#me: (after looking some things up) why are there only two romance options per gender and there's a chance of one dying?

[catalinemorosetheblog]

Started Playing Mass Effect 1 a little while ago and...

Me (playing relatively blind): So I know there's romance in this game, but I doubt there's gay romance since it's from 2007, so who should I date. Garrius seems cool (did not know he was unromancable in this game), and Kaiden has some interesting backstory going for him.

Liara T'Soni: *exists*

Me:

Me: ✨WOMEN✨

[xo-stardust720]

Swiping Right (Into Love)  - ch 2

Special thanks to @natrogersfics​ and @chalantness​ for editing this chapter!

Dedicated to @aquajules​ because I promised her a new birthday fic (which I started...) but then ended up working on this update and finishing it instead... and then this update ended up being late anyway... What can I say? I'm a human disaster. Happy belated birthday Emilee!

Steve has never been one to really go with the flow.

That isn’t to say that he’s super uptight about everything in general, but when his roommate/best friend comes home with some  exciting news, the tone of Bucky’s voice is enough to cause Steve some anxiety and to be immediately on his guard. There’s a certain amount of glee and exhilaration in the way his friend burst through their front door… and this is Steve’s warning sign that he’s about to be dragged into some sort of mishap that most likely won’t end well for him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his oldest friend in the world -- there’s no one that he  trusts more than Bucky -- it’s just that, most of the time, trusting Bucky is what gets him into awkward situations in the first place.

(Awkward  was putting it mildly. It was usually a disaster.)

It’s been this way since they were kids. Where Bucky leads, he’s usually along for the ride. On the occasions that his mouth goes running off and gets him into trouble, good-ole Bucky is the one there to bail him out. Literally. He actually ended up in jail once, a fact that his best friend still delightedly brings up as a conversation topic to this day.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for his best friend, he’s pretty sure his life would be quiet. And boring.

It would probably be  really boring.

So when Bucky comes home and throws himself onto the couch next to him announcing, “guess what our plans are for the weekend?” -- his first instincts are to say no.

He goes with his gut.

“No,” he says, not even bothering to look up from the sketch in front of him.

“You don’t even know what we’re going to do yet,” Bucky immediately protests.

“Doesn't matter.”

“Steve, c’mon! At least wait until I tell you what happened to me today before you decide you’re not going. And by the way, you can’t say no. You are an essential component to this plan, and I won’t let you ruin it for me, you punk.”

"Jerk," he automatically replies, but then he's letting out a sigh as he turns to face his friend. "What happened?"

“So I met these two ladies at the bookstore today…”

He groans, already knowing where this conversation is heading. “Buck, tell me you didn’t set up  another  double date.”

His best friend smirks. “You know that I did. Why do you even bother asking?”

“Because sometimes I still have hope that you’ll realize the women you try to set me up with tend to end up disappointed, and that you won’t do it anymore," he says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, without me, you’d never go anywhere,” Bucky points out. “And I’ll admit, our dates could’ve been better vetted in the past. Sorry about that. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Did you at least tell her about me? So that I won’t be a shock to the system when she actually sees me for the first time?”

“I said all good things, I swear!”

“Bucky,” he sighs.

“No, seriously. You didn’t see these women, Steve. They were bombshells. We hit the jackpot!”  

Steve lets out another sigh. Bucky is always coming in all enthusiastic about whatever their next adventure is - this is how it's always been. Whatever Bucky's up to, he makes sure that he's never too far behind. Steve and Bucky 'til the end of the line, always, is what his best friend likes to repeat. And he believes him. Even if he never has anything else, he'll always have Bucky in his corner.

He turns back to his sketch, picking up the pencil that he’d abandoned and as he gets back to work, it prompts Bucky to begin telling the story of how his trip to the bookstore had ended up with a plan for the two of them to go on a double date with some strangers. In truth, it didn’t surprise Steve in the least that his friend somehow managed to infiltrate his way into a conversation after admitting to eavesdropping on everything they were saying. Bucky just had that kind of charm. “So, let me get this straight,” he says once his friend is done telling him what’d happened. “You’re setting me up with the girl that literally rejected  you  on Tinder. She actually swiped  left  on  you  -- which by the way, already sounds like a load of bullshit because  no one  ever swipes left on you. And after you showed her my picture, she agreed to be  my date  while her friend goes out with you.” He eyes his best friend doubtfully. “There are giant holes in this story, Buck.”

“But that’s what happened!” Bucky insists. “I had Natasha’s profile up on my Tinder and I’d swiped right and everything. We didn’t match. She really did say no to me!”

It's not as if Steve thinks his best friend is lying to him, per se. But the story sounds almost too good to be true. For most of their lives, Bucky has had very few problems when it comes to attracting members of the opposite sex. Hell, the same could be said for Bucky attracting members of their gender. People look twice whenever he walks past, and once Bucky had joined Tinder? Well, it's become even easier for him to fill a calendar with people to see and get to know.

But the same could not be said for him.

The day he joined Tinder, he did so with all the reluctance in the world and mostly at Bucky’s urging. His friend was having all the success (unsurprising) and wanted him to partake; which he mostly did so that Bucky would leave him alone and give him some peace. Even before he downloaded the app, he knew he wouldn’t have much luck on it, but as Bucky put it, “you never know, right? Some people actually find their future spouses there!”

Well, Steve did know. And as it turned out, he was right.

It started off well-enough at first. There were a few matches and, for a little while, Steve thought he was actually doing okay. Little by little, his hopes were raised and he thought  hey, maybe this new way of dating isn’t so bad. After all, no one wanted to be alone forever, right? It would be nice to have  some kind of companionship and to find the right partner. His profile was getting a few likes and the conversations were comfortable enough that he even went on a few first dates.

But after a couple of weeks, things started coming to a standstill.

The most annoying thing about Tinder though, was the ghosting - when the matches disappeared without any explanation. It's not something that Steve had purposely learned, but he didn't have to be a genius to figure out what was happening. The likes to his profile started dropping off, the conversations became the generic ‘How are you?  I’m fine and how are you doing? I’m good’ before stagnating. If he suggested they go get coffee, they'd stop replying. It was starting to become a pattern that he spotted immediately after the first couple of weeks. Having three separate first dates with three different women, he had a feeling that each woman was only in it for the free meal because they always suggested nice restaurants, but after the dates were over, there was never any follow up for a second date. As a gentleman, he believed that buying a girl dinner first before any romance started was the right thing to do. But realistically, it was starting to put a giant dent in his bank account, and if he started buying every woman dinner on the first date, he’d probably have no savings left.

This, on the other hand, did not seem to be a problem for Bucky, and Steve had resigned himself to accepting that sometimes other people just had all the luck. And looks. Bucky could get away with just about anything when he flashes his smile that seems to melt even butter. Steve lost track of how many coffee dates Bucky has had in the last couple months and it would seem he never had to worry about his bank account balances.

If Tinder has taught Steve anything, it is that most of the people who signed up for it really relied heavily on physical attributes. If you were attractive, you’d have a much better chance of getting a second and third date. And since everyone knows that Tinder is a hookup app, Steve knows he doesn't stand much of a chance there, either. He isn't the exception to the rule and he knows it. He will be forever known as Skinny Steve, the option no one wanted… not when there are other guys around that are taller, better looking, and more muscular. Women always seem to fixate on those particular characteristics and it isn’t like Steve could climb into a chamber and magically come out big and strong. He has what he has, and for the most part, he is alright with it. It doesn’t stop him from wishing from time to time that things could be different and that the world isn’t as shallow and vapid as the app makes it out to be, but alas, he tries not to dwell on it too much.

Bucky has even tried to help him out. He was the camera man behind all of his profile pictures and even helped edit his biography when he felt that what he had written down didn’t have enough “spice” to grab a woman’s attention. Quite frankly, it was exhausting trying to come up with some interesting facts about himself on the off chance that someone  might look past his pictures long enough to read. And even after all the effort Bucky put into changing his profile around, in the end he had decided to change his bio to simply say, “Hi, I’m Steve.” The people he matches with would either want to get to know him, or they’ll move on… it’s out of his hands.

He doesn’t even go on the app much anymore. Why bother when he knows people aren’t really going to swipe right on him? He was rejected enough on a regular basis.

Feeling Bucky’s expectant gaze, Steve tries his best to ignore it and to continue working away at his sketch. His best friend, never one to be ignored though, just pokes him in the shoulder. He was going to be annoying about this, he just knew it. Brushing back a stray hair that fell into his face, he faces his friend and gives him a small smile. “When is this aforementioned date?”

His best friend grins triumphantly. “After you’re done work on Friday, of course.”

“And where are we going?”

“Leave it all to me,” Bucky pats him on the back, gripping his shoulder with support in the way he always does. “I’ll tell the girls to meet us at your shop and we’ll go from there.”

Steve loves Bucky, he does, but Bucky has zero perspective about these things. Steve doesn’t see how this time would be different from any other time but he tries not to let the apprehension show on his face. He makes one last ditch effort to get out of going. “I don’t know, Buck. Look, maybe you should just tell ‘em I got sick or that something came up. Take Sam with you, I’m sure this girl would probably be happier to see Sam in my place.”

“She saw your picture and she said  yes to you! She’s amazing, Steve. Red hair. Green eyes. Literally looks like she could be a model. She might actually be one for all I know… I didn’t really get a chance to find out what she does for a living.”

“Well, at least she’s seen a picture of what I look like and knows what she’s in for. I was getting tired of people looking at me like you sold them some gold and what they actually got was bronze,” Steve sighs as the last of his resistance fades away and resigns himself to going along with Bucky’s plan. “Alright, I’ll go, but only because she was nice enough to say yes and it would be rude if I don’t show up.”

“It’s gonna be a great night, Steve! You’ll see!”

----

Over the next few days, Steve watches as Bucky becomes increasingly more excited about their “hang out” as it was described. Usually his friend would be the picture perfect of calm when it came to first dates, casually shrugging it off as if it was no big deal. The fact that Bucky was flitting around and trying to find the perfect activity for them to do, told Steve that perhaps,  this date  was different. At least, it seems to be different for Bucky.

Friday night, at 5:50pm on the dot, Steve waits with Bucky outside of his shop for the two girls that would be their dates for the evening. “Hey, there they are. The brunette is Wanda and the redhead is Natasha.”

Steve’s gaze immediately lands on the redhead as the two women walk towards them and he feels his heart lurch. This woman is  gorgeous. Her red hair falls in long smooth waves past her shoulders, she wears only a little makeup--dark mascara and a little pink on the lips--but she doesn't need more. Natasha is slightly shorter than her friend, and she’s all curves--Steve apologizes internally for even lingering on that but he wants to draw her because she has the proportions of a work of art. She looks like a movie star, or a model that Bucky had previously claimed she might be.

It makes Steve want to disappear. Perhaps it’s the cowardly way out, but he almost doesn’t want to meet Natasha because he wants to remember her in the moment before they meet, before the dismay sets in and she looks for an excuse to leave once she sets eyes on him. The girls are getting closer and then it’s too late, they’re there in front him and he can’t run away now. He takes a deep breath and steels himself for the disappointed expression girls always seem to have when they see him for the first time.

That expression never comes. Instead, Steve looks up into a friendly smile as the redhead extends her hand out to him. “Hi, I’m Natasha.” There’s no trace of the apprehension or disillusionment that usually accompanies the blind dates that Bucky sets him on. Natasha looks at him with attentiveness, like she’s already found him interesting and couldn’t wait to find out more.  

“Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.” He can’t believe his voice works and that he remembers to take her hand. Her grip is strong and firm as she shakes his hand. Her skin feels soft and her nails are painted a bold shade of emerald green, he notices. She’s so well put together that it seems effortless, like she just woke up that morning and threw on the first thing she found in her closet without even looking. “Thanks for coming.”

“Well, I couldn’t pass up a chance to meet a guy that’s worth more than ten times other men I’ll meet collectively or so Bucky says,” Natasha winks at him. Her tone is flirtatious and he doesn’t know how to react. This is brand new territory for Steve Rogers.

“He said that about me?” Steve asks. He glances over at Bucky only to see that he’s completely wrapped up in Wanda, and he realizes that he’s still holding onto Natasha’s hand and he lets go, hoping that he doesn't come off too gawky and blundering.

Natasha grins as she lets her hand slip from his, and there’s something about her, the sparkle in her eyes and the colour in her cheeks, that has captured his attention so completely.  “He said a lot of nice things,” she reassures him. “Quite a friend you’ve got there, Steve.”

Before Steve could respond, Bucky approaches them. His arm is already around Wanda’s shoulders, looking as comfortable as can be and Steve wishes he could be the kind of guy that could pull off a move like that without looking horribly awkward. Natasha isn’t that much shorter than him and it probably could work if Steve tried, but he doubts it would be as smooth. He takes a moment to study Wanda, and he understands exactly why his best friend is so besotted by her already. Wanda is all smiles, and bubbly, as she extends her own hand to greet him and he finds that he’s immediately charmed by her.

“So, where are we going?” Wanda asks.

“Coney Island,” Bucky replies. “Games, awesome rides, great food - what more could you want on a first date?”

“Oooh! That sounds fun!” Wanda grins.

Steve groans internally and probably didn’t hide his expression well enough because Natasha catches it. “Not a fan of amusement parks?” she asks, looking curious.

“It’s not that,” he replies. “Just remembering what happened the last time I rode the Cyclone.”

“He threw up,” Bucky adds, smiling with glee.

They made small talk as they rode the train to their destination. People look at Steve differently, he notices right away. It’s not just that he’s with someone like Natasha, it’s that she actually seems like she wants to be there, conversing with him in a way that shows a lot of interest and energy and she’s paying no attention to anyone around them. It’s already one of the strangest dates he’s ever been on -- strange in a  good  way -- though what makes it weirder is the way people look at him when they see the company he keeps. It’s no surprise that Natasha turns heads everywhere she goes, she’s so stunning that Steve expects it. What  is  a surprise is that when the men look at her and then look at him, their expressions change -- and Steve can tell they’re wondering how he scored with someone so beautiful. Women tilt their heads, looking him over speculatively in a way that says  what does she see in him  -- and he does his best not to display any discomfort when he notices them staring.

Natasha carries most of the conversation between them and for that Steve is grateful. He’s in uncharted territory here, unable to completely process what is happening as the evening progresses. He has no idea what to say and figures it’s better to keep quiet, rather than risk saying something completely stupid.  He learns that she works in public relations, on special retainer to Tony Stark, New York’s very own famous billionaire and self-proclaimed genius, playboy, and philanthropist. She does a lot of damage control whenever Tony gets caught by the paparazzi doing something inappropriate for one thing or another. It keeps life interesting, she describes, you never know what he’s going to do next and the amount of money she makes is more than enough to compensate for the headaches he causes on a regular basis.

They talk about a variety of topics as they move through the amusement park. For a Friday night, Coney Island wasn’t too terribly busy, but it was crowded enough that they lost Bucky and Wanda part way through the first hour. Steve’s pretty sure that their friends disappeared on purpose and his suspicions were confirmed by Natasha when she shows him the message on her phone.

Wanda:  Let’s meet up later for dessert! That pastry shop in Bensonhurst around 10pm?  

“I’m 99% sure that we aren’t going to see them for the rest of the night, honestly,” Natasha rolls her eyes as she reads over Wanda’s text. She quickly types out  let’s meet up tomorrow instead xx, before putting her phone back into her purse. “So, I’m feeling a little hungry. Want to get some hot dogs?”

Steve blinks. “You mean, you still want to hang out?”

Natasha gives him an odd look before one of understanding crosses her features. There’s a small smile on her face as she nods. “Well yeah… I mean, we’re already here and I was promised a fun night. Did you want to leave?”

“No!” Steve bursts out. “I don’t- I just-- ” He feels his face begins to heat up as he awkwardly tries to figure out how to explain that this whole evening is an anomaly for him. It isn’t the first time Bucky’s “ditched” him on a double date in the hopes that the date would lead to something more. He’s done it once before and it was such a disaster that Bucky swore he wouldn’t do it again unless he was 100% sure Steve’s date wasn’t going to ditch him as well. The fact that Bucky’s essentially left him with a stranger now spoke volumes. And once again, Steve is struck by the realization that Natasha actually wants to spend time with him. He takes a deep breath. “You said you were hungry?”

The only place to get hot dogs, in Steve’s opinion, is at Nathan’s. Anywhere else and it’s just blasphemy. He pays for their food and drinks, despite Natasha’s protests that she could pay for herself (another first for him, he notices), and he lays out his coat on the sand for them to sit on when they decide to eat near the beach. Natasha sits close enough to him that he can feel her body heat radiating off her. She’s practically pressed up against him.  “So, you’re a tattoo artist,” she says, as she takes a bite of her hot dog. “Forgive me for saying so Steve, but you definitely don’t look like a person that would be tattooing people for a living. How did you get into that as a career?”

He laughs because it’s true, he’s not your typical tattoo artist. People often walk into his shop and do a double-take when they see him sitting behind the counter. He’s not big and burly like some tattoo artists, nor does he look intimidating either. “I kind of accidentally fell into it actually,” he shrugs. “I worked at a coffee shop throughout high school, and was always drawing something during my breaks for my portfolio… the plan was to try and save up money for art school. There was this guy, Drax, he was a regular at the coffee shop and he saw one of my drawings one day and offered me money for the design.”

“What was the original career plan?”

“There wasn’t one really…” he finishes up his hot dog and takes a sip of his lemonade. “Art was the one thing I was good at so the plan was to try and make a go of a career, wherever that took me. I’ve done some illustrations for children’s books and some graphic novels. In my spare time, I draw up some art based on popular tv characters or from movies and then make prints of the art to sell at comic cons. It does pretty well whenever I go to an event. Most of my income comes from tattooing though. It’s a pretty steady gig and it pays the bills.”

“Wow,” Natasha grins. “So how did you go from drawing art, to tattooing people’s skin?”

“Well, after Drax bought my first drawing, he came back two days later and asked to see more drawings and bought them all. He paid me enough money to cover my first year of college! Over time people were requesting more of my drawings to be tattooed and so he brought me on to do commission work. People would email me ideas of what they wanted for their tattoos and once they were satisfied, Drax would come in and tattoo them. He offered me an apprenticeship halfway through my college degree and I thought, why not? I’m still drawing and doing what I love, and I get to meet some interesting people too. And it turns out I have a pretty steady hand when it comes to tattooing people. The rest is kind of history.”

“That’s quite a story, Steve,” Natasha looks thoughtful as she smiles at him. “Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

Heat rushes to his cheeks and he runs a hand through his hair. “Uh…I-” he stammers. “Me either. About you, I mean.”

She tilts her head slightly as she looks at him through her eyelashes. “I like it. You are a surprising person, Steve Rogers.”

Steve has no idea how to read the signals that she’s giving off. She’s looking at him expectantly, like she’s waiting for him to do something and it’s all he can do to try and keep up. She has a wonderfully expressive face, sharp lines and hollow cheeks but plump lips and beautiful green eyes framed by dark lashes -- and long red hair that looks so impossibly soft that it makes him want to run his hands through it.

  Does she want me to kiss her?  

The thought enters his mind as Natasha lifts her chin a fraction of an inch and she shifts even closer. His heart is pounding so loudly in his chest that he’s sure she could hear it from where she is sitting. She has his complete attention now, and he’s unable to look anywhere else but her lips. He thinks she wants him to kiss her but he doesn’t want to presume. Everything about this night is already so unprecedented and he doesn’t want to fuck it up in any way.

“Well, well,” a voice cuts in. “Doesn’t this look all cozy?”

Steve’s pulled out from the spell he’s under and he looks up to see a man and a woman he doesn’t recognize standing a few feet away from where they're sitting. He feels Natasha sit up straighter and she pulls away slightly as she turns to face them. Within seconds, the Natasha he had been interacting with disappears and a new version of her appears. She eyes the people in front of them warily, a polite but distant smile emerges. “Elektra,” she acknowledges, her voice even and void of emotion. Her eyes flit over to the man next to Elektra and if possible, Steve thought her voice became even colder. “Matt.”

“Hi Natasha,” Matt’s voice is low, his body language indicating exactly how awkward he is feeling. “I thought I heard your voice. It’s… uh… nice to see you.” Matt smiles wryly, as he fidgets with his cane and Steve suddenly realizes that the man is  blind. It certainly explains why he was wearing sunglasses at night. “Pun intended, of course.”

Natasha hums, but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she stares up at them and even though she’s sitting, somehow the redhead is more intimidating in her stance than the two people standing. Steve has no idea what’s going on, but it definitely feels as if he’s accidentally stumbled into some kind of awkward situation that he has no privy too. Elektra is watching them with so much interest that it makes him feel more than slightly uncomfortable. “You look  so  happy, Natasha darling,” she coos, though it’s clear that the tone of her voice is more haughty than it is sincere. “How  wonderful.”

He has no idea what makes him do it, but he listens to his gut instinct and shifts so he slides in closer. He wraps an arm around Natasha’s shoulders and smirks, staring right at Elektra and silently challenging her to contradict him. “Thanks,” he says, confidently. His tone implies more than words ever could. “Her happiness is my top priority. If anyone can see it, it means I’m doing my job right.”

Elektra’s eyes narrow but she doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she wraps herself around Matt’s arm, clinging to him as if she has something to prove. Natasha turns, paying them no mind, and gives Steve a warm smile. It’s a smile that tells him she’s grateful, that she’s glad he’s there. “Enjoy your evening,” Natasha dismisses them and leaves them no choice but to shuffle awkwardly away. She lets out a sigh of relief once the couple is out of earshot and slumps into him. “Thanks for doing that. You didn’t have to help me save face in front of them, but you did and I really appreciate that.”

He really wants to know what that was all about but felt it was too rude to ask. It isn’t really his business anyway. He gives himself a few seconds to enjoy the way her body is nestled against his before pulling away. It isn’t gentlemanly, he reminds himself. It’s better to let her cuddle up when she truly wants to and not when it was a ruse to fool other people into thinking they were a couple when they actually weren’t.  “Don’t mention it,” he smiles at her as he stands up, holding his hand out to her. “Want to go for a walk? Or we can go play some games, we still have some credits to use up.”

“Sure, let’s go play whack-a-mole.” She peers at him, tilting her head as if she’s trying to figure him out. After a moment, she grasps his hand and pulls herself up, dusting off the sand that’s caught on to the hem of her jeans. She grabs his jacket and then slips her arm through his as they begin to walk away from the beach. “I have the urge to hit something.”

True to her word, they found themselves at the brightly coloured tent minutes later and Steve’s watching as Natasha eagerly uses the toy mallet to hit the plastic moles that appear at random before disappearing back into their holes. Natasha’s efficient as she hammers away, and Steve’s coming to find that when she puts her mind to something, she succeeds. The alarm above the score panel flashes red, indicating that she’s the winner. She turns to him in triumph, a wide grin on her face and the sparkle back in her eyes. “Pick your prize.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t it be me that wins you something?”

“Don’t play into gender roles, Steve,” Natasha rolls her eyes. “Pick something!”

He lets out a laugh as he looks up at the brightly coloured stuffed animals hanging from the tent and one immediately catches his eye. “The giraffe, please.”

“Interesting choice,” she looks at him curiously as the attendant hands him his new stuffed toy and they begin to wander off. “Why choose the giraffe and not the lion, or the penguin?”

“Giraffes are my spirit animal.”

“I… had no idea what I was expecting you to say, but that was not it,” she laughs. “Are you serious?”

“Well yeah,” he shrugs. “I mean, who doesn’t love giraffes? They’re one of the world's most majestic creatures. Most people automatically choose animals like lions, or tigers for their power.  Or they go for the cute and cuddly animals, like bunnies and pot-bellied pigs. But giraffes? People tend to miss out when it comes to giraffes.”

“But not you, huh?”

Why in the world is he talking about giraffes? Steve has no idea how their conversation has come to this but here he is, telling her his love for giraffes. All he can do is roll with it.

Perhaps it was the dim lighting from the street lamps all over the park, but Steve thinks that Natasha is looking at him differently from the way all women usually look at him. She looks at him like she finds him cute, like she enjoys their conversation and wants to keep it going. “Well, giraffes tend to stick their necks out and stand tall when they’re trying to reach for leaves, and have the ability to look down from above -- and I think that’s a beautiful personification for life. Like, don’t just be one with the crowd, fight for what you believe in and always try to see the bigger picture.”

He feels her gaze, and knows that she’s listening to his every word. “Something tells me that you fight for what you believe in, don’t you?”

“I mean… yeah? I try? If I see a situation point south, I can’t ignore it. Sometimes I wish I could.”

“Do you ever run away?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You start running, they’ll never let you stop. I grew up smaller than those around me and never really fit in anywhere either. My small size made me an easy target but I always try to give as good as I get. That’s one of the reasons why I like giraffes so much… they’re such gentle creatures but they don’t confuse size with strength. Size doesn’t always guarantee might or ability. Plus, they’re loyal to those who have earned it and they’re weird looking -- like me. So, that’s why I consider them my spirit animal.”

"I don't think you're weird looking," Natasha smiles. “I think I’m going to start seeing giraffes in a whole new light now.”

He has no idea how to react to the words she'd just said, so he keeps quiet, all the while feeling his cheeks burn red hot. They fall into comfortable silence as they walk along the path leading out of the amusement park, away from the crowds and into a quieter street. It’s getting late and the evening is almost over, he realizes regretfully. He doesn’t want it to end. It’s the best first date he’s ever been on and he’d definitely like to see her again if she allows it.

He tries his best to gather the words in his mouth. “So…” he trails off as he slips his hands into his pockets, the giraffe tucked tight underneath his arm. He has no idea how to do this. Usually his dates would make excuses to leave as soon as possible, and the ones that did stay always indicated that they would get in touch but never did.

Natasha waits as he pauses and heaves a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair in obvious anxiety, eyes unable to meet her gaze. He mumbles something beneath his breath, and Natasha blinks, “I’m sorry?” She asks, wanting for him to repeat the words he’d just said.

This time, Steve looks directly into her eyes, and when the words leave his mouth, Natasha’s reaction was not one he was entirely expecting.

“ -- do you want to go out again?” was what Steve said, the second time louder and with much more clarity than before. He gnaws on his lower lip, preparing for some kind of rejection as Natasha’s eyes widen slightly, clearly a little surprised. The next few words stumble out of Steve’s mouth hurriedly before he could even stop himself. “I mean, I completely understand if you don’t want to--”

“Steve,” Natasha interrupts him gently. She smiles softly. “Are you sure that  you  want to go out again?”

When she utters those words, his jaw drops and he just stops and stares at her with aghast, as though what she had just asked was unthinkable. He’s definitely confused now and he shakes his head in disbelief. “What? ”

“All night long, I’ve been trying to figure you out, Steve.” The redhead in front of him shrugs. “You know, when Bucky first suggested this double date I was really hesitant. But your friend said some wonderful things about you and I thought, ‘what the hell, why not... got nothing to lose’ and I found myself feeling kind of excited for the date all week.” She tilts her head slightly, meeting his gaze head on. “I even found your profile on Tinder and swiped right, hoping that we could maybe chat a little bit before the date but we never matched.”

Steve is flummoxed and somewhat speechless as he listens to Natasha speak, baffled at her words. It takes a few seconds for her words to truly sink in and his eyes widen in pure bewilderment. Somehow he finds his voice. “Really? You swiped  right  on my profile?”

“I did,” she nods. “And then tonight… I mean, I asked a lot of questions and you answered them, but you never really asked any questions of your own to get to know me… and you didn’t even question it when Matt and Elektra interrupted us! So I started to think maybe you weren’t really interested in me, that maybe I was wasting your time.”

That sentence is the  last  thing Steve would have ever expected to hear from someone like Natasha. She thought that he  wasn’t  interested in  her? It takes a longer time for the entire exchange to sink in, but when it does, Steve is annoyed with himself. His mind is running through the entire evening that they’d just spent together and he comes to find that she’s right. All of the things he’s learned about her in the last few hours were all things that she volunteered herself. He hadn’t asked her anything to show that he was interested. It’s no wonder she’s questioning his interest in her. He’s flustered as he quickly shakes his head, “Natasha, I’m sorry --”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Natasha waves her hands in the air, cutting off Steve’s attempt to explain himself. “I think I kind of had some stupid expectations of Tinder… I mean, expecting us to match was probably a little presumptuous and that’s on me.”

“I am interested,” he blurts out, holding her gaze. “I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that I wasn’t because it couldn’t be further from the truth. And as for Tinder… well, I don’t really go on the app or have my notifications on anymore.”

She blinks. “You don’t?”

So far his experience of the app has been shit. The only reason he downloaded it was because Bucky had made a comment on his nonexistent love life and  fuck, he let that get to him. But here was this beautiful woman standing in front of him and telling him that she had swiped right for him.  For him. And evidently, had been disappointed to find that they hadn’t matched.

“Well, I never seem to get any matches, so I kinda just stopped trying. I probably should've deleted my profile altogether, but I kinda forgot about it after awhile.” There's a masochistic part of Steve that speaks up. “Do I disappoint you?” He wonders if he does. He wonders if he did before he asked. He’s disappointed plenty before without meaning to.

There’s a bit of a cheeky twist to Natasha’s smile as she laughs slightly and shakes her head. “Well, not so far.” She takes a step closer and he feels his heart rate pick up. In the dim lighting, her eyes look impossibly large as she stares at him. He feels the warmth radiating from her as she leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. She pulls back, smiling softly now as she takes in his expression. “I had a lot of fun today, Steve. And I’d like to go on a real date if you’re up for it.”

“But?” he prompts, realizing that she still had a few things to say.

“Despite what a lot of guys assume, I’m not an easy piece of ass,” Natasha shrugs, waving off his attempts to protest against what she was saying. She looks at him with a wistful expression. “I like it when people put in a little effort… and maybe my way of thinking is a little ridiculous, but  I know  I’m worth the effort.”

Steve is still gaping at her as she turns and hails a cab, leaving him there on the sidewalk. Just before the cab pulls away though, Natasha rolls down the window and gives him a mischievous grin. “Why don’t you think about it, Steve? Look for me on Tinder. Find my profile and swipe right, and then maybe I’ll give you my number.” Her playful grin turns into a soft and hopeful smile. “I’ll take a chance if you will.”

Steve watches the cab drive away, still unable to believe what had just happened. Natasha actually seemed sincere. It felt like she actually wanted him to find her and even though it’s a foreign concept to him right now, he feels  encouraged. It's been years since he’s gotten butterflies and yet that is the only way he can describe how he feels in this very moment.

He thinks about Natasha’s words a lot as he heads home, going over every little detail of the evening in his mind. She wanted him to find her, wanted him to work for it…  I know I’m worth it, she’d said. Though Steve has no doubts that the redhead is worth it, there’s a part of him that can’t help the trepidation he feels anyway. Natasha is amazing and beautiful, and completely out of his league and he knows it. It was infinitely easier when he’d thought this date would be a one and done kind of deal.

And yet. And  yet.

She wants to go out again, he reminds himself. On a real  date. Just the two of them.  Alone.

He pulls his phone towards him and unlocks it, scrolling until his eyes land on the tiny pink icon and taps on it. Dozens of profiles immediately load onto the screen, one after another, and he starts swiping left, looking for one profile in particular. When he downloaded the app in the first place, he hadn’t expected to get very far. Everyone knows that Tinder isn’t the safest way to find love, and Steve is aware of it to and wasn't too hopeful about it -- he just never expected something like this situation to happen.

Forty-five minutes pass and he’s still swiping left, when suddenly he freezes. His thumb, that had been ready to swipe left, halts its motion, and he stares at the photo that’s on his phone. At those eyes that look familiar, green and wide-eyed. At the tilt of her mouth, that Steve is coming to recognize as the start of a warm grin. Even in her pictures, Natasha is dazzling and he can understand why she assumed people would swipe right on her profile. She probably has her pick of men. He can’t imagine anyone swiping left on her.

His heart pounding, his thumb presses to the screen and he swipes right. There’s a moment of panic, the urge to drop his phone… to hide it. He can pretend this never happened and his life could go back to normal. He breathes out shakily, breathes in a bit more evenly. Why is he so nervous? She had said to find her, hadn’t she? It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

And then his screen lights up.

[casmoments]

Marriage of Convenience ; part 1

Prompt: “Arranged Marriage” -  Certain factions of heaven are on your tail, the consequence of your death a trigger to greater destruction.  In order to protect your life and others, you agree to an old custom that prevents any heavenly agent from harming you.   The basic ritual?  You have to marry an angel.  First part in a series.   Reader Gender: female Word Count: 9800 (sorry! other chapters will be shorter) Warnings: virgin!reader, grace/soul stuff, arranged marriage.  there is an acknowledged attraction between the reader and Cas but i’ll say dub-con because without the marriage, they probably wouldn’t have hooked up.

special warning: there is no blood or disturbing content, but if you’re squicked out by anything happening to the lower arm/wrist region, then note this chapter has a moment when that area is used to access the grace/soul.  

-

This right here. This was the answer to everything.   If enquiring minds ever sought an explanation—how is it that you, Y/N, renowned for an easy heart and easier libido, could possibly live with two hunky hero types and not spend your days conceiving inappropriate scenarios?—then this was the answer.    Dirty laundry.   Because the boys were often swamped with work, a fair enough justification, you had shouldered a fair deal of the bunker chores.   You had consequently seen enough dirty underwear to last a lifetime.   Bumbling and awkward as you might have been upon meeting them, after six months as resident prophet in their admittedly kickass bunker, any menial tension had dissolved.  

Completely.  

You would sooner kiss a gerbil.

Well, you thought frankly, grimacing as you dropped a pair of boxers into the washing machine, there is one lingering possibility…

You supposed there were few mortals who could resist the temptation that was Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord.   He was a collection of contradictory attributes bound in one dreamy, mysterious, husky-voiced  package.   You had barely spoken with him, exchanges limited to polite greetings and vague acknowledgements, but that heated blue stare and handsome form supplied enough fantasies on their own.  

Unfortunately, despite a colourful mind, your experience in the sex and romance department was limited to… well, did airport frisks count?  

With a resigned sigh,  you poured laundry detergent into the appropriate compartment.   Maybe if you didn’t aim your prospects so damn high—angel?  really?—then you would have better luck with the relationship pursuits.   Not that it really mattered now seeing as you couldn’t exactly party hard outside the bunker.    As usual, the only thing fucking you over was your shit luck.  

You were not only a prophet but apparently the prophet.   You were the human source which heaven could utilize to completely eradicate all future prophets.   That meant killing you in some backward ritual, effectively killing countless people down the line as well.   That was a catastrophe even without the  collateral damage that could spring from having no prophets ever, ever again.   Heaven was warring, as per usual, but if you fell into the wrong hands then a lot of people would suffer.

You especially.

You weren’t sure why you were so special, though Castiel had explained it that first night.  Something about being a prophet but also a strong vessel and being born under a certain cosmic alignment or something.   Honestly, your brain had been scattered that night.  Not to mention Castiel was kinda hard to listen to when he was simultaneously marching around with an intense stare, heaving chest, blood streaked face, taut muscles, silver blade—

You cleared your throat and closed the laundry machine.   It was probably a good thing Castiel’s visits were few and far between.   Sparse in your case, at least.   He helped the Winchesters on their hunts but you rarely saw him.   Castiel clearly held no interest in you.   It was probably for the best, however bitter you were.

“Hey, Y/N!”  Dean’s echoing voice startled you.  The boys had left on a case and though you expected them back today, you hadn’t heard them come in.  You placed the laundry basket on the floor and left the room, making for the library.   You were still dressed down, sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair unwashed and knotted in a messy bun, but it was just the Winchesters and you didn’t particularly care.

You regretted those innocent musings immediately.   Sam and Dean were nattering about something but your attention shattered.   The remaining broken pieces fell onto Castiel who, upon your appearance, glanced over.   You froze in place, holding that stare with plain horror.   Castiel was standing between Sam and Dean though he was not invested in their conversation.   But he soon looked away from you as well, an almost angry furrow in his brow as he turned his head.

Rude, you thought, pouting.  You weren’t exactly Miss America at the moment but you hardly deserved to be shunned into oblivion.  

But you conceded your assumption was ridiculous.  Whatever bothered Castiel had nothing to do with you.    The shit was hitting the fan up in heaven, spilling across the earth in consequence, and his mind was no doubt occupied with higher deeds.     The glance he spared you was fleeting and empty, his dark expression leant to a greater purpose.

“Hey, Y/N,” Dean suddenly interjected.   You looked at him, staring dumbly.   “Doin’ all right there, Cinderella?”

“What?” you asked, then shook your head to clear your thoughts.   “Yeah, yeah.  Of course.  What’s up?  How’d the hunt go?”

“We weren’t hunting,” Castiel surprised you with an answer.   His brow was still creased, jaw stiff.   He glanced at you before turning aside, taking a few steps nowhere.  

“Oh,” you said, confused.   “I thought—okay.  What did you do that took a week and a half?  Or is this one of those ‘Y/N, don’t ask because you’re not crawling into my bed when you get nightmares again’ things?”   In fairness, you totally only did that once.

“It’s not our beds you should be worrying about,” Dean said, tone jesting but the joke beyond you.  You looked at him strangely while Sam heaved a breath, tossing his brother a dry regard.

“Dean,” he said sharply, then looked at you.   “What he means is… it concerns you.”

“What concerns me?” you asked, not sure if you were scared or annoyed.   You stepped closer to the table which divided you and the boys.   Castiel had wandered a few chairs down and seated himself.   He propped his elbow on the table and rested his temple against his fist, gaze cast aside.   You didn’t trust yourself to look at him for long, something weirdly sexy about the casual arm slung over the back of the chair, so you looked at Sam and Dean.  They appeared to be sharing a wordless discussion before Sam gestured to the table.  

“You should, ah, probably sit down for this,” he said.   With a wary glance, you pulled out a chair and slowly sat.  

“Are you kicking me out?” you asked, though you didn’t think that was the case.   That would be news worth celebrating because it meant the boys had vanquished the threat looming over your head.    You might have received the news poorly, having almost no life to return to after everything and having grown fond of your new friends, but they had no reason to struggle.  

“Not exactly,” Dean said, light-heartedness fracturing beneath a frown.

“Yeah, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want,” Sam said, sitting opposite you.   He looked at you with those soft eyes usually reserved for special cases.   Your tense shoulders slackened and you nodded a bit, following.  

“So what’s going on then?”  you asked.

“Well,” Dean said, “the good news is, we found a way to get heaven off your ass.”  You smiled, legitimately relieved now that they extended an invitation to stay.    

“Well, that’s great,” you said, then considered Dean’s phrasing.   “What’s the bad news?”

“Bad news,” Dean said, sweeping his hand in gesticulation to Castiel.   “You have to hitch a flyboy.”

You paused for a moment, reconciling Dean’s odd idioms with what they entailed.   When you realized exactly what he meant, you paused for another moment and almost forgot to breathe.  

“What?” you eventually burst, mouth suddenly dry, tongue scraping words like sandpaper.   “What… what do you… what…”

“It’s part of some ancient canon,” Sam quickly said, scholastic facts pouring like they could soften the blow.   “Basically… while angels were mostly condemned for fraternizing with humans, there was this exception written into the code of heaven that basically said an angel could take a vessel and, so long as the vessel was empty, that angel could marry a prophet.   Not just any prophet, though—”

“Let me guess,” you grumbled, bare toes idly stabbing the cold floor, “Prophet.  Vessel.   Stars and destiny and stuff.”

“Uh, kinda.  Yeah,” Sam said.  “The rule was clearly designed for something like this.  Heaven knew that if the right prophet came along, they could pose a threat, intentional or not, so they created a loophole to save themselves.”

“Hey, look, we don’t like this anymore than you,” Dean said, stepping up to the table and leaning over.  “That’s why you gotta know that you can back out if you don’t think you can do this.   We can find another way.”

“We’re kinda running low on options here,” Sam said, tentatively.   He looked from Dean to you.   “But Dean’s right.  We won’t force you to do anything.”

“What… what does this marriage even do?” you asked, this torrent of information flooding quickly at your feet.

“It marks you as, you know…”  Sam looked for the word.  “Holy.  No angel, not even anyone working for an angel, can hurt you once you’ve been bound.”

“It’s an everlasting accord,” Castiel said, standing up.   He looked at you with a no-nonsense expression.  “It will protect you for eternity but… it expects reciprocation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“It means once you’re married, you’re married,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly growing uncomfortable with the proposition.  “You can’t just get a quickie divorce and hit up Vegas for round two.”

“No adultery either,” Sam said.  “There’s not necessarily an expectation that you’ll love your husband or anything, but if you intentionally break the vow itself then the entire marriage is annulled.”

“And you’re back to square one,” Dean finished.   You rubbed your temple and then took pause, your stomach knotting indubitably.   You supposed the answer was fairly obvious and still, you really had to ask…

“Who will I be marrying?” you asked.  Dean went to answer but Castiel, without hesitation, spoke.

“I volunteered,” Castiel said, looking at you more tenderly now that some of the awkward tension had subsided.  “Of course.”

“Of course,” you repeated.  You could feel the heat in your cheeks but the boys thankfully refrained from commenting, obviously reading your faint distress and respecting it.  Any other time, they probably would have teased you for it.  They didn’t necessarily know about your crush on the angel but you supposed anyone could infer from your insistent blushes and stammering phrases.  At this particular moment, you couldn’t even conjure a stammer.  It felt like your stomach had flipped upside down—hell, it felt like the world had flipped upside down.   Not five minutes ago you were standing by yourself over a pile of dirty laundry, mourning your sorry excuse for a love life.  Now you were some blushing Victorian maiden being bartered off to a baron to secure your family.

You knew the boys would never make you do anything.  They were the captains of free will and they never went down without a fight.   If this didn’t work, they would probably search for something else.   Would it be to any avail though?  It had already been six months and this was the first thing that could do any good.  And you liked living here but needless to say, you missed the outside world.   Sam and Dean took you out on occasion but they were glued to your side the entire time.   You missed taking walks by yourself and just enjoying the quiet of your activities.

This marriage seemed like an easy out.   Honestly, you weren’t convinced you would otherwise marry anyway.   You wouldn’t exactly be leaving a string of broken hearts in your wake.

And it was, in the end, Castiel.  You had no delusions about the outcome of events.   You knew this was a strictly professional arrangement.   All the same, glancing at him now, your heart palpitated with promise.   You could marry Castiel.   What a strange universe.  There was actually a legitimate reason for you to marry him.   Anxious and fidgety as you were, it would be ridiculous to refuse this.   Perhaps you and Castiel would become better friends and, in the process, you could ensure your own safety, your own freedom, the safety and freedom of generations to come, and, on more superficial terms, you could tell people you were married and your husband was a babe.

The boys watched you puzzle this out.  Feeling a little better, though a faint blush still coloured your cheeks, you smiled.   You were a bit too scared to glance at Castiel, fearing your blush would worsen and nerves return, but you nodded to the Winchesters.

“I’ll do it,” you said.  “This is important and… and yes, I’m fine with it.”

“You’re sure?”  Dean asked.  “Because there’s no turning back.   Once you’re married, that’s it.  You’re stuck with this mook for eternity.”  He jabbed a thumb in Castiel’s direction.

“I understand,” you said, a soft pit aching in your stomach.  You had no delusions about Castiel, true.   You never did.   But in the back of your mind, there was always a romantic yearning for something somewhere.   If you agreed to marry Castiel then that would never happen.  But if you hid in the bunker for the rest of your life anyway, wouldn’t the same fate unfold?  Even if they did find another way to save you, which sounded highly unlikely anyway, how many years would go by?   How would you feel by the end of it?   You had to resign yourself to the simple truth that an epic romance was simply not written in your cards.  You had been dealt your hand and there were no substitutions for human life.   You had to play the game before you.  

“There is one more thing,” Castiel said.  You swallowed a lump in your throat and blinked over, found him staring at you.   “The marriage must be consummated.”

You actually felt the heat laden in your belly.  Consummate was a relatively unsexy word but every last fantasy and daydream suddenly exploded in your head.  You didn’t say anything but your breath caught.  Castiel continued, maybe a bit flustered beneath a serious countenance.

“The marriage is invalid if it’s not physically consummated,” he said.  “It’s between the mortal and divine, so it must be committed in human terms and celestial ones.”   You had no idea what a celestial consummation entailed but god, you could feel it in your toes.   Your blush had returned full force and your gaze locked on Castiel while he spoke.   “Until it’s done, heaven won’t recognize the marriage.   You would, effectively, be swearing yourself to nothing.”   He paused, reading your apprehension and speaking with what reassurance he could muster.   “You don’t need to worry,” he said, “I won’t intrude on your space or bed after that night.”   That fell over you like a cold blanket, shocking you out of your existing surprise.   You blinked rapidly, looking away from him.   “I am sorry, Y/N,” he said, voice low.  “If there was another way—”

“No, no,” you said, voice squeaking.   You cleared your throat, smiled at thin air.   “No, it’s fine, Cas.  Really.  I just… didn’t expect heaven to get so physical.”

“Heaven is a determined congregation,” he said.   You looked his way but did not meet his eye, your gaze falling at chest level.   You followed the buttons of his trenchcoat with fake interest.  “They won’t rest until they’ve achieved what they sought to do.   With a look at your soul, they can decipher whether your marriage has been validated.   It’s a means of proving the union.”

“Proof of purchase, basically,” Dean offered.   You looked at him, having almost forgotten the Winchesters were there.   Sam was looking at you with concern, gentle and kind.   Dean crossed his arms.  You braved face even if your insides had turned to mush all over again.  

“I get it,” you said.  “No worries.  It’s just…”  You pushed your chair out and they all straightened, bracing themselves as if they expected you to swoon or something.   God almighty, you inwardly swore, I really am a Victorian maiden.  Someone was going to be running off for smelling salts at this rate.    “It’s just a lot to take in,” you finished, smiling, backing out of the room.   “I… I’ll still do it, of course.  I just… I just need to… rest, I think…”  You almost tripped, stumbling through the doorway.  The boys leaned forward and you waved your hand.   “Fine!  I’m fine!  I got it.  I’ll, uh, see you all later.”

With that said, you sprinted down the corridor and made for your room.

-

The wedding, if it could even be called that, was scheduled for a Saturday.   You barely slept the night before, nervous when you thought about being declared someone’s wife and when you considered that this time tomorrow, you wouldn’t be alone in your bed.

The big day arrived without any pomp or ceremony.   There were apparently a few rituals to enact but the boys would no doubt take care of it.   You figured your biggest worry was “I do”.    Not that this was a typical, straightforward wedding.   The process was more complicated, long-winded, and there was no literal “I do” or even kiss at the end.

The ceremony apparently had to be conducted by a cherub and Castiel knew a trustworthy cupid.   He would be brought to the bunker to bind you in excessively holy matrimony, your sole spectators Sam and Dean.  The cherub was delivered to the dungeon, Castiel in charge of wrangling him.   They weren’t about to give away the bunker’s location, even if Castiel promised the cupid was trustworthy, but getting married in the open would basically send a beacon to the troops of heaven.   Last chance to capture me, fellas!  No, it was better this way.   Even if it meant your wedding was conducted in a dungeon.  

You hoped that wasn’t a poetic reflection of anything.

The boys made some effort to ease the weirdness.   Sam gave you a dress, not a wedding dress but a formal lace thing, claiming Dean picked it out and Sam wasn’t supposed to say.  The boys wore their FBI suits even though the formality was unnecessary.   Somehow, it did make things easier.  It allowed you to comfortably address the obvious—this was a marriage, technically—while also keeping spirits light.

Sam escorted you to the not-so-lavish quarters.   Dean was standing there in his FBI suit, adjusting Castiel’s tie.  Castiel was in his usual ensemble, eyes downturned.  Dean looked over when you entered the room.   He grinned wolfishly.

“Would you look at that,” Dean said, tugging on Cas’s tie.  “Prophet cleans up nice, hey?”   Castiel’s glance was somewhat dry.  He adjusted his own tie and Dean stepped away.

“Thank you, Dean,” you said, gathering some of the lace in your hands and spreading the skirt.   The dress only fell to your knees but had a slight poof nonetheless.   “My compliments to whoever picked it out,” you teased.   Dean glared at Sam, good-humoured.

“Yeah, I’ll pass that on to the son of a bitch,” Dean said.  Sam rolled his eyes and you smiled between them.   Castiel, who was spending way too much time adjusting that tie of his, still hadn’t met your gaze.   He flipped the fabric a couple more times, shifting the knot.   Then he swallowed and turned, nodding to you.

“Y/N,” he said.   His gaze only briefly appraised you but it sent your heart fluttering anyway.   “You look very nice.”

“Thanks, Cas,” you said.   Not much else could be exchanged because another character ambled out of the shadows, holding a book in his hand.    The excited cupid wasted little time, launching into commencement—and dramatic embraces.

The ceremony began in the morning and did not end until late afternoon.   Though you understood Enochian fluently, an aspect of your prophetic gifts, the language was superfluously embellished and often ancient in its chosen vernacular.   You barely followed along but Castiel knew the way, guiding you.   At a moment, he held your hand, and you thought it was part of the ritual.  Not so.   Your nerves had bested you and he must have sensed it, his thumb running soothing patterns over your knuckles.   You weren’t sure if it helped or made things worse.

It took eternity and a day, but the ceremony did conclude in the afternoon.  With the officiating complete and ceremony ended, you knew very well what came next.

Or, at least, you thought you knew.  

Your marriage could be consummated at any time—and you attempted not to shiver when you thought too deeply—but for some reason you assumed it would follow the sacrament.  Apparently not.  

You were separated from your husband—husband, husband!—as Sam led you to the library, leaving Castiel and Dean to return the cherub from whence he came.   Sam tossed his suit jacket over a chair and loosened his tie, distracting you with light-hearted commentary until the other two returned.

And when they returned, they had pizza.

So it was an unusual wedding and an unusual marriage.  Anyone could admit that.   But as afternoon bled into evening and eventually night, you forgot every oddity and fell into a comfortable peace with your friends.   Sam and Dean broke out the liquor, pizza boxes scattered across the library table, a pie prepared at Dean’s behest.    You didn’t drink much, honestly a little worried to lose your inhibitions.  You weren’t sure if it would help or worsen the situation you would inevitably face.  You decided to keep your faculties clear.  

The evening progressed.  Stories were swapped.   It was nearing midnight when things slowed down.   You glanced at the clock and the radio fizzed out, and you felt your stomach knot and nerves coil, a blush already painting your cheeks as you ground yourself in the moment.  

You chanced to look at Castiel.  He was watching Sam and Dean but glanced over.  This time you did not look away, heart not so much racing as beating loud in your ears.   Castiel returned your stare, a pensive gleam in his eye, then he turned aside to muse privately.   You exhaled and looked down, fidgeted with the hem of your dress.  

“We’ll go to bed now,” Sam said, barely sober, nudging Dean through the doorway.   “You guys, uh…”

“Good night!” a drunken Dean bellowed, stumbling out the library.   Sam just smiled sympathetically.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Good night.”

And then they were both gone and it was just you and your husband.   Your almost husband.  There was still one more step to legitimize the union.  You tried to quell your nerves and smiled tensely at a quiet Castiel.   A table sat between you, one he slowly approached.   His hand swiped the polished oak before he lifted his gaze, blue eyes burning into yours.

“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.  By the natural gravel of his voice, that question could sound dirty without knowing its double meaning.  But you did know what he meant.  It suddenly wasn’t so easy to hide your nerves.  Your chest heaved with a shaky breath but you maintained your smile.

“Yeah,” you finally said, your own voice scraping low tones.   You cleared your throat, circling the table.   “Sounds good.”

The walk to your room was quiet, Castiel’s footsteps echoing behind you.

“You should wear shoes,” he said, noting your bare feet. You wondered why his gaze had fallen so low on your body that he would notice.    “There are strange things in this bunker.  You wouldn’t want to contract something by accidental—”

“Look at you,” you interrupted, attempting to joke because it seemed like a safe fall-back.   You reached your bedroom door and paused outside.   “Barely even married and you’re already trying to tell me what to do.”   Castiel could confuse humour on the best of days and your uncertain tone didn’t help matters.   He heard your words for what they were and nodded solemnly.

“I apologize,” he said.  “It wasn’t my intention.  I only meant to suggest—”

“It’s okay, Cas,” you said quickly.  Wow, this was not off to a good start.   “Um, why don’t we just…”  You stopped short, not sure you could finish.  Castiel tipped his head.   You turned away and cranked the doorknob, rushing into the room.   You held the door open and Castiel stepped in, somehow looking so big in the doorway.   You swallowed as he swept past, slowly closing the door as he wandered further in.   The door closed and locked with a gentle click.  

You remained there for a moment, hands on the doorframe, gaze falling nowhere particular, breath levelling.

“Y/N,” Castiel said, and your name was spoken with a sort of sorrow.   You looked over your shoulder, saw him standing in the middle of your room.  His hands were at his sides, his regard gentle if not wary.   “I won’t force myself on you,” he said.  “Please, don’t feel obligated…”  He stepped to the side, his gaze never leaving you.   “You’re safe in the bunker.  We can consummate our marriage when you’re comfortable.”    

You supposed it was easy for him to conflate your nerves with reservation.   You faced him squarely, wrung your hands.

“I am comfortable, Castiel,” you said.  “Don’t worry, I… I am definitely okay with this.”   He didn’t look entirely convinced, gaze focussed like he analyzed each breath you took.   It was then a thought occurred to you, a very reasonable one.  After all, your attraction to Castiel was more than apparent, but he never showed any signs of interest in you.   If there was anyone grappling the strings of basic consent…   “Cas,” you said quickly, absolutely not wanting to hurt him anymore than he did you, “if you don’t feel comfortable then we don’t have to.  I know I’m not—and we’re not—and it’s okay.  Like you said, the bunker is safe and I can wait—”

“Y/N,” he said, and seemed faintly amused now, “sleeping with you would not be difficult or burdensome.”

“Oh.”  Oh.  “Well, I… good.  Good.  That’s good.”

You received a faint smile at that, a barely perceptible nod of his head.   Then he sighed a bit, looking around himself.

“Should we… begin?”  he asked, looking at you.  You were still recovering from the implied compliment.  Tumbling out of your own silly mind, you measured the large gap of space between you and Castiel.   Your blood thundered hotly with promise of that distance shortening.   You nodded wordlessly, head bobbing.   You took another breath and placed your hands on your own waist, glancing at Cas just as his fingers prepared a snap.    

“Whoa—wait,” you said, guessing his objective.  He paused, hand still in the air.   “What are you doing?”

“I was… removing our clothes.” His brow furrowed, confusion evident.  

“I thought so,” you said with a gasp, waving a hand.   “Um, don’t do that.  Not like that.  I  just… let’s go slow, yeah?”   Good thing you caught that one.   Suddenly standing naked across a naked Castiel might have sent you hurtling to the floor.   Hopefully those smelling salts weren’t off the table.  

“I apologize,” Castiel said sincerely, lowering his hand.  “I assumed you would want to finish this quickly.”

“I, um,” you stammered, tearing your gaze from him.   You weren’t sure why it was so hard to admit but you couldn’t force your next words.  Castiel watched you, mildly fretful.   You sucked in a breath and exhaled it just as quickly.   “I’m sorry,” you said.  “I’m just… I’m just kind of nervous.  I’ve never…”   He tipped his head, attempting to find your roving gaze.   You slowly looked at him, his imploring regard.  It eased your nerves but barely, your stomach still wound in knots.  

“Never,” he repeated, vast celestial mind uncovering multiple truths.   He straightened and looked at you dead-on, seeming confident in his supposition.   “Sex with an angel,” he said.   He stepped closer to you but not with intent, more like a sage mentor delivering a lecture.  “I understand it can be daunting.   There was a reason heaven outlawed our relations in the first place, though I confess that most of those laws have proven to be archaic and unreasonable.   But you don’t need to have any fears.   You’re not a normal human… and truth be told I’m hardly a normal angel.   And I can prevent pregnancy, if you fear that as well.”   He just kept going and you couldn’t find an appropriate moment to interject.   “There is only one deviation from human intercourse in our case, consummating our union on the celestial plane, but I will show you what to do.   It’s a very simple matter.”

“Cas,” you said, his words reassuring in all ways but one.   For some reason, you still couldn’t force the v-word past your lips.   Castiel looked at you oddly.   You gestured sort of helplessly around yourself.   “That, uh, that wasn’t what I meant.”

He looked a bit confused, contemplative, eyes squinting.

Then realization dawned on him all at once.  You had never seen his face commit to such open and sudden expression.   His gaze dropped over your body and then settled on your face, his voice once more certain.

“You’re a virgin,” he said.   You nodded.   He stared at you a minute and then frowned, seeming truly distressed with this information.   He turned away and creased his brow.  “I wish you would have told me,” he said, mind clearly somewhere else.   You crossed your arms self-consciously over your chest, a bit surprised at his response.   It was tricky for you to vocalize but you were a human and silly insecurities were inherent in your nature.   But it wasn’t a big deal, in the end, and you had no idea why Castiel was so badly affected by this.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say.  Castiel looked at you again, startled by your words.

“Sorry?” he repeated, stepping towards you once more.  “Why should you apologize?  I’m the one responsible for this.”  

You laughed, a choked sound, at the absurdity of his remark.  

“Uh, Cas, I’m pretty sure you’re not responsible for my virginity,” you said, attempting to keep your voice light despite how you felt.   “The culprit for that one is just, you know, my general face and personality.”  

He looked even more bewildered by this, taking a minute to digest every word.   He was flustered, like he didn’t know where to begin.  He finally spoke and looked you in the eye.  

“I am responsible because I should have given you an opportunity to be with other people,” he said.   “I never even thought to ask.   Now our spiritual vows have been sealed and you’re bound to this, to me.”  He turned away again, growing more irate with himself.   You felt a bit better when you realized what bothered him.  It wasn’t the fact you were a virgin on its own; he simply thought he wronged you by stealing you from your oh-so long line of suitors.  

“Cas, it’s okay,” you said, uncrossing your arms.   You stepped closer to him, the distance between you reduced to three feet.   You reached over and gently touched his arm, fleetingly.   “Trust me, I wasn’t going to be sleeping with anyone else anyway.   Face and personality, remember?”   It was a joke but he looked at you with utmost seriousness.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked.  “You are a beautiful human, Y/N, both in terms of physical appearance and spiritual characteristics.”  

He said it so fervently, so sincerely.  Your eyes must have watered, though you didn’t really notice, because Castiel’s ire crumbled.   He looked crestfallen.

“I’ve upset you,” he said.  You blinked, the strain from your eyes gone as quickly as it came.

“What?” you asked.  “No, you haven’t.   That was a nice thing to say.   I just…”  You stared at one another for a minute, neither daring to move or speak.   He seemed to study your face for a sign of distress or upset or anything.   You, on the other hand, actually felt better now.   The compliments were nice, as was Castiel’s care for your wellbeing, but this moment was good for its honesty.   Until now, you and Castiel tread on eggshells around one another, everything a bit strained, tense, awkward.   That border slowly faded, the space between you smaller.  

You wet your lips, tongue swiping your bottom lip.  His eyes fell to the motion before resettling.   Your stomach was still coiled in warm, nervous knots, but you breathed easier and even managed a genuine smile as you stepped that little bit closer.  

“Maybe,” you said, grinding lace between your thumb and forefinger, “we should just… stop talking… until it’s… until we… you know…”

“If you would prefer that,” he said gruffly, nodding in acquiescence.  “But… we’ll go slowly,” he verified.   You nodded, smiling.  

“Slowly,” you agreed.  “Sounds good.”

There was an awkward moment where no one moved.  You just stared at each other, weighing the moment.   Your hands lifted and lowered in unison before silently agreeing upon a verdict.   You undressed yourselves, Castiel loosening his tie and pulling it over his head.   You wore a slip beneath your dress and, despite the fact you would eventually be naked, you pulled your arms into your clothes and removed the slip without taking off the dress.   It fell to the ground at your feet and you kicked it aside, pushing your arms back out.  

Castiel watched, seemingly charmed with the odd moment.   You barely noticed, blushing too hard and distracted with what came next.   Castiel pulled off his trenchcoat and suit jacket, stepping away to place them on your desk.   While his back was turned, you figured you would quickly remove your dress.  It would give you a second to compose yourself before he looked at you.  

Easier said than done.   The zipper was on your back and you twisted and turned, attempting to grab it.  Sam had zipped you up earlier, a casual affair especially with the slip for modesty.   This problem should have occurred to you then.   Thankfully, Castiel kept his back turned while kicking off his shoes and socks, so you had another minute to figure something out.   You attempted to grab the bottom of the skirt, hoisting it up around your waist.   No good.   You weren’t pulling this thing off without ripping it apart, if you even had that strength.

With an aggravated huff, the skirt fell back into place.  

“Cas,” you said, embarrassed and forlorn.  He turned around, fingers halfway through unbuttoning his shirt.   Trying not to look at the bit of exposed skin, eyes resolutely fixed on his curious face, you smiled weakly.   “Um, I need some help.”

“With what?” he said, approaching.  He stopped right in front of you.

“Can’t reach the back,” you said, turning around quickly.   You curved your hand over your shoulder and pointed down.   “If, uh, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he said, speaking cordially.   You swallowed, wringing your hands as he stepped closer.  You weren’t sure that angels usually breathed but you supposed his vessel would overcome much of his wont right now—his warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck with his proximity.   You fought to stay still, offer no distinct reaction.   His hand landed on the curve of your shoulder, palm against your bicep, his other hand between your shoulder blades.   He dragged the zipper down, a  faint chill goosing your exposed skin.   You supposed it would be okay to shiver now.

You were about to turn around and thank him when both his hands went to the middle of your back.   Before you could think twice, he had unhooked your bra.   You supposed that was your fault.   You told him you couldn’t reach the back so he probably assumed you meant everything, not just the dress.  

“Thank you,” you said, slowly turning around.  A flood of heat rushed below, his stare headier than you anticipated.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and his already rough voice sounded huskier.   He took a step back, looking down at his shirt to undo the buttons.   You were distracted for a moment, watching as he drew the garment off his shoulders and pulled it down his arms.   You always knew Castiel was a sight for a sore eyes but you weren’t braced for all that.   Everything was tingling below your waist, your eyes roaming the strong, beautiful planes of his chest.   He gathered his dress shirt in his hands and crumpled it into a ball, tossing it onto the desk from where he stood.   He looked at you briefly, seemed to notice you hadn’t moved, but he did not comment.  His hands looked a bit shakier, reaching for his belt.

If your silly self was so easily swayed by a bare chest, you probably shouldn’t have lowered your gaze.   He was half-hard already, a very slight tent against the front of his dark trousers.   A short breath escaped your nose, eyes watching calloused fingers against the belt.   You somehow managed to break your own trance, realizing he struggled.   You weren’t sure if he was out of touch with manually undressing or if he was nervous too.  It seemed odd, Castiel, Smouldering Angel of the Lord, being nervous to be with you.    He fumbled with the belt either way, the prong of the buckle jabbing his fingers.

“Here,” you said, not lifting your eyes, stepping closer.   “Let me.”  

It was almost a compulsion.   You slipped your hands past his, his fingers skimming your knuckles as he pulled back.   You unbuckled the belt and parted it, gently pushing the leather through the foremost loops on his pants.   You looked up at him then, his eyes already set on you.   Your hands lingered by his hips, moving only when his own returned.   He pulled the belt off, flattening the leather against his palm.  

“Thank you,” he said, then promptly walked away.   You blinked yourself back into reality.  Castiel returned to the desk to deposit his belt and you turned your back, pulling the dress down until it pooled at your feet.   Blushing already, you picked it up and draped it over a chair, removing your bra and laying it nearby.    You looked at Castiel over your shoulder, saw him watching you from the corner of his eye.   He was folding his pants, standing there in a pair of white boxers.  You both looked away from each other when your gazes met.   You heard his pants hit the desk and then the ruffle of more material.

Oh god, you thought, hands frozen on your hips.   There was a naked Castiel standing somewhere behind you.   You weren’t sure you could breathe right.

“Y/N?” Castiel said.  By the sound of his voice, he was near the foot of the bed.  “Are you all right?  Are you having second thoughts?”

“Um, no, fine,” you said, shaking your head.  That reminded you about your hair.   You wasted a moment, your back still turned, taking apart your updo.   Lock after lock tumbled free, the final elastic snapping in your nervous haste.   Only one thing left to do.  You took the plunge, breathed in deeply, breathed out again.   Then you pushed your underwear down your thighs, past your knees, and kicked them off.    You turned around and faced him before you could second guess yourself.

You didn’t actually see his initial reaction, your own reaction at the forefront.   You looked him over, managing to feel both aroused and annoyed because ugh he was built like a freaking Adonis.   You almost felt like covering your body but decided against it, mostly because you didn’t think you could move at the moment.   It was Castiel’s voice that summoned you, and you realized you had been staring right at his half-hard cock.   If you thought you were blushing before, you definitely were now.

“We should perhaps…” he said, looking at the bed.   Breathing unevenly, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you squeaked.   “Right.  Of course.”

You shuffled over to the bed, debating how to position yourself.   Castiel stood waiting, looking between you and the bed like he wasn’t sure which was more appropriate.   You eventually sat down, shoulders curving inward, your arms awkwardly crossing your chest now that you could think straight.   You laid back,  eyes directed to the ceiling, head slowly placed on your pillow.   You kept your knees bent, your hands on your chest, your breath laboured.  Your heart was positively hammering.

“Human sexuality can be awkward,” Castiel said, your gaze moving to him.  He looked at you kindly.  “But I‘ve come to understand it is not necessary.   Do you trust me?”

Your heart melted, easing the thunderous rhythm.   Of course you trusted Castiel—Castiel who saved you from death the very first time you met him, who delivered you safely to a new life, who might have been distant but never unkind, and who sought to be a gentleman when he could have bypassed your nerves and simply settled the affair.   You smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, Cas,” you said.  “I do.”

“Then turn over.”

All right – so you hadn’t been expecting that.    You watched him for a moment, confused.   He waited with perfect patience.   You eventually complied, supposing there was no reason to refuse, and you rolled onto your stomach, stretching your legs out.   His weight sunk onto the mattress beside you, his bare hip against yours.   You folded your hands beneath your chin and stared at the headboard, your muscles tensing all over again.

“I’m going to touch you,” he said.  That voice really was too much.   You nodded your consent, expecting his hands to land anywhere but where they did.   Fingers curled over your shoulders, palms pressing your stiff muscles, gently kneading the stress from your body.   You bit your lower lip, eyes fluttering closed.   His hands were warm, palms a bit rough, grip strong.   His thumbs swept down your shoulder blades, pressing in, then he followed the curve of your spine.  You fell soft and pliant beneath his ministrations, remaining so even when he moved.  The warmth beside you vacated and then hands were on your thighs, parting them.   “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”  

You were only capable of a content “nghhh” noise, your head nodding once.  Then he was settled between your legs and his hands were on your waist, continuing to massage the restless nerves.  You squirmed when his hands moved too low at your sides, tickling you.   He paused at your sudden reaction.  

“Sorry,” you giggled.  “Bit ticklish.”  

Cheeky bastard purposefully swiped his fingers there, earning more giggles.  

“Cas!” you exclaimed, looking at him over your shoulder.   He was smiling.

“Apologies,” he said.  “I like your laughter.”  

This guy was gonna be the death of you.

“I guess I forgive you,” you teased, facing forward again.   You wiggled your hips, settling in again, amazed with how comfortable you felt considering your vulnerable position.  

His hands left your sides and went to your lower back, massaging deftly until his thumbs swiped just above your rear.   You knew what view you afforded him this entire time, but you suddenly felt a little more naked knowing where his gaze had fallen.   But your nerves gave way to anticipation as you waited to see—or feel—what he would do.   He did not disappoint, drawing his hands a little lower to hold your hips, thumbs tracing small circles over your skin.   He waited for a protestation but met nothing, one hand sliding over the curve of your rear.  You shoved your mouth against a pillow, not wanting to make a noise for such a simple action.

“You are very beautiful,” Castiel suddenly said, and all hope of composure went out the window.   You swallowed, lifting your head to glance back again.   He was on his knees, knelt between your legs, his hands on you and his gaze very low on your body.   His hand moved back up, thumb skimming the soft skin before tentatively settling at the crease of your ass.  He pressed down gently, drawing his thumb down the cleft.   Your hips lifted instinctively, your bare chest rubbing against the bedclothes, heat pooling below at the gradual build of sensation.   You swore you saw the moment his pupils dilated, watching your hips roll for him, hearing your breather stutter.   “I’m a fortunate husband,” he said, causing your stomach knot deliciously.  “Even if only for a night.”

Castiel, the great seducer.  Who would have thought.  

“Cas,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to your shoulder.   You breathed unevenly.   “I—I—”   You knew all the graphic mechanics of sex, had sought your own pleasure from time to time.  You were a virgin, not a saint.   All the same, you found it hard to ask for what you wanted, not sure of the words.    But he understood your wanting phrases, hand sliding beneath you.   Then he was right where you needed.  Careful fingers parted your damp folds, middle finger finding your clit fast.  You allowed yourself a verbal reaction, a small mewl into the skin of your shoulder.   You turned your face down, forehead against a pillow while he rubbed two fingers back and forth.  

“This should make it easier,” Castiel said, words barely registering.   You rested your cheek against the pillow and closed your eyes, biting your lower lip when he eased a finger inside you.   “Is this… all right?”   He sounded legitimately unsure, drawing back his finger then inching it forward.   Your back had curved, ass lifted a bit obscenely to grant him space.   You just nodded, gripping the pillow beneath your head.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “good.”

He added a second finger,  the most you had ever pressed into yourself.  But his fingers were thicker than yours, textured differently, and there was a faint stretch as he carefully worked them in and out.  It felt incredible, eased by how wet you already were.   He curled his fingers slightly, causing you to moan and shudder faintly.  You ground yourself onto his hand, moaning again as his fingers stretched deeper.   He made a sound behind you, his fingers moving a bit faster, then scissoring slightly.  His movements were hesitant but growing surer.   He obviously understood what he had to do even if the effectiveness was an uncertainty.   You most definitely proved he was correct.

“I am privileged to be the one to see you like this,” he said, voice lower, breath running ragged.  You moaned again, canting your hips back.   He pulled his fingers down and carefully added a third, easing them back in.   Your grip on the pillow tightened, your head minutely turned, a breathy sound leaving your mouth before you bit your bottom lip.   His free hand reached for your face, suddenly and gently touching your lip.   You stopped biting it, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.  Your gaze could not hold, eyes closing the further his fingers went inside you.   He dragged his free hand down your shoulder, over your back, down your spine, settling on your ass and gently rubbing the flesh.    “Your body…” he said, sounding a little amazed, hand on your hip while the other worked a bit faster, harder, “feels…  right.  Good for this.”   He paused his action, leaving you panting, keen.  “It should be loved.  Often.”   You groaned, writhing until he pinned your hip down and slowly removed his fingers.   “On your back,” he said, wet fingers against your thigh, his other hand drawing your hair out of your face, smoothing it down.   “When you’re ready.”  

Oh god – oh god – this was it –

Arms shaky, you managed to push yourself up and turn over.  Your nipples had hardened, every nerve sensitive but no longer anxious.  Castiel stepped off the bed so you could manoeuvre yourself.  You flopped onto your back, hands at your sides, chest heaving and your sex aching for attention.   Castiel placed himself at your feet, fisting his cock and running lazy strokes back and forth.   He was as hard as you were wet, a bead of precum at the tip of his cock which he swiped, expression flittering with pleasure, drawing his hand back down his length.   Your legs were already slightly parted but you spread them further, urging him to move closer.    He did, hands falling on the outside of your thighs.  One gripped tight, lifting your hips, while the other reached up and snagged an unused pillow.   You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, placing them on your stomach, then at your sides, then tucking one beside your head.

“Are you comfortable?” Castiel asked, securing the pillow beneath your hips.   You could hardly mind such matters with his cock brushing the inside of your thigh, your need for him launching you past lingering shyness.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding vehemently, “definitely.”

“Tell me if I…”  He frowned, clearly imaging the prospect of hurting you.   “My grace should make it easier.”   He placed a hand on either thigh, holding you open.  You shivered, fisting a hand in your own hair, the other in the bedsheets, while looking at him.   He looked down at where he held you, his chest visibly rising and falling with breath now.   His body had almost completely overcome him but you could see him fighting to restrain himself.   Then his fingers were at your sex again, a hand on his cock, and then the head was nudging at your entrance and your breath caught.   He pressed forward, gentle as he could without prolonging the moment to pain.   Your held breath collapsed and you started breathing hard, knuckles whitening where they clutched the bedsheet.   Castiel looked at you, cupped your jaw and caressed the side of your face.   Your eyes closed, leaning into his touch as he moved inside you, inch by solid inch.   Your knees bent at his hips, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, breath escaping through your nose.   You could feel the faint stretch and burn, but it was not as painful as you thought it might have been.   Whether that was your body alone or Castiel’s grace, somehow healing whatever damage caused, you were not sure.   All you knew was that by the time your bodies touched, Castiel buried completely inside you, it felt right.  

“Ah, Cas—” you wheezed, hands grabbing his shoulders.   He curled one hand into your hair, holding tight, his expression heated and blissful at once.

“You feel—” he began, his other hand below your thigh, drawing it against his hip.  You moaned, head tipping back, his grip on your hair tightening.   He seemed to think better of whatever he meant to say, face falling to the juncture between your shoulder and neck, warm breath swiping your skin.   “This constitutes as consummation,” he rasped, clearly fighting very hard to hold still.   His lips moved against your skin as he spoke, your nails lightly scratching his shoulders.   He might have been able to hold still but you were aching for something, feeling whole and full and needy for more.   “We can… stop here.  If you prefer,” he finished.  

In a bold move you would never regret, you hooked your other leg around him.

“I didn’t take off all my clothes for that,” you teased, feeling him laugh lightly against your skin.   He lifted his head, looked down at you, shifting his hips slightly.   The marginal movement caused you to hold him tighter, lips parting in a soundless reaction.  

“Then it’s my responsibility to make your sacrifices meaningful,” he said, and then his hips drew back slightly before pushing forward again.   You groaned, grappling at him like he was an anchor to your boat in a storm.   His fingers wrapped in your hair, pressing into your scalp, his face staring down into yours as he moved inside you, a gradual, slow rhythm.   Your breathing fell into measure with him, your fingers pressing hard enough into his shoulders to bruise.

“The marriage is a good thing,” you found some words to say, and if Castiel wasn’t currently rocking you into a tempest of heat, you might have been embarrassed at your own confession.    “After tonight, I don’t think I could have anyone else inside me.”   His moan turned into something of a growl, hips beginning to thrust with a little more verve, mouth dropping to your shoulder.    You tightened your legs around him, your next sound louder than necessary, falling into more delirious phrases.   “You feel so good there,” you gasped, throwing your head back.  “Better than anything or anyone.  All… all a wife could ask for…”

He sucked a kiss on your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin and tongue dabbing the spot.  It was probably the weirdest and most mild kink to have, but he was clearly enraptured with the marital titles.

“A husband should care for his wife,” he rumbled, shifting so you balanced better on the pillow and he could drive further into you.   You gasped, raking your nails down his back.  “Especially when she takes him so well.”  

“Oh, Cas—”

“I need to see you now,” he said, kissing below your ear and then lifting his face over yours.   “Y/N, give me your hand.”   One of his hands was wrapped around your hip but he held the other up, near your head.    Your hands were still gripping his shoulders, not wanting to let go as he rode you with such unrelenting passion.   But you did as he asked, crashing your hand into his.   He clutched it, kissing your palm before drawing it close.   He slowed inside you, breathing hard, eyes on your wrist.   “I must expose the brink of your prophetic elements,” he said, like that meant anything to you.   You rolled your hips beneath him, causing his eyes to flutter closed for a moment.   He pressed down on top of you, fingers clamping around your wrist.   “Please,” he said.  “Once this is consummated according to heaven’s second will, I promise,” he kissed your wrist, teeth gentle against the soft skin, “I promise,” he repeated, eyes dark, “I will fuck you into the bed you lay on.”

“Cas,” you breathed, “since when do you say things like that?”  It was meant to be a thought more than legitimate question but he just smiled, the sort of smile you only saw in moments of grave consequence and confrontation, intense and steadfast.

“I’ve been on earth some time,” he said.  “And inside you long enough to know what you want.”

“Well, fuck,” you smiled gently, “get on with it then.”  

He held your wrist in his hand, fingernails gentle against the skin.   He drew them a few inches down to the middle of your arm, then held steady.   He looked at you with more seriousness.

“This is likely to hurt,” he said.  “Are you prepared?”  

You nodded, braced.   You weren’t sure what to expect when his nails suddenly punctured your lower arm.   Bewildered, you watched as the broken skin did not emit blood but light.   Golden and warm and simmering hot like burn marks where he scratched.   You stared down, mouth agape.   Then Castiel was lifting your arm to his face and you swore your heart leapt into your throat, pain momentarily forgotten as he opened his mouth and gently lowered his lips to the bleeding light.  It was a soothing sensation, mouth soft and damp against the searing heat of bright gold, lips deftly pressing around the skin.  You shuddered, a full tremor shaking your spine when his tongue stroked the skin.   Every sweet spot seemed to sing at once, his mouth against some intimate, noncorporeal aspect of your humanity.    Then he returned your arm, lacing your fingers with his.

“You must do the same,” he said.  You had no idea how, not too sure what he had done.   You went to voice this concern but he shook his head, gently rocking his hips into yours.  Your worries tumbled from mind.   “It will work,” he said.  “I trust you as well, Y/N.”  

Breathless, you unlaced your fingers and lowered them to his arm, resting against the skin before dragging your nails as he had done.   The ritual did something because you thought nothing substantial to enact it.   All the same,  his light bled in a bluish colour, blaring through the cracked skin of the vessel.  

“It must be inside you,” he said, eyes glowing a brighter blue than normal.  “It binds your soul to me.”

“Forever,” you whispered, bringing his arm to your mouth.

“Yes,” he said, watching with those inhumanly blue eyes.   “Eternity.”  As he had done, you closed your mouth over the light.  You felt nothing at first, just his skin beneath your lips, so you followed his example and swiped your tongue.   A warm sensation immediately flooded you, seeming to run along every vein, muscle, bone, and sinew.  Castiel made a low noise, a barely stifled grunt.  Then he pulled his arm back and grabbed your hand, pressing your arms together so gold and blue blistered into a hot white together.   You cried out, immense amounts of pleasure flooding every last pore and nerve, almost too much to bear.  It faded and when you looked into his face, for a moment you thought you saw many faces—beautiful and bright and warm and gazing at you from a hundred vantages.   Blinking and breathing, you fell back into the human moment, your arms healed and Castiel panting.

Then he was moving inside you again, making good on his promise to fuck you into the bed.   Castiel moved onto his knees and grabbed your hips, lifting you right up against him as he thrust down.   The pillow helped somewhat though your back still curved.  Honestly, that celestial action had felt similar to an orgasm and it slightly wore at you, even while your body begged for more.   You couldn’t believe you had ever worried about this moment.   Now you were only worried it would never happen again.  

But that thought fell from mind as Castiel’s expression slowly changed, features tight, his hips snapping erratically.  You clenched around him, watched that beautiful expression fall apart as he slumped forward, thrusting a few more times as he came inside you.    

After it ended, both of you lay there for a moment, Castiel softening inside you, your gaze blurry, breath hard.   The celestial interlude had clearly affected you both.   You never thought you could feel so fucked out without even technically coming (at least the human way).   But you were exhausted, more tired by the second.   Castiel regained his strength first, though perhaps only marginally, lifting himself off of you and moving aside.    You hummed contently, pressing yourself into your bed as he rearranged the pillows and tossed aside the one beneath you.   He sat behind you, leaning against the headboard, and you rolled over and peered up.  

“Are you leaving?” you asked.   He lay down, his arm circling your shoulders and drawing you against him.   You rested your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Not if you wish for me to stay,” he said.

“I do,” you replied, yawning thereafter.   Sleepily, you nodded again.   “I do.”

He smiled against the top of your head, kissing your crown.   His hand smoothed down your hair and settled on your shoulder, holding you close.  

“I do too,” he said.  

part 2

castiel x reader masterpost

[neocab]

Translating the Cyberpunk Future

I'm a video game translator, and I love my job. It's odd work, sometimes stressful, sometimes bewildering, but it always provides interesting and inspiring challenges. Every project brings new words, slang, and cultural trends to discover, but translating also forces me to reflect on language itself. Each job also comes with its own unique set of problems to solve. Some have an exact solution that can be found in grammar or dictionaries, but others require a more... creative approach.

Sometimes, the language we’re translating from uses forms and expressions that simply have no equivalent in the language we’re translating to. To bridge such gaps, a translator must sometimes invent (or circumvent), but most importantly they must understand. Language is ever in flux. It’s an eternal cultural battleground that evolves with the lightning speed of society itself. A single word can hurt a minority, give shape to a new concept, or even win an election. It is humanity’s most powerful weapon, especially in the Internet Age, and I always feel the full weight of responsibility to use it in an informed manner.

One of my go-to ways for explaining the deep complexity of translation is the relationship between gender (masculine and feminine) and grammar. For example, in English this is a simple sentence:

"You are fantastic!"

Pretty basic, right? Easy to translate, no? NOT AT ALL!

Once you render it into a gendered language like Italian, all its facets, its potential meanings, break down like shards.

Sei fantastico! (Singular and masculine)

Sei fantastica! (Singular and feminine)

Siete fantastici! (Plural and masculine)

Siete fantastiche! (Plural and feminine)

If we were translating a movie, selecting the correct translation wouldn't be a big deal. Just like in real life, one look at the speakers would clear out the ambiguity in the English text. Video game translation, however, is a different beast where visual cues or even context is a luxury, especially if a game is still in development. Not only that, but the very nature of many games makes it simply impossible to define clearly who is being addressed in a specific line, even when development has ended. Take an open world title, for example, where characters have whole sets of lines that may be addressed indifferently to single males or females or groups (mixed or not) within a context we don't know and can't control.

In the course of my career as a translator, time and time again this has led into one of the most heated linguistic debates of the past few years: the usage of the they/them pronoun. When I was in grade school, I was taught that they/them acted as the third person plural pronoun, the equivalent of the Italian pronoun "essi." Recently, though, it has established itself as the third person singular neutral, both in written and spoken English. Basically, when we don't know whether we're talking about a he/him or a she/her, we use they/them. In this way, despite the criticism of purists, the English language has brilliantly solved all cases of uncertainty and ambiguity. For instance:

“Somebody forgot their backpack at the party.”

Thanks to the use of the pronoun "their," this sentence does not attribute a specific gender to the person who has forgotten the backpack at the party. It covers all the bases. Smooth, right? Within the LGBT circles, those who don’t recognize themselves in gender binarism have also adopted the use of they/them. Practically speaking, the neutral they/them pronoun is a powerful tool, serving both linguistic accuracy and language inclusiveness. There's just one minor issue: We have no "neutral pronouns" in Italian.

It's quite the opposite, if anything! In our language, gender informs practically everything, from adjectives to verbs. On top of that, masculine is the default gender in case of ambiguity or uncertainty. For instance:

Two male kids > Due bambini

Two female kids > Due bambine

One male kid and one female kid > Due bambini

In the field of translation, this is a major problem that often requires us to find elaborate turns of phrase or different word choices to avoid gender connotations when English maintains ambiguity. As a professional, it’s not only a matter of accuracy but also an aesthetic issue. In a video game, when a character refers to someone using the wrong gender connotation, the illusion of realism is broken. My colleagues and I have been navigating these pitfalls for years as best we can. Have you ever wondered why one of the most common Italian insults in video games is "pezzo di merda"? That's right. "Stronzo" and "bastardo" give a gender connotation, while "pezzo di merda" does not.

A few months ago, together with the Gloc team, I had the pleasure of working on the translation of Neo Cab, a video game set in a not too distant future with a cyberpunk and dystopian backdrop (and, sadly, a very plausible one). The main character is Lina, a cabbie of the "gig economy," who drives for a hypothetical future Uber in a big city during a time of deep social unrest. The story is told mainly through her conversation with the many clients she picks up in her taxi. When the game’s developers gave us the reference materials for our localization, they specified that one of the client characters was "non-binary" and that Lina respectfully uses the neutral "they/them" pronoun when she converses with them.

"Use neutral pronouns or whatever their equivalent is in your language," we were told.

I remember my Skype chat with the rest of the team. What a naive request on the client's part! Neutral pronouns? It would be lovely, but we don't have those in Italian! So what do we do now? The go-to solution in these cases is to use masculine pronouns, but such a workaround would sacrifice part of Lina’s character and the nuance of one of the interactions the game relies on to tell the story. Sad, no? It was the only reasonable choice grammatically-speaking, but also a lazy and ill-inspired one. So what were we to do? Perhaps there was another option...

Faced with losing such an important aspect of Lina’s personality, we decided to forge ahead with a new approach. We had the opportunity to do something different, and we felt like we had to do the character justice. In a game that's completely based on dialogue, such details are crucial. What's more, the game's cyberpunk setting gave us the perfect excuse to experiment and innovate. Language evolves, so why not try to imagine a future where Italian has expanded to include a neutral pronoun in everyday conversations? It might sound a bit weird, sure, but cyberpunk literature has always employed such gimmicks. And rather than take away from a character, we could actually enrich the narrative universe with an act of "world building" instead.

After contacting the developers, who enthusiastically approved of our proposal, we started working on creating a neutral pronoun for our language. But how to go about that was a question in itself. We began by studying essays on the subject, like Alma Sabatini's Raccomandazioni per un uso non sessista della lingua italiana (Recommendations for a non-sexist usage of the Italian language). We also analyzed the solutions currently adopted by some activists, like the use of asterisks, "x," and "u."

Siamo tutt* bellissim*.

Siamo tuttx bellissimx.

Siamo tuttu bellissimu.

I’d seen examples of this on signs before, but it had always seemed to me that asterisks and such were not meant to be a solution, but rather a way to highlight the issue and start a discourse on something that's deeply ingrained in our language. For our cyberpunk future, we wanted a solution that was more readable and pronounceable, so we thought we might use schwa (ə), the mid central vowel sound. What does it sound like? Quite familiar to an English speaker, it's the most common vowel sound. Standard Italian doesn’t have it, but having been separated into smaller countries for most of its history, Italy has an extraordinary variety of regional languages (“dialetti”) and many of them use this sound. We find it in the final "a" of "mammeta" in Neapolitan, for instance (and also in the dialects of Piedmont and Ciociaria, and in several other Romance languages). To pronounce it, with an approximation often seen in other romance languages, an Italian only needs to pretend not to pronounce a word's last vowel.

Schwa was also a perfect choice as a signifier in every possible way. Its central location in phonetics makes it as neutral as possible, and the rolled-over "e" sign "ə" is reminiscent of both a lowercase "a" (the most common feminine ending vowel in Italian) and of an unfinished "o" (the masculine equivalent). The result is:

Siamo tuttə bellissimə.

Not a perfect solution, perhaps, but eminently plausible in a futuristic cyberpunk setting. The player/reader need only look at the context and interactions to figure it out. The fact that we have no "ə" on our keyboards is easily solved with a smartphone system upgrade, and though the pronunciation may be difficult, gender-neutrals wouldn't come up often in spoken language. Indeed, neutral alternatives are most needed in writing, especially in public communication, announcements, and statements. To be extra sure our idea worked as intended and didn't overlook any critical issues, we submitted it to a few LGBT friends, and with their blessing, then sent our translation to the developers.

Fast forward to now, and the game is out. It has some schwas in it, and nobody complained about our proposal for a more inclusive future language. It took us a week to go through half a day's worth of work, but we're happy with the result. Localization is not just translation, it's a creative endeavour, and sometimes it can afford to be somewhat subversive. To sum up the whole affair, I'll let the words of Alma Sabatini wrap things up:

"Language does not simply reflect the society that speaks it, it conditions and limits its thoughts, its imagination, and its social and cultural advancement." — Alma Sabatini

Amen.

[the-sacred-now]

Sounding out views on LGBTQA+ness in...

Yaa: Mostly treated like a weird fetish. No violence about it, but talk of it outside of LBG communities would definitely be met with amusement and used to squick people. Trans people would be met with “oh like the Yinerny?” because Yaa doesn’t have its own social construct to meet that, negative or positive. In fact, their words for trans people would probably translate to “a Yinerny man” regardless of assigned gender or gender identity. Aces would be the most unfathomable thing to Yaa culture, where life is very much considered to be about power and pleasure--and both are considered inextricably sexual.

Tribes of Yinerny: As implied, they aren’t big on gender, let alone a binary... except when it comes to having sex. Namely, they don’t consider any sexual relations outside of penis-vagina penetration to be “real sex.” Perfectly acceptable, but not sex, just pleasure-seeking. (This includes, but is not limited to, gay sex.) Traditional family units are expected to be comprised of a penis-haver and a vagina-haver, who, without question of gender, are expected to make babies, and they are expected not to have “real sex” outside of that construct. However, “pleasure-seeking” outside of the relationship is not considered taboo. Non-traditional family units and a lack of family unit are socially permitted. Given that, aces and aros wouldn’t find themselves under very much pressure to conform, though they wouldn’t likely be particularly understood.

They don’t concern themselves with gender expression, so much, as role expression. Their identities are hunter, soldier, leader, agriculturalist, merchant, craftsman, cook, oral artist, visual artist, pleasure expert, scholar, subsets of everything listed, and more, though those are the big ones. None of it is considered mutually exclusive, though it would be very much frowned upon to express a role you don’t hold.

The Great Graves: The mass of tiny mountain nations are a bit of an ethnic sliding scale between the Yaa and the Yinerny. If there is an independent mountain attitude that seeps up and inserts itself into either worldview, it probably boils down to “If you deviate from the local norm, we’ll beat you up. But if you can give as good as you get, well, that’s pretty cool, wanna hang out?” And deviants (of any stripe, not just gender or orientation,) that made it “in” would likely thenceforth be defended by whoever had previously come at them.

Kapatak Union: A continent of many countries will have many cultures and views, but with their trade union making travel relatively easy and safe, the cultural cross-pollination has been going on so long I feel I can safely divide this into two subcategories...

Inland and Eastern Kapatak: Kapatak is very big on traditional family values, which to them means SETTLE DOWN AND HAVE AS MANY KIDS AS YOU CAN POSSIBLY FEED AND LOVE THEM ALL YAY. They welcome The Gays with open arms, so long as they’ll follow these simple societal rules... 1, look for a partner to settle down with! 2, that done, adopt as many kiddos as possible! Kapatak assumes this is the reason homosexuality and barrenness exist--nature’s provision for orphans. Bi people will confuse them. (What? Wait. Are you a baby-maker or not? If you can make your own babies, you should, it’s great!) Aces and aros probably won’t will be overlooked, and the sex-repulsed of any stripe will be met with the same horrified pity given to the infertile.

(Views on polyamory, cheating, and open relationships differ too much from country to country to explore here. Some countries/regions hold hetero and homosexual family units to the same standard, some don’t.)

Anyone who does not want to have kids... had better be poor enough to justify it in the eyes of public opinion, or else suffer the >:( of the people. Big yikes.

Trans people and the very concept of non-binaryness would tend to boggle them, but as long as the trans person in question was willing to make or take babies, there would be no ill will. Within the (extensive, mage-filled) scientific community of Kapatak, there is study on intersex biology, and the question has arisen of whether to be trans is in fact to be spiritually intersex.

Western Coastal and Island Kapatak: A lot of the above holds, but ideas and blood from Yaa and Yinerny would have met them in the harbors. And ideas, if not blood, from Juwan.

Mynora: Very... categorical, if not quite binary. Quaternion, actually--cis male, trans male, cis female, and trans female are your social options. They’re fairly egalitarian between the four categories, but enbies are out of luck. Gayness is considered an imbalance of power. Like, the way they see it, cis male-female relations and trans male-female relations are standard. Has to do with the way they see sex and romance as an expression of power from both sides--the meeting of equal and opposite forces. So they would see homosexuality as a, a spiritual mismatch. People in same-sex relationships would be very harried about their love lives, regularly under siege by Concerned Friends and Relatives, but physically safe. Not considered gross, or even wrong per say, but worryingly unbalanced. Anything that went wrong in their lives would be blamed on this unbalance. >_>

Interestingly, this is the only society outside of Juwan that has a word and a social place for aro-aces. The term is “saving themselves for battle,” with the concept being that they must have sexual and romantic energy, and if it’s not being thus expressed sexually and romantically, their spirits must be bottling it for another use. The battle-sworn don’t need to express themselves in battle, per say--but they probably will. (Sex and romance are too intertwined, to them, to consider non-aro aces and non-ace aros, alack. By the same token, casual hookups or cheating = Very Taboo.)

After 200 years of violently oppressive serfdom and borderline genocide under the Kapatak, however, many concepts unique to the Mynore’s culture have been lost or near-lost, however.

Juwan: I know the least about the Juwan, who, like the Kapatak, have a continent of multiple nations. Unlike the Kapatak, they are not as united on many things. But I do know that as a (fantasy) race (morphologically, spiritually, and essentially human), they are the most androgynous people in my world, which makes it feel somewhat ironic to me that many of their cultures seem to hold more strongly to distinct gender roles than most of the other cultures--although they do have a “third gender” role into which trans, gender nonconforming, and intersex people of all varieties are thrown indiscriminately together.

Asexuality is both more common and more recognized, and they are culturally aromantic to the point that romantics would be the ones that required a label. Hetero, homo, and bisexuality don’t have any especial judgement passed upon them, so long as everyone involved keeps inside one of the 3 gender roles. One thing common to all Juwan cultures seems to be the idea that anything worth doing is worth becoming absolutely excellent at, so they direct their sex-judgey energy to the question of “are they a good lay?”

~

There’s a lot more to discover, and probably some things to correct, but that’s what I know about that. Why does my first batch of stories have to be set in the Great Graves and Yaa?? Bleh. It is, for geo-political plot reasons, what it is.

[crisisoninfintefandoms]

@i-am-a-bit-squeemish​ actually sent me some fandom asks!  Yay!  Apparently they couldn’t find my asks, which...I don’t know how tumblr works so, I’ll have to look into that to see what’s up, haha!  Anyway, here goes my answers!

001 | Fandom: DS9

Favorite character: Garak.  Predictable, but man I love that disaster lizard.

Least Favorite character: Probably Kai Winn.  Dukat is awful, but at least I find my fun to watch, lol.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Garak/Bashir is my number one by a long shot, following that in no particular order: Odo/Quark, Jake/Ziyal, Odo/Kira (I coulda done without it, but I honestly think they did their romance about as well as they could have) and Rom/Leeta.

Character I find most attractive: This is a tough one.  Bashir maybe?  Or Kira.  Idk, I’m not really “into” any of the characters like that, lol.    

Character I would marry: Bashir.  Well, season 7 Bashir anyway.  He would make the best husband :-P

Character I would be best friends with: my real life best friend probably most resembles Kira so, let’s go with that :-P

a random thought: Man, Enabran Tain was a shitty dad.  

An unpopular opinion: I kind of hate mirror verse :-(

my canon OTP: Garashir :-D

Non-canon OTP: Garashir :-(

most badass character: I want to say Garak...yeah, I’ll say Garak :-P

pairing I am not a fan of: Bashir/Ezri.  And Garak/Ziyal.  Both of theose are just a world of WHAT???

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Hmm.  Jadzia.  I just think they could have done a lot more with her. There was so much intersting stuff that could have been explored with the symbiote, particularly in terms of gender and sexuality, but they were too preoccupied with make her the “cool hot girl” most of the time.

favourite friendship: Garak and Odo.  I’m not sure you could call it a “friendship” exactly, but they come to an understanding that I think is really interesting for such contrasting characters.  

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Sisko is the best dad :-D

002 | Ship:  They asked for Garashir and Hannigram, so here goes!

when of if I started shipping it. Hannigram: when I first watched WotL.  Garshir: ...pretty much from the first time Garak appeared on screen, lol.  

my thoughts: idk, right now I’m kinda distracted by how Hannigram is kindof a way more fucked up version of Garashir, lol.

What makes me happy about them: Hannigram: IT’S JUST SO BEAUTIFUL!!! Garashir: How these two idiots are just so in love :-D

What makes me sad about them: Hannigram: That I’m pretty sure there is no real happy ending for them.  Garashir: that they are such idiots who can’t seem to realize how in love they both are :-(

things done in fanfic that annoys me: I try not to complain about fanfic, but since this is a questions asked...Hannigram: I’m actually not a fan of “straight Will is wierded out by sex with a dude.”  I’ve seen it done well, but to me it doesn’t jive with the character.  Garashir: I get why it’s tempting, and I kind of do it too, but it kinda bugs me when authors use Garak and/or Bashir to complain about what they don’t like about famous works of literature.  I am aware this is a very specific pet peeve, lol.   

things I look for in fanfic: ...BDSM.  For both.  I’m a kinky fuck.  

My kinks: Oh, TOO MANY TO LIST.  I’ll try to pick only one per ship that is actually for reasons that are somewhat specific to them.  Let’s see.  Hannigram: puppy play, with Hannibal as Will’s puppy.  Garashir: Dom!Bashir, specifically in Bashir being surprisingly imposing AND nurturing and Garak being WAY into it. 

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: UGH, NO, I CAN’T!  Okay, okay, let’s see...Garak/Parmak isn’t terrible.  I can kind of get with Will going back to Molly.  Hannibal/Bedelia is okay.  Bashir...hmm.  Oh!  Maybe Data?  Idk, I don’t like this question, lol.  

My happily ever after for them: Garashir: easy.  Living on Cardassia with a dozen Cardassian orphans.  Hannigram:  I guess evading the law forever while occasionally murdering people?  Idk. Maybe their happily ever after is just admitting to themselves how much they love each other and then being okay with whatever happens after that, even if it’s objectively terrible.   

003 | Character: Julian Bashir

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Garak.  That’s it.  That’s all of them.  

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Bashir/O’Brien is my ultimate BroTP for him.  

My unpopular opinion about this character: Not sure if this qualifies, but I wish he’d been gay on the show.  Not bi, gay.  So there’d have been no Jadzia crush, no weird Leeta thing, no Ezri endgame, and all of his guest star love interests like his ballet dance ex-fiance would have been men.  I don’t really have a reason, other than just that I hate his romance stuff with Jadzia, Leeta and Ezri and would happily have him be gay so that they never happened.    

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Um, admitting his feelings for Garak?  Haha, no but seriously, I do wish he’d gone to Cardassia at the end of the show to help.  It would have been a natural conclusion for his character.  

my het ship: if he must be with a woman, I kind of liked alien who couldn’t walk in gravity.  

my fem/slash ship: Garashir, all the way.  

my OTP: ...Still Garashir.  I may not be undestanding these questions.

my OT3: I’ll take Bashir/Garak/Parmak in a pinch.  

my cross over ship: I don’t do much crossover, tbh.  Does Bashir/Data count?

my kink: SecretDom!Bashir is my fav :-D

a head cannon fact: ...that he totally does go to Cardassia post finale.  Fuck you canon.  

my gender bend: Not sure what this means?  Anyway, I’ve seen enough TransMan!Bashir around that I can get with that.    

004 | send me 2 fandoms and I will give yo my crossover OTP: DS9 and Hannibal

Hoo boy, that’s...that’s intense.  Never though about that, lol.  Hmm...well, I’d get a kick out of Garak, Bashir, Will and Hannibal just having dinner together and chatting, but I don’t think I’d make an OTP out of any crossover there.  

Okay, after thinking long and hard, I have two options here.  One: Jake/Reba, for the pairing that I actually think would make a good couple (grown up Jake, obvs).  Two: Dukat/Bedelia, for the pairing that would be a complete clusterfuck when you just want to WATCH THE WORLD BURN.  

[theareya]

even numbers for the gaming asks!

Okay, its been 1000 years since I posted this gaming ask. But here are the answers!!!! I put most under the read more…

2. First game you played?The first game I ever played ever, in thehistory of forever, was Super Mario Bros. at my babysitter’s house, if mymemory serves me correctly

4. Longest consecutive hours you’ve played agame?Ohkay, let’s see. Without eating or bathing,but I did get up briefly to bathroom and drink water, I finished uncharted 1,2, and 3 consecutively in 120 hrs. Needless to say, I never did that again, asthe blood vessels in my eyes popped, I ate two bigmacs after, and my parentsyelled at me. Otherwise, without moving or tending to most of my basic bodilyneeds, 10 hours max as of late.

6. An underrated game from within the last fewyears?I don’t know, I’m probably biased and neverreally look online to see how the game was rated/how it’s doing. Oh! But! Ireally liked Battleborn, which was basically a game that came out like a littlebefore Overwatch? Or near the same time, actually. You also fight in teamsagainst one another with unique character abilities to obtain certainobjectives. Honestly, it is extremely well done and detailed, but very muchfalls in Overwatch’s shadow possibly due to similarity and budget D:  8. The game with the best atmosphere/scenery?I’m biased. I love Bioshock. But I also am ahuge fan of those apocalyptic, dystopia aesthetics. So, essentially, anythingalong the lines of bioshock, Fallout, and Last of us.

10. Prefer PC or console?I’ve always played on console. And I’m so bad atPC. You would think it’s a bit easier to aim a cursor to shoot at something,but I’m particularly bad at that.

12. Most bizarre game you’ve ever played?Most games are pretty… bizarre. Most of theactual weird ones I’ve only seen online on those “top ten weirdest video games”but maybe Katamari? There are definitely weirder ones… The Nightmare Within wasalso… strange. I don’t actually know what counts as bizarre anymore in thegaming world. Shrek party…

14. Do you watch playthroughs online?Sometimes, yes! If I know I am never going toget the game. For example, an xbox exclusive (I do not have an xbox) or if Ialready played the game and want to see others suffer, lmao. Or if I like thestreamer.

16. The best year in gaming you’ve experienced?… I don’t remember. I’m going to say 2011.

18. Worst game you’ve played?There are probably worse games, but I’ll go withthe most recent one I’ve played, which was Bound by Flame. It was kind of thisunfortunate mix of—attempt at—Dark Souls, Dragon Age, and other medieval games.Some parts of the gameplay were unnecessarily hard for kicks, with no way toovercome the boss aside from chipping away at the health by throwing a rock atit, while your single dead companion lay sprawled in the middle of the fieldten seconds into the fight. And of the one and a half romance options pergender you were allowed, none of them were very enticing. Spoiler** I overcamethe end fight by purchasing 10,000 potions to fight the dragon. I made itthrough just fine, only after using 600 potions. Strategy was little help, butheyo I made it through. 20. Favorite publisher and/or developer?…Sony? I don’t know… I’m terrible at thesequestions.

22. If you could turn one game into movie, whichwould it be?You know I don’t know, since any game thatturns into a movie makes me want to cry bitter tears of hate. I’m looking atresident evil specifically. But if I could turn Bioshock into a really goodmovie with the proper actors/actresses, storyline, extras, atmosphere, then …yeah.

24. Ever cried because of a video game? Whichone(s)?…Too many. Nothing gets me more invested andemotional than a videogame. I guess the only one that has made me actually cryvisible tears is Journey. The ending overwhelmed me in an inexplicable way.

26. How often do you play online? Co-op?Relatively often now, especially withOverwatch, and the fact that a lot of my friends have Overwatch as well. So,like, every other day, if not daily. Otherwise, I love co-oping with a friend mostlybecause the AI that they give to work with you tends to … suck butts. Lookingat Resident Evil… again.

28. Who got YOU into gaming?My babysitter. Haahaa. I used to hang out ather house all the time and I’d watch her play all sorts of games. She’s alsothe one who gifted me my purple game boy color :’D30. On average, how long does it take you in thecharacter creation screen?Could be up to an hour. But at least 30minutes. It depends on if I know what I want.

32. Do you cosplay?I do! But I’ve actually only cosplayed animethings. Most of the video game stuff I would like to cosplay is too hard and/orI wouldn’t do it justice. Also I’ve been parts of group cosplays generally, sowe gotta find a good match.

34. Favorite male npc?For some unknown reason, the only personpopping into my head right now is erandur, the dark elf companion, from skyrim.Like… he’s not my favorite npc, but…my mind is drawing a complete blank. And isjust repeating that name over and over in my head. Oh boy

36. Best antagonist?Albert Wesker. …Spoiler??** Look… if you gottathrow him in a volcano to get rid of him after 200 tries of “just survive longenough” fights, he’s pretty good to me. Please let him die.  

38. Have you tried a game, hated it, then triedagain, and loved it?N….no? There are some games where I getfrustrated, then invite a friend to play, who is extremely over-leveled, andthen they help me… live. Does that count?40. Favorite voice actor?Okay, I love Troy Baker. How can one person beso gosh darn versatile?? For anyone who doesn’t know (I doubt that) He voicesJoel from TLOU, Booker from Bioshock, Sam Drake from Uncharted, to name theones that pop into my head. And he does like a million other voices, and sings,and is just very excellent overall. 

42. A game you will never forget (in a bad ORgood way)?Resident Evil 5 in the respect that I justplayed it during a very happy time in my life with one of my friends. And itwas also when I learned that I really love co-op, as well it was a supertreasured bonding time with that friend. We legit screamed so obnoxiouslythroughout the whole thing, apologized profusely, yelled for help. Like thatgame brought out our full range of emotion while playing.

44. Do graphics matter?Not necessarily. They add a nice kick, butthere are quite a few games I can think of where the gameplay and story aremore prominent. Storyline is generally always the main thing I look for first.Storyline and characters. 46. Always, sometimes, or never use subtitles?ALWAYS. Even for NPCs. Like the setting thatsays “ALL SUBTITLES” one of the reasons is because it alerts me to enemiessometimes too as they whisper in the distance. Which is the closest thing to awarning from jump scares that I’m going to get.

48. A game you’ve always wanted to play but havenever gotten to it?Um. I’ve actually been pretty aggressive ingetting my grubby hands on the games that I want. EXCEPT. Nearly everythingthat came out after Kingdom Hearts: Chain of memories?? Like 2.3, 2.4, 2.5, 5 ½,365/3 days  idk there were too many?? AndI basically had almost every console except the PSP so I just kind of gave up??

50. How many games do you own?…uh… too many?? At least 200 if you total allof them from the dawn of my first game boy color.52. A game you will always stand behind, andsupport no matter what?..Fable. OKAY So, even though the game, alongwith the game company crashed and burned, I really loved that first game??Along with The Lost Chapters. I essentially based the experiences I had withFable 2, 3, Journey on how good the first game was. If I were to make someoneplay it now, they would probably think it’s pretty dumb, but I thought it was acleverly made game…54. A sequel you really want?… lmao Fable. AND/OR The Wolf Among us, becausethat’s been sitting there for far too long.56. Do you tell people irl that you play videogames?Yeah. If it comes up in the conversation. Or if…they have merchandise that I want.

58. Ever have someone walk in on a sex scenebetween you and you LI?N…o…60. The game you are best at?I know Bioshock inside and out… I don’t knowwhy I’ve played it so much, it’s a very linear game, but wuh. Also weirdly, I’mvery good at Sonic Adventure 2 Battle. And the only reason I’m obnoxiously goodat that game is because of the Chaos. I love those ridiculous little things andwould do anything to make sure they’re happy and healthy. And in order to dothat I had to play each stage multiple times to get the right power-ups andanimals to feed the Chaos…. There was a whole garden. And god.

62. Would you want to work with video games whenyou are older?I feel like if I start working with it I’llstart disliking it very much, unless I literally work as a tester… that getspaid a decent amount. Like seriously, walk in, sit down, play for… hours uponhours. Otherwise, I do not have the creativity or skill. lmao.

64. Describe your favorite video game using onlythree words?Underwater death city.

66. Game with the yummiest looking food?Final Fantasy XV. Okay, so I haven’t finishedthe game. I’m really not even that far into it, like… at all. I just saw thefood and got hungry. It’s so realistic and pretty.  

68. An older game that you’ve just recentlygotten into?I guess… Fallout New Vegas was pretty old, butthen my friend bought it for me on sale, and I tried it out and it was supergood??? And now I’m really into the Fallout series.

70. Do you play any mobile games?I.. play Fire Emblem Heroes, and a variety ofother mobile games like.. Notice me Senpai, Zen Koi, Mystic Messenger, uhhh…whatever is recommended sometimes. .

72. Have any guilty pleasure games?Not really. I’m pretty prideful in every game Iplay, including my otome games.74. Which game has the best lore?…Once…. Again, BIOSHOCK. Idk there are just somany little things in the city that you can find that point to the history ofthe residents, and what happened to them. There are those audio messages and littlesecrets that everybody has in the city, leading to its fall. I just love it somuch. Skyrim is a close second, to be fair. It’s more immersive and I canroleplay more on there.

[gta-5-cheats]

Students confront the unethical side of tech in ‘Designing for Evil’ course

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Students confront the unethical side of tech in ‘Designing for Evil’ course

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Whether it’s surveilling or deceiving users, mishandling or selling their data, or engendering unhealthy habits or thoughts, tech these days is not short on unethical behavior. But it isn’t enough to just say “that’s creepy.” Fortunately, a course at the University of Washington is equipping its students with the philosophical insights to better identify — and fix — tech’s pernicious lack of ethics.

“Designing for Evil” just concluded its first quarter at UW’s Information School, where prospective creators of apps and services like those we all rely on daily learn the tools of the trade. But thanks to Alexis Hiniker, who teaches the class, they are also learning the critical skill of inquiring into the moral and ethical implications of those apps and services.

What, for example, is a good way of going about making a dating app that is inclusive and promotes healthy relationships? How can an AI imitating a human avoid unnecessary deception? How can something as invasive as China’s proposed citizen scoring system be made as user-friendly as it is possible to be?

I talked to all the student teams at a poster session held on UW’s campus, and also chatted with Hiniker, who designed the course and seemed pleased at how it turned out.

The premise is that the students are given a crash course in ethical philosophy that acquaints them with influential ideas, such as utilitarianism and deontology.

“It’s designed to be as accessible to lay people as possible,” Hiniker told me. “These aren’t philosophy students — this is a design class. But I wanted to see what I could get away with.”

The primary text is Harvard philosophy professor Michael Sandel’s popular book Justice, which Hiniker felt combined the various philosophies into a readable, integrated format. After ingesting this, the students grouped up and picked an app or technology that they would evaluate using the principles described, and then prescribe ethical remedies.

As it turned out, finding ethical problems in tech was the easy part — and fixes for them ranged from the trivial to the impossible. Their insights were interesting, but I got the feeling from many of them that there was a sort of disappointment at the fact that so much of what tech offers, or how it offers it, is inescapably and fundamentally unethical.

I found the students fell into one of three categories.

Not fundamentally unethical (but could use an ethical tune-up)

WebMD is of course a very useful site, but it was plain to the students that it lacked inclusivity: its symptom checker is stacked against non-English-speakers and those who might not know the names of symptoms. The team suggested a more visual symptom reporter, with a basic body map and non-written symptom and pain indicators.

Hello Barbie, the doll that chats back to kids, is certainly a minefield of potential legal and ethical violations, but there’s no reason it can’t be done right. With parental consent and careful engineering it will be in line with privacy laws, but the team said that it still failed some tests of keeping the dialogue with kids healthy and parents informed. The scripts for interaction, they said, should be public — which is obvious in retrospect — and audio should be analyzed on device rather than in the cloud. Lastly, a set of warning words or phrases indicating unhealthy behaviors could warn parents of things like self-harm while keeping the rest of the conversation secret.

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WeChat Discover allows users to find others around them and see recent photos they’ve taken — it’s opt-in, which is good, but it can be filtered by gender, promoting a hookup culture that the team said is frowned on in China. It also obscures many user controls behind multiple layers of menus, which may cause people to share location when they don’t intend to. Some basic UI fixes were proposed by the students, and a few ideas on how to combat the possibility of unwanted advances from strangers.

Netflix isn’t evil, but its tendency to promote binge-watching has robbed its users of many an hour. This team felt that some basic user-set limits like two episodes per day, or delaying the next episode by a certain amount of time, could interrupt the habit and encourage people to take back control of their time.

Fundamentally unethical (fixes are still worth making)

FakeApp is a way to face-swap in video, producing convincing fakes in which a politician or friend appears to be saying something they didn’t. It’s fundamentally deceptive, of course, in a broad sense, but really only if the clips are passed on as genuine. Watermarks visible and invisible, as well as controlled cropping of source videos, were this team’s suggestion, though ultimately the technology won’t yield to these voluntary mitigations. So really, an informed populace is the only answer. Good luck with that!

China’s “social credit” system is not actually, the students argued, absolutely unethical — that judgment involves a certain amount of cultural bias. But I’m comfortable putting it here because of the massive ethical questions it has sidestepped and dismissed on the road to deployment. Their highly practical suggestions, however, were focused on making the system more accountable and transparent. Contest reports of behavior, see what types of things have contributed to your own score, see how it has changed over time, and so on.

Tinder’s unethical nature, according to the team, was based on the fact that it was ostensibly about forming human connections but is very plainly designed to be a meat market. Forcing people to think of themselves as physical objects first and foremost in pursuit of romance is not healthy, they argued, and causes people to devalue themselves. As a countermeasure, they suggested having responses to questions or prompts be the first thing you see about a person. You’d have to swipe based on that before seeing any pictures. I suggested having some deal-breaker questions you’d have to agree on, as well. It’s not a bad idea, though open to gaming (like the rest of online dating).

Fundamentally unethical (fixes are essentially impossible)

The League, on the other hand, was a dating app that proved intractable to ethical guidelines. Not only was it a meat market, but it was a meat market where people paid to be among the self-selected “elite” and could filter by ethnicity and other troubling categories. Their suggestions of removing the fee and these filters, among other things, essentially destroyed the product. Unfortunately, The League is an unethical product for unethical people. No amount of tweaking will change that.

Duplex was taken on by a smart team that nevertheless clearly only started their project after Google I/O. Unfortunately, they found that the fundamental deception intrinsic in an AI posing as a human is ethically impermissible. It could, of course, identify itself — but that would spoil the entire value proposition. But they also asked a question I didn’t think to ask myself in my own coverage: why isn’t this AI exhausting all other options before calling a human? It could visit the site, send a text, use other apps and so on. AIs in general should default to interacting with websites and apps first, then to other AIs, then and only then to people — at which time it should say it’s an AI.

To me the most valuable part of all these inquiries was learning what hopefully becomes a habit: to look at the fundamental ethical soundness of a business or technology and be able to articulate it.

That may be the difference in a meeting between being able to say something vague and easily blown off, like “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” and describing a specific harm and reason why that harm is important — and perhaps how it can be avoided.

As for Hiniker, she has some ideas for improving the course should it be approved for a repeat next year. A broader set of texts, for one: “More diverse writers, more diverse voices,” she said. And ideally it could even be expanded to a multi-quarter course so that the students get more than a light dusting of ethics.

With any luck the kids in this course (and any in the future) will be able to help make those choices, leading to fewer Leagues and Duplexes and more COPPA-compliant smart toys and dating apps that don’t sabotage self-esteem.

[theinvinciblenoob]

Whether it’s surveilling or deceiving users, mishandling or selling their data, or engendering unhealthy habits or thoughts, tech these days is not short on unethical behavior. But it isn’t enough to just say “that’s creepy.” Fortunately, a course at the University of Washington is equipping its students with the philosophical insights to better identify — and fix — tech’s pernicious lack of ethics.

“Designing for Evil” just concluded its first quarter at UW’s Information School, where prospective creators of apps and services like those we all rely on daily learn the tools of the trade. But thanks to Alexis Hiniker, who teaches the class, they are also learning the critical skill of inquiring into the moral and ethical implications of those apps and services.

What, for example, is a good way of going about making a dating app that is inclusive and promotes healthy relationships? How can an AI imitating a human avoid unnecessary deception? How can something as invasive as China’s proposed citizen scoring system be made as user-friendly as it is possible to be?

I talked to all the student teams at a poster session held on UW’s campus, and also chatted with Hiniker, who designed the course and seemed pleased at how it turned out.

The premise is that the students are given a crash course in ethical philosophy that acquaints them with influential ideas, such as utilitarianism and deontology.

“It’s designed to be as accessible to lay people as possible,” Hiniker told me. “These aren’t philosophy students — this is a design class. But I wanted to see what I could get away with.”

The primary text is Harvard philosophy professor Michael Sandel’s popular book Justice, which Hiniker felt combined the various philosophies into a readable, integrated format. After ingesting this, the students grouped up and picked an app or technology that they would evaluate using the principles described, and then prescribe ethical remedies.

As it turned out, finding ethical problems in tech was the easy part — and fixes for them ranged from the trivial to the impossible. Their insights were interesting, but I got the feeling from many of them that there was a sort of disappointment at the fact that so much of what tech offers, or how it offers it, is inescapably and fundamentally unethical.

I found the students fell into one of three categories.

Not fundamentally unethical (but could use an ethical tune-up)

WebMD is of course a very useful site, but it was plain to the students that it lacked inclusivity: its symptom checker is stacked against non-English-speakers and those who might not know the names of symptoms. The team suggested a more visual symptom reporter, with a basic body map and non-written symptom and pain indicators.

Hello Barbie, the doll that chats back to kids, is certainly a minefield of potential legal and ethical violations, but there’s no reason it can’t be done right. With parental consent and careful engineering it will be in line with privacy laws, but the team said that it still failed some tests of keeping the dialogue with kids healthy and parents informed. The scripts for interaction, they said, should be public — which is obvious in retrospect — and audio should be analyzed on device rather than in the cloud. Lastly, a set of warning words or phrases indicating unhealthy behaviors could warn parents of things like self-harm while keeping the rest of the conversation secret.

WeChat Discover allows users to find others around them and see recent photos they’ve taken — it’s opt-in, which is good, but it can be filtered by gender, promoting a hookup culture that the team said is frowned on in China. It also obscures many user controls behind multiple layers of menus, which may cause people to share location when they don’t intend to. Some basic UI fixes were proposed by the students, and a few ideas on how to combat the possibility of unwanted advances from strangers.

Netflix isn’t evil, but its tendency to promote binge-watching has robbed its users of many an hour. This team felt that some basic user-set limits like two episodes per day, or delaying the next episode by a certain amount of time, could interrupt the habit and encourage people to take back control of their time.

Fundamentally unethical (fixes are still worth making)

FakeApp is a way to face-swap in video, producing convincing fakes in which a politician or friend appears to be saying something they didn’t. It’s fundamentally deceptive, of course, in a broad sense, but really only if the clips are passed on as genuine. Watermarks visible and invisible, as well as controlled cropping of source videos, were this team’s suggestion, though ultimately the technology won’t yield to these voluntary mitigations. So really, an informed populace is the only answer. Good luck with that!

China’s “social credit” system is not actually, the students argued, absolutely unethical — that judgment involves a certain amount of cultural bias. But I’m comfortable putting it here because of the massive ethical questions it has sidestepped and dismissed on the road to deployment. Their highly practical suggestions, however, were focused on making the system more accountable and transparent. Contest reports of behavior, see what types of things have contributed to your own score, see how it has changed over time, and so on.

Tinder’s unethical nature, according to the team, was based on the fact that it was ostensibly about forming human connections but is very plainly designed to be a meat market. Forcing people to think of themselves as physical objects first and foremost in pursuit of romance is not healthy, they argued, and causes people to devalue themselves. As a countermeasure, they suggested having responses to questions or prompts be the first thing you see about a person. You’d have to swipe based on that before seeing any pictures. I suggested having some deal-breaker questions you’d have to agree on, as well. It’s not a bad idea, though open to gaming (like the rest of online dating).

Fundamentally unethical (fixes are essentially impossible)

The League, on the other hand, was a dating app that proved intractable to ethical guidelines. Not only was it a meat market, but it was a meat market where people paid to be among the self-selected “elite” and could filter by ethnicity and other troubling categories. Their suggestions of removing the fee and these filters, among other things, essentially destroyed the product. Unfortunately, The League is an unethical product for unethical people. No amount of tweaking will change that.

Duplex was taken on by a smart team that nevertheless clearly only started their project after Google I/O. Unfortunately, they found that the fundamental deception intrinsic in an AI posing as a human is ethically impermissible. It could, of course, identify itself — but that would spoil the entire value proposition. But they also asked a question I didn’t think to ask myself in my own coverage: why isn’t this AI exhausting all other options before calling a human? It could visit the site, send a text, use other apps and so on. AIs in general should default to interacting with websites and apps first, then to other AIs, then and only then to people — at which time it should say it’s an AI.

To me the most valuable part of all these inquiries was learning what hopefully becomes a habit: to look at the fundamental ethical soundness of a business or technology and be able to articulate it.

That may be the difference in a meeting between being able to say something vague and easily blown off, like “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” and describing a specific harm and reason why that harm is important — and perhaps how it can be avoided.

As for Hiniker, she has some ideas for improving the course should it be approved for a repeat next year. A broader set of texts, for one: “More diverse writers, more diverse voices,” she said. And ideally it could even be expanded to a multi-quarter course so that the students get more than a light dusting of ethics.

With any luck the kids in this course (and any in the future) will be able to help make those choices, leading to fewer Leagues and Duplexes and more COPPA-compliant smart toys and dating apps that don’t sabotage self-esteem.

via TechCrunch