too.”

A cloud drifted over the moon, casting a shadow across the gazebo, as if the world itself was holding its breath in response to the words exchanged. You reached up to cup his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw as his breath mingled with yours, the rain now a distant hum.

× × × × 

The grand ballroom of the palace is a vision of opulence. Glittering chandeliers hang from the high, vaulted ceilings, casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd of nobles dressed in their finest. The sound of soft music fills the room, mingling with the gentle hum of conversation and laughter as lords and ladies dance beneath the grandeur of the palace.

Tonight is a celebration like no other—the Queen Dowager’s 60th birthday. The entire kingdom has gathered to honor her, and the air is thick with anticipation, though not just for the festivities. For weeks, rumors have swirled, and everyone knows tonight is not only a celebration of the Dowager Queen’s life but also the announcement of the king’s consort.

At the head of the room, seated on a raised dais, is the Queen Dowager herself. Her regal figure is draped in rich velvet and adorned with jewels that sparkle in the candlelight. Despite her age, her posture is straight, her eyes sharp as she observes the party unfolding before her.

You stand beside her, dressed in a resplendent gown of deep sapphire, your face composed, but the weight of the night presses heavily on your shoulders. Bucky has not yet arrived, and though you wear a serene mask, your heart races with the knowledge of what is to come. Wanda has agreed to be the consort—a decision made only days ago. And tonight, it will be made public.

The room is alive with elegance and grace, but there is an undercurrent of tension. Lords Stark, Laufeyson, Odinson, and Maximoff mingle among the crowd, their keen eyes taking in the atmosphere, speaking in hushed tones, yet there is an air of respect and duty in their mannerisms. Across the room, Lord Carter, Pierce, and Haynesworth huddle near the columns, their conversations much quieter, their eyes darting toward the dais now and again, as if waiting for something to happen.

Your gaze moves over the crowd, catching glimpses of familiar faces—friends, allies, and those who seek to challenge you at every turn. Your fingers tighten slightly around the stem of your glass as the Dowager Queen leans over, her voice soft but firm.

“You’ve done well tonight, my dear,” the Dowager Queen says, her eyes sweeping over the ballroom. “But I know there’s more on your mind than just the celebration.”

You force a smile, your gaze dropping briefly. “There is… much to consider, Your Grace.”

Before the Dowager can respond, the music quiets, and a soft murmur ripples through the crowd. A herald, dressed in the royal colors, steps forward to the center of the room, his voice booming over the murmurs.

“My lords and ladies, may I present His Majesty, King James Barnes!”

The grand doors at the far end of the ballroom swing open, and Bucky enters, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He is dressed in his royal attire, his dark coat adorned with gold embroidery, his posture regal, though his eyes scan the room with a certain intensity. His gaze locks onto yours for the briefest moment, and your heart skips a beat, a familiar ache stirring deep inside you.

The memory of your last conversation flickers in your mind like a candle flame.

It had been the first time he’d said the words, and they had pierced your heart like an arrow. Even now, with the ballroom filled with nobles and the future of the kingdom hanging in the balance, those words echo in your mind. I love you. Only you.

Bucky strides through the ballroom, his movements carrying confidence, as the crowd parts for him. There is a ripple of whispers, everyone knowing that tonight will mark more than just the Dowager’s birthday.

He makes his way to the dais, offering a deep bow to his mother, the Queen Dowager, before turning to the crowd. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, move over the assembled nobles, the weight of the announcement pressing down on him as much as it does on you.

“Tonight, we gather to celebrate the life and legacy of my mother, the Dowager Queen,” Bucky begins, his voice carrying across the ballroom. “But we also mark a new chapter for the kingdom.”

The crowd shifts, all eyes on him as he continues.

“For the good of the realm, and to secure the future of the kingdom, I have made my choice,” Bucky announces, his tone steady and authoritative. “It is my duty, as your king, to take a consort—a partner to stand beside me, to ensure the strength and continuity of our royal house.”

Your heart clenches, your breath catching in your throat. You knew this moment was coming, had prepared yourself for it, but nothing could dull the sharp pain that cuts through you. As the words leave his mouth, they feel like a blow—one that was expected but no less devastating.

Your lips twitch into a smile—forced, brittle—just as Wanda Maximoff begins to move toward Bucky. The ballroom feels stifling, the air too thick, and the weight of your crown feels heavier than ever.

Across the room, Steve’s sharp eyes catch the subtle shift in your expression. He knows you too well to miss it. The forced smile, the brief flicker of something raw behind your eyes before you mask it once more. His jaw tightens as he watches you, his heart aching with a protectiveness he cannot act on.

Bucky turns his gaze toward the other side of the ballroom, where Wanda stands, regal in a deep crimson gown. Her face is composed, but her eyes flicker with a mixture of emotions—duty, reluctance, and loyalty. She approaches with graceful steps, but you can see the strain in her posture, the weight of what is about to happen pulling on you both.

“I have chosen Lady Wanda Maximoff to be my consort,” Bucky declares, his voice unwavering. “Her loyalty to the crown and her strength in service make her the perfect choice to stand beside me as we move forward.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the nobles exchanging glances, their whispers carrying the weight of speculation. But you hear nothing but the dull roar of your own thoughts. You feel a part of yourself fracturing, the reality of the moment hitting you like a tidal wave. Bucky had agreed to this out of obligation, and the announcement had always been inevitable—but it still hurts.

Wanda approaches Bucky, her head held high, though you can see the tension in her eyes. As the two stand together before the court, you force yourself to breathe, to hold your composure, but your mind drifts back to Bucky’s whispered confession.

I love you. Only you.

It is a truth you cling to now, even as the world around you shifts. The court sees duty, tradition, and the securing of a future, but all you can feel is the silent pull between yourself and the man who has just pledged his future to another—yet belongs entirely to you.

Steve watches from the side, his eyes narrowing as he notices the tight grip you have on the stem of your glass. He knows you too well. His fingers flex at his side, resisting the urge to cross the room to you, to pull you away from the spectacle and tell you that you don’t need to bear with it. But he remains still, knowing it isn’t his place.

At the center of the room, Bucky turns to Wanda, offering his hand. There’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes—so brief it might have been missed by others—but not by you. You see it, the reluctance in your friend, but she masks it with the same grace and resolve you’ve come to admire.

“My lady,” Bucky says quietly, his voice low but carrying through the room. It is a formal address, one that makes the moment feel even more distant, as though he is a stranger to the woman standing before him. "Would you honor me with this dance?"

Wanda, ever poised, places her hand in his, her face calm though her eyes flicker with the same unspoken tension that fills the air.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she replies, her voice soft but steady. Together, they step toward the center of the ballroom, the eyes of the court following their every move.

The music swells, a soft, elegant waltz that seems to glide through the room, and Bucky and Wanda begin to dance. Their movements are flawless, graceful—two figures moving in perfect time to the music, their steps measured and practiced.

You stand watching, your heart a storm of emotions. You know this dance is expected, part of the performance the court demands. But it doesn’t make it any easier to witness. Bucky’s hand rests lightly on Wanda’s waist, their hands joined as they spin elegantly around the room. The candlelight flickers across their faces, casting a warm glow over the scene, making them appear every bit the royal couple.

But you know better. You know the truth behind Bucky’s unreadable expression. You know the reluctance in his steps, the way his eyes had flicked to you just moments before.

As the music plays on, Bucky’s gaze briefly lifts, scanning the room as he twirls Wanda gracefully. His eyes find yours once more, just for a heartbeat, and in that fleeting second, the distance between you feels like an abyss. Yet within that glance, you see it—the promise he had made to you. I love you. Only you.

As the dance continues, you feel Steve’s presence now beside you. His voice is low when he finally speaks, so quiet that only you can hear. “Are you all right?”

You force your smile to remain in place, though the edges of it feel fragile. “Of course, Steve,” you reply softly, your gaze never leaving the dance floor. “It’s what we planned.”

Steve’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t press you. He can see the cracks beneath the surface, but you aren’t ready to break.

———

You now stood at the edge of the room, watching, your heart heavy beneath the layers of decorum. The forced smile on your lips hadn’t wavered, but inside, you felt the slow ache of each moment as Bucky and Wanda danced together, the image of unity on display for all.

Beside you, Steve shifted, clearly contemplating his next move. He had been watching you carefully, the subtle cracks in your facade not lost on him. His hand twitched at his side, ready to offer a comforting word, or perhaps—though he hadn’t quite decided yet—an invitation to take your mind off what was unfolding before you.

But before Steve could act, a sudden, movement appeared in your periphery. Isaac, with his signature confident swagger, swept in like a shadow, already reaching for your hand.

“Your Majesty,” Isaac said, his voice a smooth purr as he bent low, bringing your hand to his lips. His gaze, piercing and unapologetic, met yours as his lips barely brushed your knuckles. “Would you grant me the honor of this dance?”

As Isaac straightened, his hand gently guiding you, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with Steve. With a subtle smirk, Isaac winked—quick, teasing. The gesture was playful, almost like saying, Too slow, old friend.

Steve, who had been moments away from offering his own hand, caught the wink and let out a quiet scoff. “Touché,” he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms with a resigned shake of his head.

Isaac’s grip was firm but careful as he guided you toward the dance floor, his presence impossible to ignore. He moved with a confidence that was entirely his own, and in that moment, you felt the eyes of the court shifting from Bucky and Wanda to you and Isaac. The atmosphere changed, and suddenly, you were no longer just an observer.

As Isaac led you into the dance, Bucky’s gaze, still locked on you from across the room. He had been searching for you, for that silent connection he had relied on, but now, he found you in the arms of his brother, your movements graceful as you both glided across the floor.

Bucky’s steps faltered, but it was so short that only those close enough to him might have noticed. He quickly regained his composure, though the tightening of his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil.

Isaac, the perceptive one, seemed to sense it all, but instead of commenting, he kept his attention focused solely on you, his dark gaze holding yours with an intensity that could set anyone on edge.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Isaac murmured as you moved, his voice low and private, meant only for your ears. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around yours, his hand resting firmly at your waist.

You forced a small smile, your voice steady despite the chaos in your heart. “Thank you, Prince Isaac.”

His lips quirked into a knowing smile, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “But there’s something heavy in those eyes of yours. Careful, or you’ll let the court see behind the mask.”

Your heart raced, but you held your composure. Isaac’s words, though teasing, carried a truth to them—a reminder that nothing in this room went unnoticed, especially by him. He had always been sharp, his mind working faster than most, and he knew exactly how to play the game of court politics.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s gaze hadn’t left you and Isaac. Though he continued the steps of the dance with Wanda, his focus had shifted entirely. His hands were still gentle at Wanda’s waist, but the tension in his body betrayed his facade. Seeing his brother with you—his queen—ignited something fierce in him, he felt territorial. But there was nothing he could do.

Isaac, of course, was fully aware of Bucky’s burning gaze. He thrived under it, moving with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his smirk deepening as he twirled you effortlessly around the dance floor. His hand lingered a little too long at your waist, his grip a little too firm, but you knew Isaac’s game. He wasn’t flirting—at least not in any traditional sense. He was sending a message, one only Bucky would understand.

As the dance continued, Isaac leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear. “You really shouldn’t let them push you so hard,” he murmured, his tone both a warning and a tease. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, an understanding passed between you. Isaac had a force of nature that couldn’t be easily contained. But in this moment, he was on your side, playing the court games you both knew all too well.

“And what would you suggest?” you asked, your voice just as low, though there was a trace of amusement in your tone.

Isaac’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Perhaps we should discuss that in private.”

Before you could respond, the music began to fade, signaling the end of the dance. Isaac spun you one last time, his grip firm as he brought you back to him, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He bowed low, his smile never faltering, as the nobles began to applaud the dancers.

Isaac straightened, casting a glance over your shoulder where Steve stood, watching intently. A smirk played at Isaac’s lips, an eyebrow quirking in playful challenge.

“I believe you, Captain, is next in line?” Isaac teased and released your hand, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, before turning toward Steve.

Steve met Isaac’s gaze with a knowing look and not entirely amused by Isaac’s antics, but he stepped forward, offering his hand to you. Isaac winked at Steve, ever the provocateur, before stepping back into the crowd, his presence still looming even as he disappeared.

“Until next time, Your Majesty,” Isaac said smoothly over his shoulder, his voice carrying across the space.

Steve’s hand was firm yet gentle as he guided you onto the dance floor. His posture, ever respectful, gave you the space to breathe after the charged interaction with Isaac. As the soft strains of a new song filled the air, you settled into the rhythm of the dance, your thoughts still swirling. Steve remained silent for a moment, his gaze focused on you with that quiet, watchful intensity he always carried.

After a few graceful steps, you looked up at him, your curiosity piqued by the complexity of the night’s events. You kept your tone light, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity beneath your words. 

"Steve," you began softly.

“Hm?” Steve tilted his head, looking like you had just pulled him out of a daze.

"What exactly is the relationship between Bucky and Isaac?" you continued, curiosity evident in your tone.

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, though not in surprise. He had known this question would come eventually. His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly as he considered his response.

“It’s… complicated,” Steve said, his voice low, almost careful. “They’re twins, but they couldn’t be more different. Isaac, he’s…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Unpredictable, free in ways Bucky cannot be. Bucky carries the weight of the crown, the burden of duty. Isaac? He has always had more… flexibility, more freedom.”

You nodded slowly, following his lead through the steps of the dance, but your mind lingered on the tension you had seen earlier. “They appear to work well enough together. Yet, at times, it seems Isaac is testing him… challenging him.”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes momentarily flashing with something close to concern. “Isaac does push boundaries, especially with Bucky. He’s always been that way—testing limits, even when they were younger. It’s his way of… reminding Bucky that not everything needs to be done by the book. But it’s not malice—it’s just who he is.”

You tilted your head, studying Steve’s face as you moved in time with the music. “Do you think Isaac means to undermine him?”

Steve hesitated, his gaze flickering to the side before returning to yours. “Isaac isn’t the type to want the throne. But he does like reminding everyone���including Bucky—that he could disrupt things if he wanted to. He thrives on keeping people on edge, especially when it comes to Bucky.”

You considered that for a moment, your thoughts swirling as the image of Isaac’s smirk flashed in your mind. There was a familiarity between Bucky and Isaac, but also a tension that ran deeper than just sibling rivalry. It was a complicated dynamic, one where power and loyalty seemed to shift with every passing moment.

“Do you think Bucky trusts him?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s jaw tightened slightly. “Bucky trusts Isaac, but he’s careful. Isaac’s not predictable—he doesn’t follow the rules the way Bucky does. But there’s no ill will between them. Bucky understands Isaac better than anyone, and they know where they stand with each other.”

As the music slowed, Steve’s eyes softened as he looked down at you. “Isaac might be the way he is, but he cares for his family. And Bucky? He will always have your back, no matter the cost.”

Steve’s gaze lingered on your face, and this time, he didn’t look away. His eyes swept over your features with an intensity that caught you off guard, as though he was truly seeing you for the first time. The scent of your perfume—something light and floral—wafted between you, more noticeable now than ever, soothing but also stirring something unfamiliar in him.

He hadn’t realized before how the corners of your eyes crinkled when you smiled, or the way your nose scrunched up just a little when you teased him. It made his chest tighten, that simple gesture now suddenly feeling like something he wanted to see more of. He noticed the way you would lightly tap your fingers against your arm when you were deep in thought, the subtle shift of your lips when you were holding back a laugh.

And your laughter…he had always liked it, but now, it seemed to break through the weight of everything, softening even the hardest moments. The way you tilted your head ever so slightly when you listened to him, how your eyes sparked with curiosity or quiet amusement—these were things he had never paid close enough attention to, until now.

“Did you finally get to dance with Natasha?” you asked, your tone playful, accompanied by that teasing smile that made his heart flip unexpectedly. His hand tightened at your waist, steadying you both.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly, though his voice sounded distant, his mind still caught up in the whirlwind of noticing all these little things about you that now felt so significant.

“And?” You gave him that look—the one where your eyes gleamed and your nose crinkled just a little—completely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

Steve hesitated, his gaze not shifting from you. "It was fine,” he said softly, though it didn’t carry the usual ease, his voice heavy with something else entirely.

“Steve?” you asked again, your voice pulling him back.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his focus still wholly on you. “I guess I just didn’t realize…”

“Didn’t realize what?” you asked, your brows lifting as you gave him that smile that always made something stir inside him, something that had always been there but now felt stronger, unavoidable.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck in his throat. He just shook his head, letting out a breath, his expression softening but not easing the tension. “Doesn’t matter,” he finally said, his voice warm but distant, as though he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself—or to you—what he was feeling.

But it was there, clear in the way he looked at you, in the way he held you. His feelings had shifted, and whether he acknowledged it or not, everything is changing for him.

× × × × 

Winnifred sat regally at her place, observing the dance floor with practiced calm. Her keen eyes had seen much over the years, and though tonight was meant to be one of celebration, something caught her attention.

Her lips pressed together, brow furrowing ever so slightly as her gaze locked onto Captain Rogers, who was dancing with you with a big smile on his face.

"W-What..." she began softly, her voice carrying a trace of unease. "Do you see what I’m seeing, Scott?"

Scott, your loyal attendant, turned his head, following her line of sight. "Your Majesty?" he asked, a touch of confusion in his voice.

Winnifred's eyes didn't waver as she nodded toward Steve, her voice barely above a whisper. "Captain Rogers... look at him."

Scott blinked, glancing from the queen to Steve. His brow furrowed for a moment, before he finally saw it—the way Steve’s gaze lingered on you, the softness in his eyes that could be mistaken for nothing else.

"Ah... yes," Scott began, trying to choose his words carefully. "Captain is... looking at Her Majesty like she hung up the stars."

He said it almost absentmindedly, his voice casual—until the weight of what he’d just said hit him. His mouth snapped shut as realization dawned, and he quickly turned back to Winnifred, eyes wide with alarm.

The Queen Dowager’s eyes narrowed, her lips thinning as she took in the scene before her. She remained silent for a long moment, watching the way Steve’s expression betrayed him, how he seemed oblivious to the others around him, lost in the sight of you.

Winnifred finally sighed, her voice laced with quiet concern. "That... is precisely what worries me."

Scott stiffened slightly, knowing the gravity of her words. Steve's obvious affection for you, Bucky's wife, was not just a matter of unspoken feelings. It carried the potential for deep complications—for both the crown and her son.

Winnifred turned her gaze away, her regal composure never faltering, though the tension in her eyes lingered.

Tags: @theendofthematerialgworl @httpb3a @spiidergirlsworld @sebastians-love @stevesbbgorl

@targaryenhues @almosttoopizza @scott-loki-barnes @brckenmemories @vicmc624

@classicrebound @nommingonfood @greatenthusiasttidalwave @railmesebstan @annawilk

@landoslutmeout @winterslove1917 @missvelvetsstuff @s0kovianwitch @lveegsoi

@suckerfordylansstuff @daydream-believer19 @shadowzena43 @itsshellzy @decaffeinatedjellyfishduck

@melsunshine @barnesxstan @singsosworld @kitsunetori

@im-normal-about-characters @hayleythecannibal @tallaennatargaryen @honeywithemoney

[vidavalor]

Ngk.

Yes, this is meta on ngk. I know, right? Possible origins and other layers of meaning? Ngk.

When Crowley uses it, "ngk", as we know, is the sound of a very clever word nerd just being so floored, confused, overwhelmed, or otherwise incapable of speech that we might think that what he says sounds like a bunch of random letters. It comes out like a curse at times... or a !!!!!... or it would be a squeak of frustration, if only his voice weren't so deliciously low. People read it as the verbal equivalent of a short keysmash and, emotionally? It probably is, but... those letters are not at all random.

The reasons why these letters were chosen are so. very. Crowley. that I think you'll find that the character's (and Pratchett's) interesting word kink might, as Mrs. Sandwich would say, put a smile on your face. 😊

I am pretty sure that ngk is two, different but interconnected, word history jokes related to the Greek language. Why the Greek language? Because it, along with Latin, is at the core of basically every language that etymologists refer to as being part of the Indo-European language family, which is pretty much every language of European countries, the Persian Plateau (sometimes referred to as the Iranian Plateau), and the northern Indian subcontinent. If you ever do word history research on words in English or Indo-European languages, it won't take you longer than two minutes to start finding your way back to the Greek roots for many of the words you look up. Greek is both a language in its own right and also the part of the origin story of words in dozens of other languages. Greek is at the core of the etymology-inspired figurative language in Good Omens and in Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels.

Because Greek has existed as language for literal ages and is so foundational to the study of other languages, etymologists needed a way to differentiate between the before and after period of big change in the Greek language.

Known to date, there really was one, massive shift that the language underwent over a period that has been narrowed down but the exact time and cause is debated. The most common theory is that it is related to The Fall of Constantinople and the collapse of the Byzantine Empire. The point is that, during this semi-disputed period of time, Greek underwent some big shifts that are, by and large, what differentiate between what we'd call "Ancient Greek" when looking at word history and how Greek has been written and spoken since through today. It's all the same language but it's just shifted so much, especially during this one period, that there are differences in it that people looking at word history need to be aware of when looking at the origins of words versus what things might mean or how they might be spoken in Greek in our current times.

In order to do that, etymologists created the term "New Greek" to mean Greek as spoken after this period of massive change to differentiate it from the Greek of more ancient Greece. NGK or ngk is the etymology world's acronym for "New Greek." Making this even more confusing? At some point in the last couple of decades, etymologists began calling "New Greek" by a different name-- "Modern Greek"-- but it means the same thing and, from what of it I've seen, they have largely kept the same ngk acronym. (The change to "Modern Greek" happened after Good Omens was first published.)

So, the first thing of the two things that ngk is? It's Crowley being so speechless or over everything that he's like argh, it's all fucking New Greek. He's cursing or exclaiming in frustration using the acronym for the shift in languages that underpins all of the languages he most frequently speaks, the evolution of which he lived through. Even word-nerdy poets have moments of FUCK WORDS and that appears to be one level of what ngk is. This also might be a little joke as well on the controversial old idiom that exists in different forms throughout different languages-- "it's all Greek to me"-- that was popularized in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. For more on that, I'd refer you to this really interesting Atlas Obscura article on the idiom.

Ok, so, that's the first of the two Greek-related things that ngk is. Let's look at the other one so you can see just how great a Crowley joke this...

While ngk is an acronym, it also, separately, happens to be a double consonant sound in Greek. Do not worry if it's been awhile since you studied a language, I will simplify. 😊

In English, a double consonant is when a consonant appears twice in a row in a word, like the two times in a row the letter l appears in the word balloon. In Greek, it's a different thing. A double consonant in Greek is a combination of two consonants that make one, collective sound together. Greek double consonants are closest to (if not exactly equivalent to) what is called a digraph in English phonics, which is the sound made by two letters commonly put together, like sh, qu, ch, etc. When you were first learning English, you were taught things like how sh makes a "shh" sound, in addition to learning the individual letters of the alphabet, right? That's kind of what some double consonants are like in Greek.

One of the Greek double consonants is the combination of the letters gamma + kappa in the Greek alphabet. When you say the double consonant of gamma + kappa aloud?

You are saying: "Ngk."

The letter gamma here in this double consonant is pronounced a little differently than usual and has what's known as the "gamma nasal" quality that causes it to be pronounced like "ng." Kappa here is pronounced and written like the English letter k, for which it is the direct ancestor. The pronunciation of the gamma + kappa double consonant is the sound that Crowley says in the bandstand in S1.

So, Crowley is actually cursing/exclaiming out a double consonant of the Greek alphabet...

Why? And why this one, when there are a bunch?

Start by checking out how the uppercase and lowercase letters for both gamma and kappa are written below:

Uppercase gamma is the crank part of a crank tool. Lowercase gamma is the origin of the English letter y-- homophone: the signature word of questions: why?

Gamma is a term used all over the place in math and science, including gamma rays from electromagnetism and gamma waves, observable neural movement that is connected in the mind to large-scale, high-level cognitive activity, often related to memory, perception, creativity, and attention. These are also some of the brain waves most impacted by mental health issues and that are also some of the most affected by things like meditation.

Gamma is also a Greek word for the camel. (Lest you think that Good Omens forgot a rideable animal for their never-ending horses/transportation euphemism fiesta... found the missing camel! 😂) The word gamut also comes from gamma and originally referred to music-- the entirety of the musical scale-- but now you can say "runs the gamut" about anything in a way that means the same thing as the idiom "from soup to nuts"-- just everything, from beginning to end. From creation to completion and back to the start again.

Kappa has ties to some Crowley-related science and spirituality, such as The Kappa Effect, which is a theory explaining how the mind's perception of distance can affect its perception of how much time has passed. In early Buddhist scriptures written in Pali, a kappa-- referred to as a kalpa in later writings-- refers to a very long period of time between the creation and the destruction/recreation of a world or universe and related to the lifetime of that world or universe.

So, we have memory, time, the creation of the universe, crank tools, asking questions... these letters are turning into a whole list of Crowley-related things, yeah? There's more...

Kappa is written in both cases like the letter k-- homophones: 'kay (as in, ok/okay) and cay.

The etymology of ok is actually an example of a briefly-existing cant vocabulary, which... heyyyy. That feels relevant, yeah? 😲

In the late 1830s, a (very limited) cant vocabulary emerged in New England that created new slang out of making acronyms out of intentionally misspelled existing phrases. It is thought to have started or been encouraged by a Boston Morning Post article that mocked a competing newspaper by saying it was spelling things the way its rival did-- spelling "all correct" as "oll korrect." A lot of issues of newspapers from this time period no longer exist so the exact issue that caused this paper to troll its rival is unknown. There is some speculation that it might have been something of a class warfare battle being played out between papers who appealed to different groups of people, given that the mocking "oll korrect" sounds, when spoken aloud, to be of the same pronunciation quirks of the 'pahk the kah in hahvahd yahd' variety of Boston accent.

"Ok" is believed to have originated as an abbreviation of "oll korrect." This article either prompted-- or was an example of-- a cant vocabulary that did a rare thing-- united Boston and New York lol-- for a little while in the late 1830s. There were other abbreviations used as words like this, for which you had to understand one of Crowley's favorite word things-- homophony-- and know the pattern to understand. KG meant "no go", off of the homophonic "know go," for example.

Ngk, like ok and these other words, is an abbreviation being used as a a word. Not of one that's misspelled but one that is from the cant vocab of etymology nerds, making it fun in an especially meta sort of way.

The most famous of these phrases from this late 1830s Boston/New York cant-- and the only one to survive-- is "ok", which etymologists think was probably was helped to remain by being picked up and used in President Martin Van Buren's failed reelection bid in 1840.

As you can probably tell from the fact that I said that it was used in a Presidential campaign, the cant vocabulary spilled into the mainstream and, so, lost relevancy as it was no longer something that not everyone understood. "Ok" was kind of like the "brat" of the 1840 U.S. presidential campaign, in some ways? Once everyone got the joke, people still used it in the mainstream because it was a quick thing to say or write as an affirmative but its subversion was lost by its meaning becoming commonly understood.

While this 1830s cant vocab was *much* smaller, the best anyone can tell-- more like a handful of phrases and not much more-- it's kind of similar to Polari, in terms of the language burning out but leaving lingering words in mainstream English.

Ok, so the other word from kappa: cay.

A cay is a low island. It has a synonym-- one definition of the word key (Key Largo, The Florida Keys, etc.). So, we have a low island-- the use of the beach/the sea/fish/bodies of water as figurative language for sex in Good Omens-- and its also the word that is a key. Keys you use to start engines to drive and also to unlock language. A key is the necessary component to interpreting hidden language and here's one of the keys/clues to taking apart the use of language in Good Omens right here in ngk.

Kappa is from the Phonenician kaph, which meant the hollow of the hand (the palm) when it is forming a cup shape... as in when praying/meditating or when creating or presenting something...

...and the sole (homophone: soul) of the foot-- its arch, in particular. Arch, alternative meaning: playful, knowing, dry teasing.

In other words, kappa, etymologically, is the movement of the hands and feet-- it's living on Earth. It's using the hands to make magic and art, to worship and give to others. It's the the cobbler walking the Earth-- living life.

Crowley's story is the double consonant of gamma+kappa. Not just the angel he was and his life on Earth since his fall but how they're really all intermixed into one person because he's always been the one person. Ngk is who he is and that is why, of all the possible sounds, he says this one.

While it was both an acronym and a sound prior to the novel, ngk was, to the best of my knowledge, not written as a word in its own right prior to the publication of Good Omens. Crowley's exclamations are the first utterances of ngk as a word and our understanding of what it means comes from the context of when and how he uses it in the novel and in the series. In that way, ngk is Good Omens' own contribution to language evolution.

Terry Pratchett, who wrote his Discworld novels and Good Omens with etymology-based figurative language, made word history such a big part of Good Omens that he had the book itself contribute to language evolution by having it birth a word in Crowley's ngk.

From interpreting its meaning by the context of how Crowley uses it... from researching from where this grouping of three letters as a word could have originated... from incorporating the word into fan art and fanfic... and from using it amongst ourselves in real life and explaining it to other people if they ask for the last couple of decades?

We've all been collectively helping Terry Pratchett contribute a new word to the English language.

Let's get it into the dictionaries next. 😊

[honeygrahambitch]

(two weeks post-fall)

Will woke up from what many would not call "sleep". He was getting sick and the fever was not making it easy for him to rest. That was especially at night when he would wake up every two hours until the sun would rise and he would fully abandon sleep.

He was trying to hide that from Hannibal. They hardly had any medication and he didn't want to use their resources on himself. Not when Hannibal had been in a worse shape than him after the fall.

Besides, he was used to being feverish. He could handle it. He kept replaying those thoughts in his head as he pulled his blanket over his shoulders trying to ignore how cold he was feeling.

What drew his attention from that was a certain smell. Something he hadn't felt in what felt like ages.

He had a look at his phone. It was past midnight. Was he hallucinating the smell then? The unique flavor that any human being could recognize?

With the blanket on his shoulders, he left his bed and then his room. In the little kitchen of the cabin, Hannibal was pouring something liquid in a pan on the stove.

"You making pancakes?"

"Crepes."

Will nodded. Of course.

"I didn't mean to wake you up." Hannibal said as he flipped the crepe swiftly without any effort.

"I was awake." Will said as he sat down at the table and pulled the blanket tighter, which Hannibal didn't miss. It was not a cold night. "I didn't think of you to be the type to get midnight cravings."

"Only at times. I did debate whether I should use our few resources on a personal craving."

"Not so personal, I can never refuse panca- crepes." Will corrected himself. "You appetite coming back is a good sign."

"Yes but your fever is not."

"Fever? I'm fine." Will said as their eyes locked. "It's nothing."

"You are aware we do have aspirin, aren't you?" Hannibal asked as he placed a perfectly folded crepe on a plate in front of Will. It would have been amazing if he hadn't had to fill it with jelly. Store-bought jelly. But it was the least he could do with what they had. At least he was sure Will wouldn't mind it.

"I am, yes." He said as he lifted the crepe and put it back in the plate quickly, as soon as it burnt his fingers. "I just want to make sure you are fully recovered. Maybe you'll need it."

"It's enough for me as well. You should certainly not deprive yourself of medication at my cost."

"You didn't left your bed at all last week. Your state was critical, Hannibal. I just got a little fever."

"Thank you for your concern." He said as he realized contradicting Will was of no use. He flipped another crepe. "But you will be as useless as I was if your cold progresses. If we have to change our location again, your condition will only worsen."

He knew he had to approach the subject from an utilitarian perspective, since Will put more price on resourcefulness than on his affective concern.

"If I promise to take an aspirin, will you let me enjoy my crepe?" He asked defeated, even though he was trying to hide his own amusement.

"Yes. And I apologize for the jelly. It's less than adequate than what I normally use."

"It's perfect." Will said as he was devouring his crepe. "I promise to find you a house with a fully equipped kitchen. With a fully equipped fridge."

It was not much, but it was coming from Will.

A promise.

A promise to give Hannibal something he had been deprived of in the last few years in Chilton's hospital.

For now, eating crepes filled with jelly at midnight, in a wooden cabin would do.

[affableramen]

Declaration of love. Pantalone x afab! Reader

angst, hurt/comfort

word count: 1,1K

autumn vibes 🍂 🌧️

“Ah, you returned the debt. Congratulations.” His voice seems bitter. For a moment you think he is somewhat upset. He passes you your documents back, his gloved fingers almost unnoticeably trembling.

“You returned everything. Everything, till the last coin. Now, are you happy with the results?”

“Are we at the exam or something?” you finally ask him, indifferently though.

Pantalone chuckles under his breath.

“What I mean is… Are you happy to finally get rid of something as overwhelming as my presence?”

You do not respond to that, looking into his eyes intensely as if trying to read this shady prick’s mind.

“What? Surely you’re not going to miss me. That would simply be a lie.” He snickers. The chuckle that leaves his mouth seems more bitter than mocking.

You snatch the important papers from his hand, with a corner of your eye noticing how his fingers immediately tense into a fist.

“Well then, if that’s a goodbye…” once again he smirks. “Though, I’m not entirely sure I want to let go of you.”

“Do you hear yourself? You said that out loud.”

“Yes, I did.” The tall dark figure of the banker towers over you. “Surely you have not grown fond of me during these twelve months?”

“…fond of you?” You chuckle nervously. “I am… was your debtor.”

Pantalone adjusts his glasses.

“So?”

The both of you are standing in front of each other, just staring at this point. You can feel the electricity right in the air. It’s heavy.

Without any warning Pantalone just starts approaching you, cutting the air in your lungs with his assertive presence.

You instinctively press both hands against his shoulders as he leaves no space between your bodies.

“Stop, you’re pushing me.”

Pantalone looks into your eyes and then at your hands. Seeing you obviously not accept his attention, and your eyes speak confusion, he pulls away and speaks nonchalantly:

“You may leave.”

Dumbfounded, you feel stuck with your back against the wall as if glued.

“What are you waiting for? You’re free”, he waves his hand dismissively. You do not move an inch, however. Your inner self is left debating over his words. It’s so strange, you were not expecting him to change his mind so quickly. For a moment, you feared he’d never let you go, like a typical yandere so often spoken of in fiction.

“I said, leave”, you hear him repeat.

He raised his voice, you realised it was quite the stretch for him. Without thinking twice, you obediently bow your head, taking documents as you hurry leaving.

As you escape the Northland Bank, cold shivers run down your spine. You feel insulted, no, humiliated at the thought of him teasing and seducing you only to just drop the act in the end. For a moment you truly believed that Pantalone, the ninth Harbinger, was going to kiss you. How absurd! Why would he even—

You sense wetness on your hair and the loud sound of droplets hitting the trees.

“It’s raining.”

You pull your phone out and dial a taxi number. You wish to get home as sooner as possible, not wanting to contemplate over a strange encounter with your former boss, who will eventually become a nobody to you.

Unfortunately, as dumb as it can ever be, the taxi-driver mistakes the address and you realise you have to cross the street over. You feel yourself already soaked, but you need that damned car to get you to your home. As you start crossing the road a sleek black car stops right in front of you, cutting your way.

“I have a proposition for you.”

It is obviously Pantalone who gets out of the luxurious car. No one but him would ever show off with such privilege.

“What do you want? I returned the debt, our deal is finished. I’ve got nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing at all?”

His hair slowly gets soaked too.

“I’m well aware of the gossips and the kind of man I give off. However, you must believe me for once.”

You look at the taxi waiting for you and then back at Pantalone.

“Fine. But make it quick.”

Pantalone takes a small step closer to you.

“Would you ever say ‘yes’ to me? Not the forced ‘yes’ as if demanded by the contract, but genuine agreement? What if I ask you to stay?”

“Stay where?”

He takes one single step closer.

“Stay… as if in my life.”

“Stay with you?”

Your jaw practically drops. The taxi driver is still there, waiting.

“I want you. I love you. You got under my skin ever since you entered my damn bank.” For the first time in life you see vulnerability in Pantalone’s eyes. You question if it is real, though.

“Those twelve months were the best in my life. So don’t go now, don’t leave me alone. Stay close.”

“You truly want it?”

He gently takes your hands in his, seeing no discomfort or pushing back.

“I want to have you around. I need your company. Be mine.”

You release from his hands, instead reaching your hand to gently graze his face.

“Is that yes enough for you?” You kiss him. It’s the gentlest kiss Pantalone’s ever known. Pantalone tenses up when you accept his affections but eventually gives into your hug, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer. You can feel his gloved fingers gently tangle your hair.

“I don’t want to say goodbye. Not to you, my dear debtor.”

“Ex-debtor.”

“Yes. My dear ex-debtor. Stay with me, I wish nothing more.”

As he keeps you in the tight, possessive embrace that makes you realise you are his, you feel the heavenly feeling of mutual attraction, which you so long suppressed in you, fearing to be rejected or mistreated by such a powerful man.

But right now, he is not intimidating or dominant. He feels soft, goofy even.

“Pantalone… We’ll catch a cold like this.”

“You’re right. As much as I don’t want to stop, you seem to be soaked already.”

“You are too. It’s bad for you asthma.”

Pantalone pulls away, speechless for a moment.

“I certainly did not expect you to remember such an insignificant thing about me”, the banker turns to the taxi driver that has been waiting for you and signals him to go. Not releasing your arm, he gently guides you to his car.

“Let’s keep ourselves warm and dry.”

[jikookuntold]

The Untold Truth of "Letter"

Back in 2021, 2022, or even early 2023, if someone had told me about the possibility of JK having vocal credits in Jimin's solo album, I would have called it wishful thinking at best. But it happened, and we got the song "Letter" (AKA Dear Army) as a hidden track in Jimin's first solo album, FACE, with back vocals by JK, and his name written invisibly in the album book.

The perfectly matching vocals of Jikook, with the heartfelt lyrics and soft instruments, undoubtedly made one of the most beautiful songs of the year, which could break many records for Jimin and his album if it was released in the streaming and buying services. The release of Letter as a hidden track in Jimin's solo album raised many questions and debates among Jikookers, and as someone who barely scrolls in the Tumblr app, I know I'm a bit late for the party, but I may or may not have some notes to add to the already made discussions. FYI, these are my analytic views and speculations, I am fully aware that this song has been named "Dear Army", and Jimin called it a "Fan song" on different occasions. So, I do not intend to ignore that and diminish Jimin's expression of love for his fans.

What's a Hidden Track?

Before getting into "Letter", we need to understand what a hidden track is. Well, the definition is pretty clear; When a song is not listed in the official track-list of a music album, but it exists in (some versions of) the physical printed CD, cassette, or LP, it's called a "hidden track". 

Hidden Tracks of BTS

There are several techniques and reasons to "hide" a track in an album, but in the case of BTS discography, the hidden tracks exist for a specific reason, and I'm going to explain it with the only examples we have. The debut album (2013) and Love Yourself: Her (2017), are the only BTS albums including hidden tracks, and if we ignore the skits in each album, "Path" and "Sea" are the only hidden songs BTS ever released. So, these two songs must have something(s) in common and different from the other BTS tracks that caused them to end up as a hidden track. To find that common factor, we need to check their lyrics first:

Path

[Intro: RM] Yeah, wassup? You know, time flows like stars (Check it, check, check, check, check it out) [Verse 1: RM] I started from imitating Eminem, Garion, Epik High To writing my own raps Now I see that I’m already at Hongdae My lyrics back then were all (****) Bossy But we dunno, we dunno When I dreamed without anyone to stop me Reality tied me down and trapped me inside Oh, my youth trapped me My hot heart lost to my cold mind (Damn) As I blindly told myself my decision was right I don’t know whether it’s an angel or a devil, but it says to me "Do you really have any plans to rap properly?" (Yes or no?) I didn’t have more time to hesitate and didn’t want to be stupid So I came here and three years passed by Some say art is long, life is short But for now, art is life Life is sports, just do it, uh [Chorus] If I had chosen a different path, would have I been any different? If I stopped and looked back (Oh hey ya, hey ya) What will I see at the end of this road? Where you should’ve been standing? (Oh hey ya, hey ya) [Verse 2: Suga, Suga & Jungkook] A long time passed and by 2013, I was a trainee for three years I was a high school student who grew overnight (I became a child) White hair grew from my desires and one by one my many friends (Parted ways with me) I spent my time in Seoul alone without a family (That was my third spring) I thought my worries would disappear with my debut ahead of me I closed my eyes to the present that had nothing to change But the reality was different, even as my family and friends tried to stop me I walked into the tunnels that shed no light on my own I thought I would be alone (Why?) As it turns out, there weren’t seven bare feet but we were wearing the shoe named Bangtan We’ll have to go forward, take one more step, become newer And that’s how I spent my fourth spring in Seoul (Whoa) [Chorus] If I had chosen a different path, would have I been any different? (Hey) If I stopped and looked back (Hey) Oh hey ya, hey ya What will I see at the end of this road? Where you should’ve been standing? (Oh hey ya, hey ya) [Verse 3: J-Hope] 2010, the year I walked towards Seoul! I just loved to dance, and now I’m standing on top of the stage Until then, I overcame many pains and scars to prepare myself I survived with my belief to bend, not break, and ran for three years Let the stars inside my heart shine! Now shine on me differently Write “Bangtan” on the paper world I walk my future with more lights on Give a smile to that far future (Ha, ha)

As you can see, the lyrics are simple and self-explanatory, so I guess we don't need any lyrics analysis, and the description section of the Genius translation I used here, says it all:

“길 (Road/Path) follows the member’s decisions to become idols in the Korean music industry. They recall their different upbringings from listening to hip hop in school to the hard years of being trainees under BigHit Entertainment. BTS pose the questions of how their lives would be different if they made a different decision, and they ask themselves what the future entails. A very introspective track about their career for a debut album, BTS display their thought processes as they enter the music scene.”

Sea

[Intro: Jungkook] Oh, ah, yeah [Verse 1: Rap Monster] I just started walking and ended up at the sea I'm looking at the coast from here There's endless sand and the rough wind I'm still looking at a desert I wanted to have the sea so I swallowed you up But I'm even thirstier than before Is what I know really the ocean? Or a blue desert? [Refrain: J-Hope] I don't know, I don't know If I'm feeling the waves right now, yeah I don't know, I don't know If I'm being chased by the sand wind, yeah I don't know, I don't know Is this the sea or the desert? Is this hope or despair? Is this real or fake? Shit [Pre-Chorus: J-Hope] I know, I know, my hardship right now I know, I know, I'll overcome I know, I know, open me up It's the place I can rely on Think positive, I'm swallowing my dry spit Even if I'm nervous, even if I'm in a desert I'm in the beautiful Namib Desert [Chorus: Jimin, Jin] Where there is hope, there is always trial (4) [Hook: V, Jungkook] Where there is hope You know, you know You know, yeah yeah (2) [Verse 2: Suga] I thought this was the ocean but it's a desert A medium-sized, ordinary idol was my second name Countless people get cut from broadcast But someone's empty spot is our dream They say some of these kids can't make it cuz their agency is too small I know, I know, I know too Times when the seven of us had to sleep in one room With foolish hope that tomorrow will be different before we fell asleep We saw the mirage in the desert but we couldn't grasp it Praying that we'll remain in this desert till the end Praying that this isn't truly our reality [Verse 3: Suga] In the end, we reached the mirage and it became our reality The scary desert became the ocean with our blood, sweat and tears But why is there this fear in between the happiness? Because we know too well that this place is really a desert [Refrain 2: Suga] I don't wanna cry I don't wanna rest No, who cares if we rest a little? No no no I don't wanna lose It's always a desert I told you everything Then I'll just be more depressed [Chorus: Jungkook, V] Where there is hope, there is always trial (2) [Hook: Jimin, Jin] Where there is hope You know, you know You know, yeah yeah (2) [Bridge: Rap Monster] Ocean, desert, the world Everything, the same thing Different name I see ocean, l see desert I see the world Everything's, the same thing With a different name It's life again [Hook: V, Jungkook] Where there is hope You know you know you know yeah (2) [Chorus] Where there is hope, there is always trial

Compared to “Path”, we have more innuendos and metaphors in “Sea” because of Namjoon’s lyricism (it was supposed to be in his mixtape at first), but as the description says:

"It discusses the hardships BTS has experienced since debut, particularly struggling to compete with groups from other, larger agencies. In this song, BTS reflects on these hardships, fearing that their global fame and success could leave as suddenly as it arrived."

Common Denominator

These two lyrics have one big thing in common, and it's the topic they are discussing. They talk about the members' struggles, fears, hopes, and dreams career-wise. I was thinking maybe these issues are something they can only share with their longtime fans, not the general public, therefore, they decided to release them as hidden tracks in the physical album for their real fans who buy them, something like the difference between Weverse and Instagram, I guess? Then I realized that’s something Namjoon has mentioned himself to Billboard Magazine, in LYS: Her interview:

And if fans are so lucky to own the physical album, they’ll hear two hidden tracks at the very. Why keep them secretive?

"I think they’re hidden because you have to be a real fan of BTS to understand them. Otherwise, you won’t. Otherwise, you’d like to be, “Why are they feeling so confused about things? They’re good?!? They’re No. 1 somewhere, they have so much stuff, why are they worried?” People always talk about that. But if you are a true fan of BTS and you buy the album and you listen to the hidden track — if you are an Army and we spent time together from 2013, 2014 — they could understand. It’s kind of more special, more closer, to our true hearts"

What about "Letter"?

In conclusion, hidden tracks for BTS, are something between them and their real fans who know about the path they have wended, therefore they can open up to them through lyrics and talk about their fears and struggles and ambitions without being judged or misunderstood. Also, we have to debunk some of the misconceptions going around (especially after the release of FACE) about hidden tracks. For example, some claimed that Letter is made for fans because hidden tracks are always supposed to be “gifts” for fans. This claim obviously can’t be true when you are able to listen to a hidden track legally, only by purchasing the physical album. Gifts are supposed to be free of charge, like Promise, Still with You, Christmas Love, My You, and so on. 

Then what about “Letter”? Why this song is a hidden track in Jimin’s first solo album? Did Jimin want to say something by hiding this track in FACE? To answer this questions, we need to pay attention to the lyrics and how the song was made:

 [Verse 1] What should I say? And how should I convey it? I'm really not getting my words right I know it sounds so clichéd So that it's not taken lightly Let me say it to you properly [Chorus] I say oh-oh, I hope you can be happier You, who stretched your hand out to me whenever I fell I say oh-oh, I'll hold it now (I'll hold it) So when you feel like crying, you won’t fall [Verse 2] After all this time has passed Will we still be the same? Just like we were when we first met, hmm-mmm If we are together, even the desert could turn to a sеa Just like how we were then, oh-hoo-ooh [Chorus] I say oh-oh, I really hope that it’ll last forever You, who felt like a warm spring to me in a cold winter I say oh-oh, I'll always cherish it All those moments between you and I [Refrain] Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah To you, who see me bigger than what my little self is (to you) So that I can give as much as I’ve received (oh-oh) So that I can keep my word (oh-oh) Don't worry, just stay by my side, yeah (Yeah) We don’t know what the future holds (holds, yeah) And that’s scary and makes us afraid (oh-oh) But don’t forget that we’re always together (don't forget) [Outro] I know it sounds so clichéd So that it's not taken lightly Let me say it to you properly

The Feelings

If you compare these lyrics to "Path" and "Sea" you can clearly see the differences, and except a mention of "sea and desert" there's nothing in common between them. Letter is not a monologue about career issues, it's a romantic song. These lyrics are expressing the feelings and addresses them to an audience and appreciates them. But how was this song made?

According to Jimin, at first, SMF Pt2 was supposed to be the last track of his solo album, but in their YTC promotion and recording era when they announced that they have planned to put their group activities on rest, Jimin decided to express his feelings of the moment through a letter, and turned that letter to song lyrics. Producers liked the song so much and decided to add it in his album and that’s how “Letter” was born. Although Jimin didn’t explain much about those “feelings” and left the conclusion to us like a true artist, we all know that this song is totally different from the other tracks in his album.

All the tracks of FACE are dark and sad. Jimin’s first album is all about himself, and he talks about the painful emotions he had as an artist and a person in the past few year, but with “Letter” there is a different story. Recording Academy admitted this and wrote:

“Though the EP is technically only six songs, the physical version has an additional “hidden” track called “Letter”. The song provides an intimacy that stands out from the other FACE tracks, capturing Jimin in his best form. The lyrics are poignant and vulnerable as Jimin pleads for someone to stay (“Baby, don't leave Just stay by my side, yeah”) The biggest surprise though? Fellow BTS member Jungkook contributes vocals to harmonize with Jimin.”  

A Fan Song?

“Letter” being a “Fan Song” is a stated fact by Park Jimin himself, and there can’t be any arguments about it, but that fact doesn’t mean Jimin made this song with the thought of fans in his head and all about them. In one of my old posts, I said that a faceless crowd can’t be the muse for a romantic song, especially when that song has a "standing-out intimacy".

Another reason for calling "Letter" a fan song, is the fact that it starts at 6:13 of the album, the numbers that remind us of the debut date of BTS. We can't call this a coincidence because we know how thoughtful and punctual Jimin is. But don’t forget that 6.13 is more of BTS time than ARMY time. So, as much as you call this track a song for fans, it can be called a song for his fellow BTS members.

Why JK?

Now, let’s address the elephant in the room. Why JK was a part of this song? Did it mean something for Jimin, or did he have no other options? Jimin said that FACE is an album about himself, and he didn’t feel right about featuring other artists in it, that’s why he decided to record SMF Pt2 all alone and do all the rap parts by himself instead of featuring Yoongi in it. He collaborated with several producers and songwriters (including Namjoon), but there was no featured artist in the whole album.

About the background vocals of the album, he did most parts by himself, and for the other parts, he worked with artists who already had credits in his album, such as BLVSH, Sumin, and James Keys. But JK didn’t have anything to do with Jimin’s album. Jimin was fully capable of doing the background vocals of Letter by himself, as he did for the first parts of the song. Jimin never really explained why he decided to have JK in the song, other than saying their voices match. This known fact doesn’t give us much information, but we can have our speculations. 

Closer Than This?

Another thing that questions the idea of “Letter" being inspired by fans, is the existence of “Closer Than This”. The newest release of Jimin is the exact definition of a fan song, the lyrics are straightforward and directly address the fans and leave no place for speculation. If CTT is the result of Jimin getting inspired by his fans, then “Letter” must be inspired by something different because these two songs are not comparable. 

The difference becomes more obvious when we look at the initial version of the Letter lyrics in Jimin’s drafts. I wonder what the Grammy journalist who called the final lyrics of “Letter” intimate would have said if they read this: 

You hugged me tightly Only you who protected me Hold my hand, hold my hand tightly You who reached out my hand You held out your hand to me

We don’t know what was going on in Jimin’s mind when he wrote these, but we can see that the initial lyrics have been moderated, and the intimate parts, which clearly refer to a person, didn’t end up in the final lyrics. FYI, I’m doing a lyric analysis here, and this is not a complaint or conspiracy theory because Jimin said that he liked the way the final version came out, and it's all that matters.

For Fans, Not About Fans

So far we made it clear that "hidden tracks" are not about fans, they are for fans like any other BTS song, but the hidden tracks are a secret between the artist and the fan, something that only the true and dedicated fan can understand, and this applies to Jimin's "Letter".

Jimin gave up on many records for streaming and buying by releasing this song as a hidden track in his album. So, there must be an important message in this song that he wanted to convey to the true fans. He did his share of being thankful to fans by CTT, and I don't think he needed to do it twice in a year.

Maybe you prefer to think Jimin just made this song for ARMY and hid it in the album as a surprise or because it didn’t match with the whole concept of FACE, and you might not be wrong about any of that. But, don’t forget that he didn’t explain anything about this, and we both are just making assumtions.

Yes, maybe Jimin didn't acknowledge JK being a part of Letter in his promotion era, but JK did everything he could for his share. A few hours before the release of FACE, he started a live and played a part of it with his guitar, and months later, he watched Jimin's live performance for Festa while harmonizing with it and reminding us that he knows the lyrics very well. In Jimin's documentary he was very supportive and even teased for a live performance with him in future.

Why Just Jikook?

Jimin and Jungkook are not the only members of BTS. But I don't know why everytime Jimin or JK do something with romantic undertones, the fans (OT7 ARMYs, to be more specific) immediately try to label it as "About ARMY". I usually don't see this energy with the other five members. I'm perfectly sure they are also very grateful for ARMY, they have released several songs about them, and they would have loved to collaborate in a fan song with Jimin, too.

Then why Jimin only included JK in Letter? Why he wanted to sing for "ARMY" with him? Unless we assume Jimin's gratitude towards ARMY has connections with JK, and I don’t even want to bring up 2019 "I am army" jokes. But "Letter" is the song the most optimistic Jikookers didn't expect to exist. You may try to ignore and normalize it, but you can't deny the fact that Letter proved Jikook's unbreakable connection as two harmonic colleages, long time friends, and inseparable souls.