#poor interviewer didn't even get to publish their interview

[divineprank]

Solving a 25 year old mystery...

Very early on in the game, we're informed that if the Kokiri dare step outside of the forest, they will die. That's a fairly heavy statement, but it does line up with more lore that we end up picking up as the game carries on. Anyways, this forest is a secluded, protected and magical place, a small haven that is effectively cut off from the rest of the world. As we carry on through the game, we learn that anyone who is lost within these enchanted woods--anyone who is NOT a Kokiri--will twist into one of two creatures: a Skull Kid if you are a child, and if you are an adult you will transform into a Stalfos. Why this happens is still a mystery, but one can guess it's likely connected to the Deku Tree's magic and the Kokiri being a vulnerable race. They're so precious to the Great Deku Tree; he views them as his children after all, and his children MUST be protected!

Makes sense, right?

So why is it, at the end of the game, we actually see a bunch of Kokiri outside the forest, partying it up with Guru-Guru at Lon Lon Ranch? They're spinning him on his organ grinder, and we even see a lonesome Mido situated next to a heartsick King Zora, both of them missing their special person.

Q: The Kokiri tribe is outside the forest at the ending. And the Zora too...

A: This is because Link's success has wiped out the evil forces, and the range of the Deku Tree Sprout protecting the forest has been expanded. The Zoras do not need to be immersed in water all the time. (Kawagoe, Cinema Scene Director).

And there it is! The answer to a burning question that many people have been wanting to know for twenty-five years now! The worst part is, this interview was published in an April 1999 issue of Nintendo 64Dream Magazine! We've had the answer to this question given to us only FIVE MONTHS after the game launched, and yet still to this day I think it is one of the most-asked questions about Ocarina of Time! Funny how things happen that way, huh?

[Source!]

...Aaactually, since I mentioned it...

Remember the cute little boy who is practically enamored with Dampé, the grave keeper? The one whose father you give the Keaton mask to and the very same child you give the Spooky Mask to?

According to this very same Dream64 magazine interview, this child ends up going missing before Link wakes up seven years later. In fact, five years after Ganondorf had invaded the sacred realm, this poor kid ended up taking it upon himself to search for his missing father, (the Hylian soldier stationed in front of Death Mountain's gate - the guy you trade the Keaton mask to!). Upon searching the forest for his father, he became lost and tragically succumbed to the forest's curse. He transformed into a Skull Kid at eight years old and apparently had an encounter with Link. He didn't bother to attempt communicating with Link, asking if he knew where his father was because Skull Kids don't trust adults. He attacked Link instead and I hate to think where that ended up.

Q:  Where did the little stalker in the graveyard go when you were in your time (became an adult)? A: Five years later, when he was eight years old, he wandered into the Lost Woods in search of his missing father and got lost. At that time, he became a Skull Kid. Skull Kid don’t talk to adults, so when he encountered adult Link, he just attacked him and didn't ask him what happened to him. (Koizumi, 3D System Director).

Grog is actually mentioned in this magazine, too... You know, the "People are disgusting!" guy? After we are given the medicine from the Odd Mushroom he had given us, we don't get to see Grog again. Instead, Fado appears and tells us that everybody who enters the forest turns into a Stalfos. Everybody. Stalfos. The dark and frankly unsatisfying conclusion to Grog's story, just after giving the poor fellow an ounce of hope, is quite jarring and it only left folks with more questions.

Q: What happened to Cucco Lady’s brother after he gave you the mushrooms?

A: Fado, the Kokiri girl who is waiting for you, is saying a meaningful message. "They all become Stalfos.” That's right, everyone who wanders into the Lost Forest becomes a Stalfos and lives in the Forest Temple. What? What about the human Link? Well, they are not Kokiri... Why is that? (Koizumi, 3D System Director).

While it's not a lot of information, we are given a piece of lore that gets my imagination firing off... Why would Grog--or any Stalfos--be drawn to the Forest Temple? Interestingly, if you show the Skull Mask to some of the Deku Scrubs, they will refer to the mask as looking like their "sacred forest totem". Could the Stalfos be related?

And for THAT matter... Why does the Skull Mask look so similar to Phantom Ganon's face?

[thenightling]

DO NOT BUY THIS EDITION OF FRANKENSTEIN! This is a sexist and ignorant dog whistle and as a fan of the actual Frankenstein novel, I am furious.

1. First there is the false implication that Percy Shelley co-wrote Frankenstein. He did not. In fact Mary Shelley revised the 1818 text in 1831. That's AFTER Percy's Death.

This sexism was brought to you by such "reliable" books as "The Man who wrote Frankenstein" which was written by a very sexist conspiracy theorist who once claimed that AIDS was spread through pills. That conspiracy theorist used dummy accounts to positively review his self-published books on Amazon (seriously, go check if you want) and his main reason for believing Mary Shelley didn't really write Frankenstein is his claim that she was "uneducated."

Percy wasn't a novelist. He was a poet. Mary Shelley actually wrote many novels after Frankenstein, it's just that none were as successful as Frankenstein. Just because she wrote her greatest novel while her husband was alive doesn't mean her husband secretly wrote it.

He also claimed a woman cannot have written a man's perspective so well and she wrote from the perspective of three men. Victor Frankenstein, The Creature, and Captain Walton.

By that same reasoning Stan Rice must have written Interview with The Vampire, not Anne. It's a sexist and classist equivalent of the classist conspiracy theories that Shakespeare couldn't have written Shakespeare because he was "Too poor and ill-educated" to have been that creative.

2. One big problem with novels like Frankenstein and Dracula being in the public domain is anyone can re-publish them any way they want, even with this sleezy and misleading presentation.

3. Frankenstein wasn't really a science fiction novel even though Google and this blurb claim it is. Frankenstein, the novel, never warned about the advancement of technology.

There's no hard science in the book. Victor wasn't studying biology. He was studying metaphysics and he never graduated.

(Metaphysics degrees aren't even currently recognized in the US. You can only get an honorary one from institutions like ULC).

Victor found the secret of life while reading the works of Agrippa and Paracelsus. A self-proclaimed sorcerer and alchemist.

The Creature is more like a Dungeons and Dragons Flesh Golem with a soul than what you see in most of the movies.

Its main morals and themes had nothing to do with "Playing God" or "the advancement of science." No. That overly exonerates Victor Frankenstein and those The Creature interacted with. Victor's main crime was rejecting his creation as soon as he came to life, which may have been a metaphor for what we today call Postpartum depression.

The themes were about parental responsibility, the futility of revenge, and the need to forgive.

If you have a shred of integrity or respect for women do NOT buy this edition of Frankenstein that falsely credits Percy Shelley and feels like it was being described by someone who only watched the 1931 movie. (The more accurate to the book film adaptation is the 2004 Hallmark mini-series version starring Luke Goss as The Creature.) If you want a good edition of Frankenstein, I strongly recommend the 1831 version republished with Bernie Wrightson's gorgeous illustrations accompanying it. That one is exceptional and respectful to Mary Shelley without falsely crediting Percy Shelley.

Here's the blurb that was attached to the awful edition:

"That’s right, the very first science fiction novel is also a work of transhumanism, though I’m not sure Mary Shelley would have used the term. After all, the monster wouldn’t even exist without technology. So even the earliest sci-fi novel was trying to warn us about the dangers technology poses to our humanity."

[synchodai]

I agree with you completely. I also think the team helming this thing aren’t very mature and they put their tantrums into whatever part they write, ignoring everything else. Like you can always tell when Hess is running things, Daemon all of sudden does things to paint him negative that he never did, or couldn’t have done in the books. And when Ryan is in charge all we get is Allicent propaganda throwing in Rhaenyra wherever he can to push that ridiculous fixation on them he has.

But both of them got so angry how much everyone loved Daemon. And they didn’t want us to or think we should. There’s interviews you can almost hear them pouting 😆 These people are supposed to be professionals and they are making their job personal when it definitely should not be.

The result is a mess and a whole season that Ryan says is Daemon atoning for the sins of his past. It’s all ridiculous. And I don’t even know what they are doing with Rhaenyra. Omg Blood and Cheese, their ineptitude is broadcast so loud in the decisions made for that.

It truly is a shame HOTD was not written by true professionals that are good at their job, and understand the responsibilities of it. The amazing writers we could have, and should have had.

Firstly, I appreciate you sharing your thoughts with me, anon! Thank you.

Secondly, this is nothing on you, anon, but I'm not really onboard with the fans' tendency to assume things of individual writers or paint them as dumb hacks who are outright disrespecting the source material. Fire and Blood isn't a sacred text and poor adaptations aren't a crime, so I try not to speak poorly of them as individuals and focus my criticism on the work itself. (And while I think HotD could have been better adapted, I still think it's good overall, especially in the realm of 90s fantasy lit adaptations *cough*Wheel of Time*cough*)

I've received a couple of messages like this one that have been even more accusatory (for a lack of a better word) towards HotD writers like Condal and Hess, and I've left those unpublished because I didn't want to give space to that kind of vitriol. I published this ask because anon here is tame in comparison and still had criticism grounded in the actual show. I know a lot of ire directed at the showrunners comes from things they said in supplementary interviews or their social media — stuff that I don't really read or seek out, so I don't really engage with discussions on the show's paratext. (Although I do see some of that in passing on my dash sometimes, it's mostly contextless snippets that are hard to comment on.)

Condal, Hess, Patel and whoever else are just one person in a massive crew. Cinematography, acting, directing, and even marketing all play a huge role in the final product. Yes, Condal is the showrunner who is ostensibly in charge of keeping everyone executing the same vision and for that, he deserves to be criticized if not everyone is on the same page. But I also don't know what external forces he's beholden to. Season 2 of HotD was filmed during the 2023 WGA Writers Strike, so that could very well have contributed to the lack of continuity and character cohesion that could have been ironed out by on-set writers.

I understand the fans' frustrations because I am MEGA frustrated a lot and the whingiest of whingers when it comes to HotD. But whether we think their work is good or not, the writers who worked on this are still true professionals in that this is their living. And prior the Writers Strike, they weren't even making a very good living out of it and had to fight to be involved during production. Before that, most shows would just have writers churn scripts pre-production and never involve them again.

Please, do criticize the show! Analyze the writing and pull it apart to your heart's content! Criticize Condal's adaptation choices and ability to run a show (without making assumptions about their person ofc because we don't know them). But also keep in mind that HotD is a huge collabarative work and writers make for easy scapegoats.

[lordmartiya]

A More Discrete Calling Out, a Miraculous Ladybug fanfic

Summary: What if Ladybug had been calmer and more discrete in calling Lila out for her day 1 lies?

Hey, it's me again for @mlsecretsanta exchange, this year for @lajudit I'm basing Lila's characterization on her Volpina appearance, plus the idea she's just a teenager doing teenager things. I mean, who didn't do stupid things at 14? Now on with the story.

Lila was happy with her first day at the new school. She had made an impression on most of her class (though not the class representative. The poor girl was horribly sleep deprived, and there was nothing to gain from waking her up), got the class hottie’s attention to listen to her (and to top it off he was the only son of Gabriel Agreste. A possible in for a modeling career), set up a massive prank that would make her the talk of the school, and got a cute fox-themed necklace. She knew nothing could ruin her day now.

Then a hand grabbed her and pulled her in a side halley, and she was face to face with a hotirate Ladybug.

“Uh… Hi?” Lila said.

“Hi, best friend.” the superheroine said, her voice dripping with sarcasm (maybe she hadn’t appreciated the prank). Then she pulled out her yo-yo, that apparently doubled as a communicator, and showed her a video – the interview with Cesaire, straight from the Ladyblog. “Care to explain?”

“She published it without verifying?!” Lila whisper-screamed, looking in horror at the yo-yo.

“Wait, what?”

Lila started hyperventilating. This was bad, her castle of cards was going to collapse the wrong way, and she was going to need to lock herself in her house until she was twenty! Or go for that weird plan and turn her hair into a wig while fabricating some identity and use it to get a new life, and-

“Calm down and breath with me.” Ladybug said as she put Lila’s hand on her back.

And from there Ladybug helped Lila out of her panic attack. Because of course one of Paris’ Heroes would learn to help with panic attacks.

“So… What was supposed to happen?” Ladybug asked once Lila was calmer.

“Just… Just a big prank.” Lila admitted. “My mom’s a diplomat, so we move around the world all the time, and when I get to a new school I like to try and see what I can get my new classmates to believe, and with the new class full of big names and a girl that thinks I’m actually a friend of Prince Ali rather than friendy acquaintances I decided to go big, and the Alya Cesaire calling me out was supposed to be when I pulled the rag from under everyone! She was supposed to check with you before publishing, and then give me the chance to tell everyone to guess which of my tales were true!”

“Why did you think Alya would do that? Or even could?”

“Well, I thought the exclusive interview…”

“One of her friends had accidentally deleted a video for the Ladyblog, found me, and asked me for the interview to repay her. Alya had already saved a copy, but I did it anyway.”

Lila’s palm met her forehead at terminal velocity.

“Then why didn’t she hunt you down?” Lila asked. That was what she would have done, publishing such a video with the notoriety of the Ladyblog could be suicidal.

“Because when I’m involved she stops thinking things through, and rationalizes after the fact.” Ladybug replied, exhasperation (and fondness?) clear in her voice. “I mean, the whole Lady Wi-Fi incident happened because she thought Chloé Borgeouis was me in spite of seeing me saving her in my second outing, and right after she came up with the idea I had Lucky Charmed a fake Chloé to throw off investigators…”

That was surprisingly plausible, if one didn’t know Ladybug can’t conjure living stuff – something she actually had only explained in the exclusive interview. Lila wondered why the heroine was so sure Cesaire had come to that idea only after the Lady Wi-Fi incident. Better not ask, such a train of thought could potentially lead her to stumble on her secret identity and she didn’t want nor need both the knowledge and the danger of knowing.

Speaking of knowing...

“Were you into my school’s library earlier?” Lila asked, remembering the flashes of red she had spotted.

“NO! Why would I be there?! There was nothing for me to look for!” Ladybug denied. Badly.

“Well, my guess was that you have some kind of surveillance in place due the far too many Akumatizations and spotted a certain suspicious thing or were after me for the interview, but now…” Lila made a point to try and tease Ladybug if she ever had the chance again, her faces were adorablehilarious. But pleasure could wait, she had more pressing things to do. Like giving her a certain book. “Nevermind why you were there, you certainly spotted this.”

“Why do you have it?”

“There’s Chinese-style drawings of what look like Miraculous and their users, every page has enough nonsense in nyctography to make me think it’s a code based on Chinese writing, and one page had a drawing that looks weirdly like an ancestor of mine that family lore says wore that exact costume, was involved in weird stuff, and liked to play with illusions and tricks. There’s enough to make me think it has to do with Miraculous, meaning you would want it and I was in the right place to help. Also, I need to ask my grandmother about family lore.”

Ladybug blinked for a moment, processing how she just stumbled on someone who was apparently related to a past Miraculous user, then summoned a micro camera through her Lucky Charm.

“I’ll make copies of all pages, then you give the book back to Adrien before his father goes mad.” Ladybug explained.

“Wait, you decide what to conjure?” Lila asked.

“I can, but it’s usually better left to the magic. Also, no more lies about us being friends, that could turn out to be dangerous if Hawk Moth believes it.”

“But that one wasn’t a lie, it was a prophecy.” Lila replied, pointing out how their interaction had more or less made them friends after Ladybug saved her from a mess partly of her own making.

“Just… Just try and stay safe.”

________

Given the circumstances, Lila had abandoned the plan to impress Adrien. Sure, he was cute and well connected, but a boy she barely even knew wasn’t worth a friendship, even a tentative one. Though she had given him a scare by asking him where the book was before giving it back – seriously, that was an obviously antique book. And you keep antique books safe, no matter how much or how little someone was willing to pay (and if someone had paid three millions and two hundred thousand dollars for Action Comic #1, she didn’t even want to Imagine how much this book could be valued if the right people found out about it).

The next day at school she had been approached by Gabriel Agreste’s secretary (and almost certainly the actual bodyguard. The other guy was large and intimidating and moved quite gracefully for someone his size, but this woman looked like someone who had killed before), who informed her the scare was the only reason Adrien was simply grounded after school for a week and politely asked not to do anything like that again.

Then, after collecting herself from the second most terrifying encounter in her life, she went to class and fessed up on the attempted prank chain – better face some anger now rather than face a castle of cards that could collapse the wrong way and turn her into a pariah any moment. And of course Alya Cesaire was pissed.

“Alya, did you check with Ladybug before publishing that interview?” said the pigtailed and really cute class representative, one Marinette Dupain-Cheng, right as the Ladyblogger was about to start.

“Uuuuhhhh…” Cesaire replied, her rant stopped before it could start.

“It’s my fault. I thought she could contact Ladybug with ease, and did the wrong thing.” Lila admitted.

“If I could I’d have already asked her her real identity.”

“By how she reacted to the interview, and no, we’re not friends” or rather she wasn’t gonna admit it in public now that it was true “that would be the fastest way to piss her off.”

“But how can she get rewarded for her heroism?!”

Oh. Good intentions and utter ignorance of how countries dealt with that. There were international regulations about that, as nobody wanted to either enrage a superhero or force them to quit to make a living.

“Obviously through the special account she got from the City of Paris, with money coming from either the state police or the defense budget, as per United Nations regulations.” the blonde Chloé Borgeouis, class bully and daughter of the mayor of Paris and the Queen of Style, obnoxiously pointed out. And reigniting Cesaire’s anger by pointing out that fact in the worst possible way without being vulgar.

As Marinette moved in to prevent an argument, Lila decided she liked it there. Sure, it hadn’t gone as expected but her classmates were interesting in the right way. And who knew, maybe she’d get to stand out for more than her mother or her tales.

[andiatas]

Russian princess's flirtation with Stellan Skarsgård: "Handsome"

Princess Olga struggles to make ends meet and dreams of appearing in "Big Brother". In an interview with Dagens Nyheter, she says she is disappointed that they do not pay for the interview but happy to get publicity in Sweden, which she hopes will reach Stellan Skarsgård.

- He is very handsome, she says.

Photo: Dagens Nyheter

Princess Olga, 74, is related to the Russian Tsarist Romanoff family, who were assassinated by Lenin's Bolsheviks in 1918. Her father was Andrei of Russia, grandson of Tsar Alexander III and nephew of Nicholas II, Russia's last Tsar.

Like most other surviving Romanoffs, her family fled Russia when the Revolution began in 1917, and the Russian Civil War raged. They managed to get to the Crimean Peninsula, where the family had a residence, and then, with the help of the British Navy, they managed to get to Great Britain.

Olga Romanoff grew up in Great Britain on the Provender House estate dating back to the 13th century and is more likely to be considered British than Russian. She has previously stated that she only knows three Russian words.

In an interview with Expressen in 2019, she talked about the tough growing-up years where well aware that large parts of her family had been murdered, she was teased for her background as a princess.

The family became poor

Her childhood, she says, is reminiscent of "Downton Abbey".

- I recognized my mother's way of speaking when I saw it. She was born in 1908, and she came from that era. When going to London in her Rolls-Royce, she used to call and ask them to send a driver down here by train. Then, when he had driven her back in the evening, he had to take the train up to London again.

She belonged to high society in Great Britain, and her mother pushed for her to marry according to status - preferably to Prince Charles. As you all know, it didn't turn out that way.

She did marry and had several children, but has been seperated for 30 years. In 2000, she moved back to Provender House to take over the management of the estate and got a bit of a shock.

- I always thought that I was very wealthy and that my mother had lots of money, she has previously said.

It turned out that the family was anything but wealthy. After her father died in 1981, her mother struggled to make ends meet. The consequence was that the goods almost fell into disrepair.

"Stellan Skarsgård, yes he is very handsome"

Extensive renovations have been required over the years and are still needed. Olga Romanoff's solution has been to open up and rent out parts of the house. But it has also been to [opening up/becoming public].

Through Romanoff's family ties to the British royal house, she has appeared in the television series "The Queen's Cousins", "Keeping up with the Aristocrats", "Celebrity Big Detox", and the documentary series "The Royal House of Windsor".

But when she applied for "Big Brother," she got the nob. She tells DN that her sights are set on "I'm a celebrity... get me out of here," which is described as a celebrity variant of "Robinson."

- You get to do funny things like eat kangaroo penises. Although they have certainly been sterilized. And they pay well. Nigel Farage is said to have received a million and a half pounds to participate.

She has her sights set on getting paid well. In the interview, she expresses her disappointment that DN does not pay her for the sit-down.

- But on the other hand, I get publicity in Sweden. Who knows, maybe I'll find a Swedish boyfriend. What is the name of the actor in "Mamma Mia"? Stellan Skarsgård, yes, he is very handsome.

Article by Johan Bratell for Expressen, published July 3, 2024, which is a summary of an interview (behind paywall) by Dagens Nyheter, also published July 3, 2024. Translation and editing for clarity is done by me.

[slimeydreamer]

Jasper Bluewright: A tale of Plagiarism

I had just moved into a very shitty apartment in New York City. I had managed to get a job in the city as an intern to an editor for a large magazine company. I didn't hate my job per say, but there were many days in which I wished that my boss (the editor) never woke up.

A common way I spent my free time was through writing short stories that kept me entertained. These stories weren't anything that I wanted to be made public; they were just a way that I handled my stressful job. I often wrote these short stories at a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Queens. I liked the atmosphere of the place, since it was warm and inviting. The coffee was delicious too.

Between the cafe and writing, I was able to handle a whole two years working for the evil editor. My stress levels had decreased significantly, my panic attacks had gone down by 50%, and I was able to line up a better position at a closer job. All seemed to be going well in my life. That's when Jasper Bluewright started showing up at the cafe.

Jasper Bluewright seemingly grew famous overnight for his harsh opinions towards Social Classes. He had written several books about income disparities in America, with him trying to convince his audience that any day now, the "evil lower-class" could rally up against the "defenseless rich", which is why America must get rid of the middle class further. He often tried to prove these claims by "watching lower-class people in their natural habitat", which was essentially him going to common areas in New York, writing about what he saw and spinning the story to be poor VS rich (with the rich coming out on top, of course). Jasper seemingly decided the cafe was the target for his next book.

Jasper himself was an odd man. His face looked like a rich man from the time of the Founding Fathers, but then you looked at his outfit, which was a look ripped right off a Balenciaga runway. After entering the cafe and seeing my laptop, Japer decided to "interview me" for his book, which was mostly him just gushing about how amazing it is for him to be born rich and grow even richer off his novels. He then demanded to see what I was writing to "prove" that the work of a poor woman was nowhere near as interesting as the work of a rich white man.

Jasper then read one of my short stories, and immediately changed his tune. He told me that "despite my condition" he was willing to offer me a position at his publishing company (my condition being that I wasn't rich). Before I could blink, all of the stuff in my apartment was moved into Jasper Bluewright's publishing company. I recieved my own desk, my own intern and a paycheck worth four times my paycheck from my other job. All I had to do was sit at my desk and write whatever I wanted. After a few weeks of working at this new job, and not seeing Jasper anywhere, I managed to catch him promoting his new book on TV. The premise of the book was something I had written. I later managed to swipe a copy of the book from my job and read it. It was word for word one of my short stories.

Immediately, I contacted a lawyer about the plagiarism and a trial was set up. Despite me being able to prove Jasper had stolen my work, the public outrage was intense. Fans of Jasper Bluewright's work were convinced I had made up the entire story to piggy-back off his success. It seemed like nothing could change their mind. Eventually, after the trial was dragged out for weeks, Jasper was officially charged with plagiarism. He was also found guilty of using ChatGPT to write his other novels.

In the end, I was able to get "Jasper's" book placed under my name as the author, and live decently off the money from the book. And Jasper Bluewright was sentenced to attend multiple writing classes at a community college (where he later was expelled for using ChatGPT again).

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

--

--

[THREAD]

The most perfect (and almost unbelievable) metaphor for affirmative action: The lives of Allan Bakke (a white guy who challenged racial quotas at UC Davis) and Patrick Chavis (a black guy admitted to UC Davis under affirmative action the year Bakke was rejected). 

After Bakke won his SCOTUS case in 1978 (which ended the use of *overt* racial quotas in university admissions), he finally was accepted at UC Davis medical school. He graduated and eventually began practicing medicine. He kept a low profile, and didn't give interviews. 

Years later, the NY Times, still stinging from Bakke's victory, published a long and glowing account of a “thriving” black UC Davis medical school graduate named Patrick Chavis, noting how he had benefited from the school's old affirmative action quota system. 

Dr. Chavis' story was also featured on TV programs, and senator Ted Kennedy called him a “perfect example” of affirmative action. It was even suggested that Dr. Chavis had achieved more than Dr. Bakke, who graduated a few years after Chavis at UC-Davis. 

State Senator Tom (“Mr. Jane Fonda”) Hayden asked his fellow Californians: “Who made the most of his medical school education? From whom did California taxpayers benefit more?"

Here's Dr. Chavis. He seems nice, doesn't he?

But Dr. Chavis wasn't nice — he was a terrible and spectacularly incompetent doctor, and perhaps, if this is possible, an even worse human being. If the fawning reporter for the Times had done his job and just asked around a little, he would have gotten an earful. 

At the very least, the reporter might have at least been bothered to go down to the court house and dig up records that showed that Dr. Chavis had been sued for malpractice twenty-one times, and had paid settlements on some of those suits. 

But when the NYT has a thesis as important as this one, it usually doesn't want to be hobbled by contradicting evidence or cognitive dissonance. 

Highlights from Dr. Chavis' storied medical career included botched operations at his clinic which killed patients and left others in permanent pain, and — this is rather striking — hiding a patient in his home for two days after she nearly bled to death at his clinic. 

Dr. Chavis' incompetence and disregard for human life finally caught up with him in 1997 when a patient bled to death after he performed a “fly-by-night liposuction” on her and then “disappeared.”

Patients later said they were afraid to report him because of his celebrity. 

With an obviously dead patient and a conspicuously missing doctor on their hands, the California Medical Board California finally acted. Later, that same year, they revoked Dr. Chavis' license. 

In their decision, it cited the doctor's "inability to perform some of the most basic duties required of a physician" and his "poor impulse control and insensitivity to patients' pain."

Special weight was given to that last item. 

A tape recording surfaced of Dr. Chavis chanting "liar, liar, pants on fire” at his patients while they screamed in agony — an extremely idiosyncratic way, to say the least, of soothing them and expressing disbelief at their claims of excruciating pain. 

All told, the California Medical Board brought 90 counts of misconduct and “gross negligence” — probably fair to say a bludgeoning of the Hippocratic Oath — against “the perfect example” of affirmative action. 

If you're finding any of this a little hard to believe, well, I can't say I blame you — it *does*strain credulity.

But wait, it actually gets weirder — PREDICTABLY weirder.

Because, you know, racism. 

That's right, the truly lousy doctor and even lousier human being, now-just-plain-Mr. Patrick Chavis, reached into his back pocket and pulled out the race card, blaming his bad fortune on a particularly virulent strain of structural oppression — “white envy.” 

That sounds interesting. Maybe something the NY Times might want to investigate?

You'd think so, but no — this time the suspiciously silent Times didn't feel it necessary to send a reporter to Cali to capture the thoughts and feelings of its former cover boy. 

So whatever happened to Allan Bakke? Dr. Bakke is retired, finishing his career the way he started it, quietly and with integrity — as an anaesthesiologist at the world-renowned Mayo Clinic. 

Postscript: Patrick Chavis was murdered by carjackers on the streets of Hawthorne, California in 2002, at the age of fifty. He had gone out for an ice cream cone. 

Bakke decision legacy: Very little changed in the UC system. It continues to quietly practice (and quietly celebrate) institutional racism against whites and (especially) Asians.

Just ask the Korean kid who got a 1530 SAT and didn't get in, and the Hispanic with a 960, who did. 

An excellent article (which mentions the above example of the rejected Korean-American applicant) about the persistence of racial preferences in admissions at universities in the UC system .

[jonathanbyersdeservesbetter]

jancy in journalism

jancy would be such a powerhouse couple in the journalism field bc both already went through so much shit that dangerous things just don't phase them anymore. exposing hawkin's lab? that was just the first of many. they would be the first people on the scene getting stories, taking photo evidences and making sure that the media and powerful people don't get to cover it up. Nancy, with her extreme sense of justice (that sometimes it's dangerous to both herself and others) would do anything to get these stories out so victims would get justice. she ensures that every bit of relevant detail is recorded on audio, paper, photos, and video if possible and makes multiple copies and stores it in various, obscure places that she only tells a select few so that if one is destroyed or stolen, she has back-ups. if plan 1-3 falls through, you can bet she has back-up plans for back-up plans. nancy numbers her plans because the alphabet only has 26 letters.

jonathan climbing to dangerous places and getting up close and personal so he'd not only get the best shot, but the most accurate and showing people evidence of what happened. since this would be the late 80s-90s, photoshop isn't really a common thing yet so photos and videos are really the irrefutable evidence. nancy is so proud of jonathan whenever he publishes his photos because while written words can be fake, photos can't (at that point in time). he takes up video-recording as well, and spends a lot of his time improving his skills on taking the best photo/video in record timing so nancy's efforts in contacting victims, getting them into these exclusive but dangerous opportunities are not wasted once the time to get the word out comes.

at first, jonathan wasn't willing to go through this with nancy. he wanted to do rock photojounalism, he wants to listen to music and learn about the bands he interviews because they are what got him through life all these years. music was his only escape for so long and he wants to know why, why does he love it so much? why do they love it so much to make it their lives? but then jonathan thinks about el and her lost siblings, about will and his mom, about himself, that if only they received that kind of support and voice to get help for themselves, and maybe they wouldn't even be in hawkins at this point. maybe el would've been jane and moved away with her mother and they would've never met, and the upside down would've never seeped into hawkins because el never opened the gate. while in the grand scheme of things, a poor family from a small town abused by the man in the house wasn't the most tragic thing in the entire world when you think about the upside down or those in war-ridden countries who may not even make it the next day, but then jonathan remembers those days he went hungry because joyce got sick and couldn't work her regular hours and he gave his food to will, who was so small and sensitive and got sick often. or when what hurt the most wasn't when lonnie beat him or burned his cigarettes on him, but it was seeing him joke around with the officers when joyce finally got her courage to call 911 just for them to laugh at her and call her crazy, that maybe she was the one who put those bruises and just didn't remember.

it was this kind of corrupt power that seems to get into the hands of the worst people that jonathan thinks maybe he can understand a little bit. that maybe he wanted other people to not feel this way or go through this anymore. he got out, so why can't they? if they need just a bit more help, why not? after all, they've all got shared trauma, what's a little more?

their families and friends are worried for them as they travel to dangerous places because unlike the upside-down, these are humans. they're powerful, power-hungry people that would do anything to keep their position, and they're human, unpredictable and have done more evil things than eating people. they're people who can turn an entire country against two 20-somethings from hawkins, indiana, and most importantly, their families and friends can't be with them if that happens. they can't fight through this with brute force because it's the military, it's words, it's power and politics and who-knows-who. no one from hawkins has that kind of power no matter if they saved the world three times already, no matter if they did more for the world than these wannabe leaders that only care for themselves.

anyways jancy as a power couple not only in hawkins but the WORLD. i always thought nancy would make a great investigative or political journalist that won awards and almost die a good handful each year because have you seen her??? and jonathan would tag along bc he admires her ambition and secretly always wanted to help others and make good changes in the world even if he acts aloof and timid. but then i thought closer about it and ofc why wouldn't he???? he's felt powerless all his life and was controlled by the societal circumstances that perpetuates poverty and abuse, and jonathan thought he'd continue the cycle in s4 because that's the only thing he can do with the resources he thought he has. but he just doesn't realize he doesn't have to be stuck! he has a loving family, friends, and hush money from the government definitely helps a lot now. s4 jonathan is a a different person in a different position from s1 jonathan. so he realizes this as he got older and then upside down was finally dealt with and gone, and he's like, wow! i can do something about my life AND other's life! i only got to this point with support, and if i can do it it, others can do with a little help. also, nancy is ambitious and smart af and has so much righteous anger in her small little body that all she needs is a supportive partner. if that partner shares the same values as her and is willing to put in the world, what's changing the world compared to saving it?

[knownbyanothername]

there really is like..... an epidemic of older 'qerky' white women abusing younger afabs and telling them it's part of feminism to let them be abused

(putting this under a read more bc of abuse mentions and some slightly more... i guess it turned into a vent? but more in the sense that i started thinking about things. tell me if more warnings r needed)

and to clarify (I'm gonna put that I'm also white and afab so everyone knows where i stand) I'm also well aware that people like this also tend to be horribly transphobic towards transfemmes. and the reason why i say white women is because it's....usually 'cis white woman who thinks by pure virtue as a woman they can like do anything and get away w it because they refuse to acknowledge their own privilege'

but the reason i bring that all up is bc i just remember this... weird as fuck writing professor i had that was basically 'quirky white woman' and was just on purpose extremely bizzare and abrasive because when asked she was 'being the professor she wishes she had' when in reality from my end it made it difficult to go to class and at worst made me absolutely terrified of her

i think of both publishing professors i had who acted as if all writers were dumb babies who needed ~o great publishers~ to make sure they didn't publish anything STUPID or UNMARKETABLE

i think of the business 101 professor i had who put all of us under extraneous circumstances and then justified it with 'well i had to meet my group at 3am so you can too' and acted as if she did some great job of shaping me up when in reality that single class burnt me out so bad it affected my whole college career and just taught me 'no matter how hard you work or how much you cry or beg for help, no one will care or see it so don't try that hard it's not worth it'

i think of the fact that even in college the worst isolation I've felt is from other women

i think about the women's space i emailed asking for an interview for a class project who couldn't even be assed to get my (essentially now deadname) correct when responding to me and talked down to me implying i was wasting their time. i never entered that 'women's space' once during my entire college career, both mortified and realizing i wasn't welcome

no one took the abuse i had suffered seriously because it was from a 'poor old lady' who i was expected to just support like a martyr until she died or i did something to myself. i was taught not to exist.

i think about the fact that every women who i confided in about my abuse in my hometown excused it in some way or another

i think about the fact that it's been mostly other women who essentially defined me as a 'failed girl', even my own parent, and bared me from traditional feminine things that i now finally feel like i can enjoy. it's a miracle i even got an autism diagnosis considering the (female) person i spoke to advised i 'likely don't have adhd' because of the fact i masked and had so many systems, essentially. i was ignored because i wasn't fun quirky, i was 'we're going to act as if you're a failure of an adult but no one will reach out to show you how to do anything'. the response i got from every group i interacted with, implicitly, (of women) was just 'get away from me you fucking freak' without saying that.

all the worst abuse I've suffered, in one way or another, has been from another afab. repeatedly, a circle of time that contorted me to other people.

i think about the fact that i fucking hate most lesbian circles because of how violatile they are, desperate to find the 'imposter' among them, that they make being an asshole their main personality trait.

so when i look at colleen i look at someone i know that at one point my college could have defended. i see one of my many FEMALE professors who decided 'quirky' equated to 'funny emotional abuse'. older women who I've seen repeatedly decide 'i can scold you for not being an adult to my standards but as the matriach I've earned the right to act like a child'

it's a miracle i graduated. well i did, but at the cost of any personhood of mine.

[littlelasagne]

Hi!!! I was curious about your editor job. When did you get into it? Did you do other kinds of work before it? What do you do every day in terms of tasks? What about fulfillment? Is it mentally stimulating? Do you think you get compensated fairly? How’d you develop your skills throughout the years, like were you always good at the tasks associated with being an editor? And maybe work-life balance? These are just example questions, literally anything you wanna say about it sounds perfect! From the way you talk about it in answers, it seems like you enjoy it quite a bit, and I wanted to learn more about it! I find hearing about this kind of stuff really interesting. Coming from a stressed 2nd year uni student who doesn’t know what to do with their life and likes hearing from people that have been post-grad for a while already :,)

Hey!

Long answer below 🤓

I know how you feel, I was totally lost and clueless during my 2nd year. All I knew is that I didn't want to go into teaching. 😅 I got into publishing about a year after I finished my masters in English literature. After I finished at uni, I was volunteering and working in the charity sector with refugees/asylum seekers and was happy pursuing that. On the side, I worked as a freelance editor using the skills I gained during uni. A entry level editorial job came up at a local kids' publisher writing and editing and I managed to get the job! Since then I've worked in two other kids' publishers.

It's a lottttt of work but it's a lot of genuine fun. There are times when I think, wow I get to read this cool story and suggest all these edits, and other times when I hate my life. I love working in children's books - I get to work with different genres as opposed to working at say, an adult publisher that does solely fantasy. In my current role, I work on structural and line edits of middle grade and YA books. In previous jobs I also did copy editing and proofreading.

I have to read A LOT. Constant submissions from authors and agents. While it is fun and I'm so happy to do this for a living, it is mentally taxing like any job. It's one of those jobs that turns a hobby into work 😭. A lot of reading has to happen at home too, my current job has a bit of a poor work-life balance. But it is sadly part of an editor's life and expected from time to time.

Working with authors is a highly fulfilling job. Editors don't get a lot of credit or recognition, but every book you buy has had an editor behind it. Some books may require a ton of rewriting and reworking, all thanks to an editor helping the author and guiding them. It's so satisfying to have a book you edited published - seeing it go from a word doc to a printed book on a shelf. I will say, it's not a high paying industry 😅 but I can't see myself leaving it in the near future.

It's hard to say how I developed my skills for it. Editing can be subjective, and can depend on experience. I've not had any formal editing training, just my degrees in English and a handful of years experience. Reading widely and being able to understand plotting and logical thinking/problem solving is really useful. My manager has been editing for 25 years, and she instantly knows what needs fixing in a first draft. It takes me some time to think things through 😅 I still have a tonne to learn but I'm getting there!

Are you interested in publishing? I don't know what you're studying or where you live, but deffo make use of your uni's career services if you haven't already!! Or even just talking to your tutors for advice. I did, and managed to get interviews to various jobs and advice on grad schemes (even tho I didn't want to do them) that helped me feel a semblance of control lol. There's so many options out there that you may not know about, and you may end up somewhere you never dreamed of, like I did. 😊 You'll be fine!!!

[allisonirish]

Just William

Chapter 2

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Child Murder, Grief, Incarcerated Parent

Word Count: 1,444

Disclaimer: This story does not follow Scott Cawthon's FNAF games or books. However many of the characters and events are the same or have been adapted. These characters do not belong to me, but the rearrangement of events and character adaptations are my own works.

I hid in my room for the next couple of hours, hoping to stay unnoticed by my family...and William. Sitting on my fuzzy purple beanbag at my wooden desk, I tried to bury myself in a piece of artwork I was finishing. Drawing and painting had become my way of "coping" and it turns out, I'm not too bad at it. I'd even started doing commissions, starting with illustrating children's books and more recently doing posters and murals for businesses.

Despite my numerous complaints, when I turned sixteen, mom told me it was time to get a job. So I interviewed and started my brand new job waitressing at Applebee's. I lasted two months before my manager got sick of my "hopeless negativism". Whatever that means. I didn't really care though, I hated being around all those people who despise me and I told mom so. If I'm being honest, I was too hard on mom last year. She deserves better than me. Tired of fighting with me, frustrated at Michael's poor grades at the time, and exhausted from working three jobs, she gave up. Told me to stay home and be lazy if that's what I wanted. I felt good about winning that battle for about twenty-four hours, that's when the guilt really set in. After apologizing to my mother and with the help of a friend, I began to submit my artwork to publishing companies and after just two weeks, got hired to illustrate a children's book called Bigfoot Loves Pizza. Goofy, I know, but it was a moneymaker and it made mom happy. I was also offered a job as part time waitress and full time graphic designer at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza 2.0. This was shocking to my entire family since the restaurant was owned by...Charlie's dad. And Charlie's dad shouldn't want anything to do with me.

My sweet solitude, sadly, didn't last long enough. A soft knock echoed from my door and I saw Michael slowly peek around it.

"Hi, Lizzie," He walked into my room, dragging his feet. "Mom says it's time for supper."

I inwardly groaned. Mom had been planning 'our first family dinner in nine years' all week. She even dragged me into mashing the potatoes for one of William's old favorites. Cottage Pie. I personally don't like the stuff, less because William likes it and more because I'm not a fan of ground meat. It looks too much like cat food for my taste.

"Tell her I'm busy." I went back to my drawing. It was a large, purple robotic rabbit with a red bow tie and electric guitar. Bonnie the bunny was an animatronic that William made for his first restaurant, Fredbear's Family Diner before I was born. Except now he was one of the main mascots for the restaurant I worked for and I was drawing Bonnie with large, red, star-shaped sunglasses, playing the electric guitar, and surfing a gnarly wave on a red and purple surfboard. Behind Bonnie were the emboldened words

Catch the Last Wave of Summer Fun at Freddy's!

"That's cool." Michael stared over my shoulder. "Is Bonnie your favorite?"

"Yeah, I like Bonnie okay." Bonnie had been Charlie's favorite. I focused on some dark shadowing under Bonnie's sunglasses. Suddenly, I heard a crash behind me and nearly jumped out of my seat. Whipping around, I saw Michael trying to pick up my violin case and music stand he had knocked over.

"Okay, buddy," I helped him put everything back into place. "Maybe we should go down to dinner."

Michael grinned and dashed out of my room, sprinting down the stairs in front of me. As I followed him my thoughts stayed with my violin. Music had become my other way of dealing with my emotions. Music was something I could get lost in, let every single drop of hate, anger, and shame pour out into a song before they can stream down my face. Art is more about control. It's the precise bits of emotion that are patiently and deliberately depicted on a page.

My mother sat at her usual spot on the left side of our large, oaken kitchen table, beaming over the steaming casserole dish in the center. At the head of the table, sporting a barely noticeable smile, only detectable by the slight dimples forming in his cheeks, was William. Michael had taken his spot next to mother and I wanted to kick myself when I realized my normal seat was right beside William. I slunk over and sat down, making sure to scoot my chair a good twelve more inches away from him. I pretended not to hear the sigh I got from my mother and ignored the conversation between her and William about how she hoped he would like dinner, and how he was sure he would and oh how delicious it looked. Michael mentioned how I helped make it and I gave myself a headache trying not to roll my eyes. 

Throughout the rest of dinner I tried to soothe my headache by drinking several large glasses of iced tea and water, and basically ignored everything that came out of William's mouth. He acted nice...too nice. He asked mom about how the house was holding up, if there was anything he could fix, how Michael liked school, how his summer break was going, and what he'd been up to lately. I had just finished my food and was looking for a chance to escape, when William turned to me. 

"How was your school year, Elizabeth?"  

My gaze cut sharply to him, startled. His eyes were shifting, flowing in waves of blue softness and aquamarine steel. 

I shrugged, "I don't go to school."

"Why doesn't she go to school?" William's face bore a hilarious appalled look. 

"Elizabeth is homeschooled," My mother cut in, "and she does mostly college classes online." 

"Because I don't want to spend my time around imbeciles." I mumble, earning a glare from my mother. 

"We just didn't see it as the best option at the moment." Mom gave me a 'don't you dare say another word look'. 

"But Michael goes to school?" William was obviously confused.

My mother was fumbling for words. "Michael does better...socially than Elizabeth. It's just easier for him to...be around so many people."

"You got that right." I mumbled again. 

"Elizabeth Annette," My mother's face threatened corporal punishment if I opened my mouth one more time.  

I bit the inside of my cheek, lifted my chin in defiance, and dared to speak anyway. "Well it's not like it's my fault I can't go to school. In fact maybe I should go to school like Michael!" 

My voice was mockingly cheery and I hoped William caught every hint of sarcasm.

"I'm sure being the daughter of a child murderer will make me immensely popular in school. Who knows maybe I'll even be the homecoming queen and for my speech I can tell the story of how my father stabbed my best friend in her sleep! Wouldn't that be lovely!" 

My voice tipped into a British accent  when I said lovely and I knew my degradation of William had gone too far. My mother's face was a mixture of shock and rage, her fingers gripped hard onto the table, turning whiter than I thought possible. Michael cowered beside her looking as if he was about to cry, and William...WAS SMILING AT ME?!? His pearly white teeth flashed at me, although the grin did not meet his eyes and I could see the indention where his teeth were pulling at the inside of his cheek. 

"Yes, I can see why you wouldn't want to go to school, Elizabeth." He stood slowly, purposefully, but i caught the slight quiver in his hands. "Now if you'll all excuse me I believe I need to go out for a quick fag." 

Mother stood and retrieved the cigarettes and lighter I didn't know William had from the kitchen counter. He had never smoked when I was a child. 

"Thank you dear. Dinner was lovely..err...delicious." He walked out the front door without another word and through the window I saw a small flame glowing. 

I almost sighed in relief until I saw my mother glaring at me. 

"Young lady," If looks could kill I'm sure she would've burned a hole through my head. "We need to have a talk."

With a strength I didn't know she had, being several inches shorter and leaner than I, my mother held my wrist with a pressure that I was sure would leave indentations on my very bones, and towed me to her room. I was in trouble now.

[sideblog-usernametaken]

Oh yeah this is absolutely a case of both characters being justifiably upset.

As you already established, Lois has very specific issues with people lying to her about very important topics. And Clark knows this, to the extent that he was clearly about to tell her in the previous episode before she began blaming Superman for her current problems. He also comes up with more laughably poor excuses the further along the series gets, which Lois is smart enough to see through the second she even begins to suspect he's Superman. At the same time it's clear she isn't trying to get him to confess for a story, otherwise she would've already taken her discovery to Mr. White. So it's completely natural for her to feel betrayed and insulted, especially when Clark says he didn't want her to publish his secrets.

On the flip side, Clark is also completely justified. Since day 1 he has seen Lois rush into dangerous situations, lie to her supervisors and colleagues, steal press passes, and prepare inflammatory questions at a gala. Clark is in love with her, but he also knows that she is willing to do anything to get a story. So of course he's afraid to tell her his most important secret, he doesn't have any proof that knowing it's him and not someone else would stop her from publishing his secret identity. His "You just jumped off a building!" statement in reference to her unpredictability is the perfect way to show why his trust is limited. In his mind, that day was normal from a Lois perspective. He wasn't getting hints that she knew who he was all day, so her being fed up then jumping off a skyscraper seemed like an extreme escalation.

What he doesn't see is that between figuring out his secret identity and jumping off the roof, Lois stops questioning his motives. Her goal shifts from "I need to know what he's planning" to "I need him to tell me himself". She knows that he's just a nice guy who wants to help, she takes his "question dodges" from the previous interview at face value (i.e. "Didn't you say you don't know everything about your powers?") because she knows Clark wouldn't have lied about that. Clark doesn't get to see just how much trust she kept in him after figuring it out and how much her motivations changed in that one instance. Just like how Lois didn't know how much he wanted to tell her and almost did.

Of course they're both upset, they're missing key details about each other.

I feel like the next episode they're either going to talk things out while looking for Jimmy, or there's going to be a repeat of Episode 1's fight where they each reflect on the argument and see the other one's side. Since they're bringing this up so early, the rest of the season will probably be affected by the ripples of this episode, but I doubt they'll stay on such bad terms for very long (Although dating is probably far off).

Keep seeing people say that Lois' anger towards Clark is unreasonable, but I don't see it that way. When they first met Clark told her off for lying to him and Jimmy and Lois clearly took that to heart. So imagine how she must now feel to learn that he's been lying to her this whole time. It is more than reasonable for her to be ticked off with him right now.

[kadeuxhyeonju]

KADEU: INDIVIDUAL TASK

; FOR THE RESISTANCE, FOR LOVE, OR FOR MYSELF? An Interview with Vega Gem Owner, Lee Hyeonju

Tell us about Hyeonju’s involvement with the resistance! Did leaving for six months affect his standing?

Hyeonju taps clawed hands against the wooden meeting table that is situated in the secret meeting room of the Vega Gem. His eyes are narrowed in thought as he reminisces his return from overseas three years prior.

“Hmm. A bit, I suppose. I left a notice of my departure with some of my trusted informants. Told the leaders I’d send word of my return when I found what I was looking for. I was hardly missed, though. There are plenty of informants and financial backers for the resistance. I was one of many and I’m not wounded by that knowledge. Six months is a long time to be away, to not be out of the loop. It’s only natural that my standing had fallen a bit by the time I returned. But it didn’t take me long either to reach that original standing.” He smiles wickedly. “I might have been gone for a time, but I assure you I was still very much in contact with many of my connections. And connections are everything if you want to be a good informant.”

How does he feel about Mallick leaving as a leader?

At that, the smile slips from Hyeonju’s lips. He stares down at his hands and is silent for far longer than is comfortable. The ice in his whiskey clinks against the glass as it melts. Finally, the hybrid answers:

“I’m happy for him. Truly. He’s a dear friend, him and his brother, Devjay. He’s responsible and cares for the Clubs in a way no other Clubs Ace has. I’m sure he’s needed as an Ace far more than as a resistance leader. Is this not the change the resistance has been seeking and fighting for for so long?

“Nuisances the both of them for leaving like they did, though. There’s a whole in our leadership…but I can hardly blame that sad, little kitten for that. What happened in Clubs was…unexpected. Mallick isn’t perfect. With that said, I suppose I’m a bit disappointed that we can no longer run in the same circles. Not with that Ace of Heart watching for any connections to the resistance. It’s a shame that everyone knows Mallick was a leader for our group. Now I can’t tease him alongside Devjay.”

Does the Vega Gem sell enough for him to maintain his status as a financial backer?

Hyeonju scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I suppose you’ve heard those silly rumors about His Aceness no longer visiting my shop? Contrary to widely held belief, Joui’s patronage does not make or break my business. I earned my title as best jeweller in Kadeu long before His Aceness came around. And I’ve kept it, I’ll have you know. When I returned from my trip, Alexei bustled in with six months worth of inquiries as to when I would be back and when I would be taking on commission again.

“Sure, I used my savings I stalked away for the resistance to go on my impropmtu trip, but the last three years of non-stop work have more than made up for the sudden loss of funds for those six months.”

Is he more or less involved than he was before he left?

This time Hyeonju leans back in his chair, head tilted back as he answers, as if bored by the question.

“I wouldn’t be much of an informant or backer if I sat on my ass, now would I? I still gather information through my network. There’s ways to pass on those kinds of things without being caught, you know. And the money? I’m a Heart. No one thinks twice about someone like me ’squirreling’ away money. It’s easy to to pass on funds when the entire continent thinks your faction is full of nothing but theives and greedy bastards. Though…” He pushes forward and leans against the table, arms crossed, a furrow between his brows.

“I haven’t been able to communicate much lately with the leaders. Not after what happened in Club three years ago. Not after Mallick came out as a former resistance leader. In fact, unless it’s one of my regualr informants who doesn’t raise any red flags, I don’t see much of anyone from the resistance. It’s almost like I’m communicating with ghosts…”

Did he apprise Idris of his involvement with the resistance?

Worried, contemplative expression twists into one of suspicion and…protectiveness, perhaps? Hyeonju answers, but his flash of fangs is almost threatening. His eyes glint with something dangerous.

“How do you know about Idris? I suppose it doesn’t matter if you won’t be able to speak of it later.

“Yes, I told him. I told him of everything I’ve been up to these nearly 50 years since I last saw him. I told him things I never would have told him when we first met. I told him of my life. What is spoken to Idris will never leave that Fae’s lips. I trust him. So I told him.”

Hyeonju leaves it at that, refusing to answer any more questions about the Fae.

How does he see his position changing or evolving in the future?

The hybrid, wound up tight from the previous question, relaxes just a bit. His eyes take on a curious look.

“Changing? Evolving? What could I offer that I haven’t already? I certainly won’t offer my life. I joined this cause so I could keep it, thank you. The only way I could see any type of ‘change’ or ‘evolution’,” he mocks, “is if they decided to appoint me as a leader. And I assure you I have no interest in having so many lives under my care. It takes all my effort to look out for myself. I leave that work to those like Mallick and Fallon.”

Do any of his personal goals relate to the resistance itself or the movement?

Ah, this is a tried and true question Hyeonju has no problem answering. He speaks without hesitation.

“The movement. The resistance is simply a tool to get what I want. Isn’t that what it is for everyone else? If I put my goals into an entity of such impermanence, I would lose sight of my goals the moment the resistance fell apart. It’s a fool’s belief to think your goals are what make up the resistance. It’s the unspoken agreement between us all to work together to achieve our individual goals.

“What are my goals? The same as always. Freedom. Not the kind that requires you to run away to attain it. The kind that lets me rip out the throats of those who would dare strip it from me in the first place.”

With that, the interview concludes. Hyeonju holds out a hand so suddenly it startles the interviewer.

“A horribly invasive chat that was. Let’s never do it again shall we?”

The interviewer nods quickly, not liking the look in the hybrid’s eye. They make a beeline for the exit. A manabeast appears before the interviewer suddenly, sending them sprawling across the floor. The scramble back, trying to get away from the large, vicious beast. Behind them, claws sink into their neck, drawing blood. They can feel it running down their back, soaking their shirt. Hyeonju’s voice murmurs pleasantly in their ear even as the manabeast growls only a few feet away.

“Did I not say earlier that I wouldn’t allow you to speak of any of this? Letting you live is too much of a gamble. I apologize, but I’ll make it quick.”

Chills go up and down the interviewer’s spine, their heart beating in double time. A deep chuckle rumbles in their ear.

“What a shame, sending a human into a fox’s den.”

[equalseleventhirds]

(i also had beef with limetown’s wildly inaccurate depiction of journalism, mostly bcos of the main character’s total lack of journalistic ethics or best practices, but that is SEPARATE from the sheer insult that was that ending)

[ltbarnes]

Sweet spot

Summary: Fed up with being the only one who can’t relate to the seemingly mind-blowing sexscapades everyone seems to be experiencing, your superior and great friend Captain Steve Rogers offers to help you with your problem. You should have never agreed to it.

Word count: 11.1k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Warnings: language, pining, smut, loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), underage drinking (reader is 20), age gap, seriously bad self-doubt, douchy people named Jake, friends-to-lovers

A/N: this one-shot i wrote a good while ago is the first thing i’m publishing on tumblr. any and all criticism is welcome and i’ll be glad if this reaches out to just one person. enjoy!

Masterlist

It didn't even bother you until you were left alone in the bar, 2:13 am on a Friday night. Your friends had all went home with their respective catches, already attached to their newfound hookups by the mouths as they stumbled out through the door to their taxis. You mumbled a sarcastic 'I'll be fine on my own here, thank you' as they slipped out without a word one after another, until you were the only one left on your bar stool while drunk 20-something-year olds rubbed up on each other in the background.

At first you figured you should get yourself some better friends who wouldn’t leave you alone in a dive bar with middle aged men who held their stares a little too long. Then came the looming irritation over the fact that at 20, you still have no experience, left with an inability to even land a casual hookup. It's not what you want for your first time, but you see no other way out from your involuntary celibacy.

It's been an issue with you and your debatable self confidence since you were 16, and back then you could still convince yourself that it was still early and you had no rush. And now at 20 it's still not the end of the world, and you’re not on a one way path towards living in an apartment with 13 cats and no friends. You just want to have sex for god's sake. You want to experience everything you imagine while staring at the guys training back at the compound, the things you see and read and hear about described as euphoric and earth-shattering and mind blowing.

The plan you had when you were still 16, or more appropriately phrased - desired future, was that you would manage to lure a poor guy into a relationship until you could safely and lovingly have sex for the first time with someone you trusted. At this time you’re ready to grab one of the perverts in the corner of the bar, silently but not subtly gawking at every woman under 25 as they dance and throw back shots in tight dresses. Wouldn't be so bad to fulfill their perverse dreams for once, would it?

You will still thank your friends for giving you something to think about while riding the subway as far as it will take you. You haven't taken the subway in a good while, it's not needed very often when you work and live at the Avengers compound. For some reason you only brought cash with you tonight, weirdly enough, and it's not enough to pay for a taxi all the way to the compound, so you went as far as you could go with the subway and then payed for taxi the rest of the way.

You still haven't really comprehended how you managed to get yourself in there, and you ask Tony that everyday. He always gives you the same answer - you tripped in the doorway when you came in for your interview. You haven't recovered from the embarrassment you felt as you stumbled into the room right in front of Pepper Potts and Tony Stark.

You were definitely not expecting to meet those two that day, and the shock made you walk right into the doorway. You expected to meet a representative, someone to scope out if you actually had the healing abilities you claimed to have. Somehow, by reasons you will never understand, Tony found you qualified despite not having seen you showcase the very thing you were there for.

It's surprisingly quiet in the residential wing as you return from your night out, taking off your heels as soon as you get inside. You hold them in your hand as you tip through the main living area towards your room, pressing your thumb against the fingerprint-lock sensor. Your door clicks as it opens, and you step inside quietly while throwing your purse on the bed with a thud.

"Had a good time?" A voice speaks up from behind you. With a small jump you turn around to see Steve leaning against the doorway with his goddamn smirk and innocent eyes.

"Hi, Captain. You sneaked up on me,” you say through a small chuckle, playfully glaring at the man.

"It's late,” he says. You sigh over his familiar scolding.

"Yes, it is. But that's kind of the point of going out to a bar, isn't it?" You walk towards your drawer, bringing your hands up to your ear to take out your earrings.

"If you say so."

"And I didn't mean for it to be so late. The subway took way longer than I thought,” you sigh. A widening of his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, Steve rubs his chin with his palm.

"I don't want you alone on the subway in the middle of the night. Next time you call Happy to get you," he says with a slight scolding look on his face. You nod with a roll of your eyes. "How did you even get inside the bar?” Steve asks suddenly, seemingly picking up on the beginning of your statement just now.

"Secret, illegal ways." You grin and discard your earrings in the small jewelry box on your drawer, before reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. You can feel his glare on you even though you’re not facing him, but you also know that it's an amused one. Hopefully.

"It's quite ironic that you're sneaking around committing crimes while working with us,” he says and you let out a small chuckle.

"I haven't forgotten the time you were wanted in the entire world. You were on the run for years,” you say, turning around to face him. "And if it's to your pleasure, I ended up alone anyways. My friends left with their hookups by 2 am."

"And you didn't because...?" Steve says with a grin, playing clueless even though he knows damn well why.

"I feel like you and Sam have made it your mission to taunt me by now, huh? One time, one time I mentioned that I was a virgin and I haven't heard the end of it since,” you say while sauntering over to your closet to pull out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sleeping shorts.

"It's just teasing, doll. Don't let it affect you too much,” he says.

"But you’re mean about it. I'm seriously considering going into a bar and picking up anyone that will have me so I can just get it over with,” you say, throwing your back dramatically on the bed.

"Okay, you're not doing that,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the doorway. You turn your head towards him with a sigh.

"No, I will. It's embarrassing how long I've gone without having sex. It's about time,” you say, turning your body around so you’re laying on your stomach, pressing your face straight into the bed.

"Y/n, you're 20. I waited until I was 95, I survived,” he says and you chuckle, the sound muffled.

"The difference between us is that my abstinence is involuntary, Steve. I'll lose it if I turn 21 and I'm still a virgin." You groan into the soft sheets.

"Then let me do it,” he says.

"What?" You ask with your muffled voice, your face still pressed into the mattress.

"I'd rather see you being taken care of instead of sleeping with some random guy that ignores your needs and comes in 10 seconds, you know?" He says and you can't help but gulp over his statement.

"Are you saying that you want to..?" You ask, trailing off in the end as you lift your head up to look at him.

"Yes,” he says with a roll of his eyes. You stare at him with wide eyes for a few seconds before realizing that you haven't answered.

"But wouldn't it be weird between us afterwards?" You ask, embarrassment creeping up on your cheeks as you desperately try to avoid his stare.

"I have no plans of treating you any differently, if that's what you are worried about,” he says, exuding a certain confidence and certainty about the arrangement that you can't find it in yourself to have. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand.

"You're not gonna fall in love with me then? I might be so good that you can never think about another woman again." You giggle while glancing up at him and putting your arms under your chin.

"I'm not gonna fall in love with you,” he says with a groan.

"I'm insulted,” you answer playfully, though with a hint of truth behind the facade. The way he laid emphasis on 'you', like the thought disgusts him, prompted a pang of hurt in your chest. Even though you’re not in love with him either, a result of your painfully realistic view on love, it still toyed with your insecurities.

You know Steve would never have feelings for you, so although he is the image of a Greek god with a heart of 24 carat gold and just enough mischief in him, you haven't let yourself develop an attachment to him.

It seems like he isn't the only one who could never imagine having any type of relationship with you, let alone finding you attractive. Your blank slate of experience is enough proof of that, accompanied by a zero sum of people showing even the slightest bit of interest. His willingness to even consider sleeping with you is flattering in itself.

"I'm not so sure about this, Steve,” you say quietly.

"You know I care about you, Y/n. I want your first time to be safe and comfortable so your standards are where they should be from the beginning. I don't want your first encounter with sex to be bad and then expect the same in the future,” Steve says, looking at you with a genuine streak in his eyes. You have to admit that what he's saying, offering, is incredibly thoughtful. It shows he cares.

"It's very thoughtful of you, Steve. It really is, but are you sure you want this? With me?" You ask. It feels like he would regret it immediately afterwards. Or worse, during.

"I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't. Take your time and think it through, my offer stands for as long as we're friends." He looks up at you, giving you a gentle squeeze on your thigh before walking out of the door.

His proposal is the only thing you’ve thought about the last few days. There's so many things that could go wrong, so many signs telling you that it's a bad idea. Still, you can't help from seriously considering it. Steve is certainly not the worst contender, would say at the top of your list in reality, and he would take good care of you. You have no doubts about that. He's a gentleman through and through.

You also may have heard certain things about him. Overheard may be a better a word for it. You were properly surprised, on the verge of shocked, the first time you heard that he brought a woman home to the compound. Steve never came across as someone who engaged in one night stands to you. You wouldn't even take him as someone who had sex outside of marriage. He's just so old fashioned in everything else he does, that you automatically assumed that sex and relationships would be no different.

The main conflict you have with the arrangement is that even though you try to fight it, you will probably end up developing an emotional attachement to him that you won't be able to get rid of. It's hard enough as it is to not fall in love with him. You mean, look at him. If he starts acting all soft and sexy on you, you’re not going to be able to hold back any longer and end up moping around for him. You know that one day he will find himself the right woman for him, leaving you heartbroken instead.

The upside is that if you do this, you won't be completely inexperienced anymore. You can cope with the following feelings by sleeping around instead. Great, huh?

You think you’re willing to take the risks that follow. It might be good for you to feel something, experience something real like a heartbreak or two while you’re still young. You have been so deadbeat in your belief that nobody could like you that you haven't even developed a crush since you were 12. It's about damn time. You might as well lose your virginity and have good sex at the same time.

A few hours later, spent by working halfheartedly since your mind is occupied with different strategies and drafts of your possible conversation, you knock on Steve's door. Why you’re so nervous you can’t possibly understand. He was the one who offered this, the one who instigated it.

You bite your lip as you wait for him to open the door, but then you don't know if he's actually here or not. You turn on your heel after a minute, and right on the bat the door opens up.

"Why did it take so long for you to answer?" You pout as you instantly turn around. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow and an amused grin.

"Hello to you too,” he says. "And to answer your question, I was dragging myself up from the bed."

"Right, the old man needs his afternoon nap,” you tease, resulting in a slight glare from Steve, though his amusement is given away by the corner of his lips turning upwards slightly.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Y/n?" He asks, and you look down to the floor as you remember what you came here to do.

"I've been thinking...about your offer,” you say, avoiding his stare desperately. "I think I wanna do it." You glance up at him. His eyes widen just slightly when he hears your answer. He almost looks surprised, like he expected you to turn it down.

"Oh...yes, okay,” he stumbles over his words, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. You look down the hallway, feeling uncomfortable with the eye contact.

"How should we do this?" You ask, glancing down at your hands.

"Uh…whenever you're ready, of course. There’s no pressure,” Steve says, and you nod in answer.

"Is it weird to schedule it? It is, isn’t it?” You ask. “Should we just do it whenever we feel like it, like spontaneously, or do we decide an exact date and time?" You ramble. A small smile grows on Steve's lips as he leans against the doorway. It confuses you, since you’re as much of a nervous wreck as you can be.

"Do you want to decide an exact date?” He looks at you with a pointed look. “Sweetheart, you are the one who needs to take the lead here. I can't decide anything for you,” he says while crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know…sorry. I'm just a little nervous,” you say, meeting his eyes for the first time in 2 minutes.

"No need to be. I'm going to take care of you,” he says, and you can feel yourself gulping over his words. There's no saving you now—you’re already too far into this.

"Friday? Is that a good day?" You ask abruptly. He chuckles lightly with a nod.

"Friday's perfect. Yours or my place?" He asks.

"Your apartment,” you answer quickly.

"Sex at my place on Friday it is,” he grins, and you allow yourself to smile lightly for the first time during your conversation.

"I'm gonna go now,” you say while pointing with your thumb to the end of the hallway awkwardly.

"See you on Friday,” he says before you turn around and hastily make your way back to your room.

You shift back and forth on your feet as you wait for Steve to open his door. This whole situation is weird and you have no idea how to even approach it. You’ve been asking yourself how you should act around him all day, what you’re going to say and if you should still joke around or be serious. You jump slightly as the door flies open, revealing a calm and smiling Steve.

"Come in,” he says, gesturing for you to step inside with his hand on the small of your back.

You walk inside, biting slightly on your thumbnail as the real nerves start to creep up on you. You can feel his presence behind you as you stand with your back against him. You tense up as he lays his hands on your shoulders, turning you around to face him.

"Relax, darling. This is a safe space, we're still friends. Don't be afraid to talk. I need you to talk, actually,” he says, crouching down slightly so he's at your level.

"Sorry,” you mumble. "I'll relax from now on,” you say and crack a small smile.

"We'll be in the bedroom, okay?" He asks, and you nod in answer before he leads you out from his small living room to his bedroom.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, glancing up at Steve as he closes the door behind him. You can't help from gawking at his torso, on its way to burst out from his tight t-shirt. He turns around gently, but stays in his place.

"We need to go over boundaries, so I know what you're comfortable with,” he says, and you nod in answer. "Is there anything at the top of your mind?"

"I don't think we should kiss,” you say quietly. It's not that you don't want to, it's more for self preservation-purposes. Again, you’re trying very hard not to fall for the guy in front of you.

"Okay." He nods with a small smile.

"That's it, I think,” you say, trusting Steve with the entire experience. He's safe and will notice if anything's uncomfortable for you.

"Just tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? We'll stop whenever you want to, don't hesitate to tell me,” he says and takes a step closer to you, kneeling down on the floor in front of the bed.

"The same goes for you, Steve. Don't feel obligated to do this if you really don't want to." He chuckles lightly while shaking his head.

"I know, sweetheart,” he says, and your heart does a somersault, just like every other time he calls you that goddamn pet name. You’re sure it’s something the two 40’s men have agreed upon torturing you with constantly.

His hands make their way to rest on your thighs. You bite your lip softly over the gesture.

"Can I kiss your neck? It's the mouth that's off limits, right?" Steve asks.

"Yeah. Feel free to do anything with my neck,” you say, and he smirks lightly trying to hold back a chuckle. A moment of silence is passed between you until you realize exactly how it might have come across. Your eyes widen in panic. "Oh god, that's not how I meant it."

"I’m not going to choke you,” he says. “Kids are into crazy things these days, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

"Idiot,” you mumble under your breath as he leans in towards your body slowly.

His lips suddenly hovers above your neck, like he's waiting for you to protest. When you don't, his lips connect with the skin on the side of your neck softly. His hands sneak their way up from your thighs to your waist, and you automatically bring yours to rest on his shoulders. A small, almost undetectable moan escapes your lips as he sucks on the spot he kissed, eliciting a quiet groan from Steve.

His lips move over your neck while he stands up from his kneeling position, until you’re laying down on the edge of the bed with Steve hovering above you.

"Let's move up a bit,” his muffled voice says against the crook of your neck. You nod, even though you’re not sure he will catch on.

His arm grabs a hold of your back, lifting you up slightly as he crawls over to the back of the bed. With a gentle movement he puts your head down on the pillow. You make eye contact for just a second before he attacks your chest hungrily again.

Your hands move from his back to the hem of your shirt, and you nudge on his chest slightly until he creates distance between you. He looks at you with some sort of confusion first, but he relaxes again as you slowly start to remove the fabric from your torso.

His eyes trail your upper body shamelessly as the skin becomes more exposed with every inch, eventually revealing the lace bra you bought just for this occasion. It feels different, a good of different, to be desired. You had to look good, and you won't even deny that you needed to feel sexy considering the unusual situation you’re currently finding yourselves in.

Steve doesn't waste even a second to attach his mouth to your newly exposed skin, hungrily trailing wet kisses over your cleavage. Your back automatically arches at the intimacy, your body reveling in the newfound pleasure of Steve's lips. He glances up at you every now and then, and even though your eyes are squeezed shut most of the time, it doesn't go unnoticed.

His kisses lower themselves down your upper body, landing on your lower stomach before he looks up at you with his fingers resting at the hem of your pants.

"You can take them off,” you say with a small smile on your lips, nodding in the approval you can tell he needs.

His fingers brush over the skin of your thighs as he tugs the material down your legs, until you’re only covered by the overly expensive matching set of white lace. Steve peppers kisses on your thighs, making you let out a small giggle over the slightly tingly feeling against your skin. The grin is practically plastered on his face as he looks up at you, and you feel yourself relax for the first time this evening.

"Let's get rid of these, shall we?" Steve asks and gestures to your underwear with a nod, trailing his calloused fingers over your covered nipple.

You nod in answer, gazing at him as he reaches behind your back to unclasp the bra. The straps fall down your shoulders, guided off of your arms by his hands. Steve watches your exposed breasts with intent, running his fingers over the now hardened nipples. The contact elicits a small whimper from your lips, silently begging for more. It seems like he understands the signal, trailing his hands down to the remaining piece of clothing.

"Lift,” he commands, tapping his fingers against your hip. You buck them up as he tugs your underwear down your legs gently. They're flung across the room, tossed into the corner while you automatically let your legs inch themselves towards each other. If vulnerability and the feeling of being exposed was present before, its heightened by 10 in this moment. Steve grabs a hold of your thighs and spreads them apart.

"No need to hide,” he says while pressing a kiss to your hipbone. The lingering touch of his lips trail down until they're pressed against your inner thigh. You tense up slightly as you realize where he's heading.

"No, wait,” you say, putting your hand on his head to hold him back. He looks at you with concerned eyes. "Are you going down on me?" You ask hesitantly.

"That is the plan,” he says. You can tell that you planted a seed of uncertainty in his mind.

"What if it tastes bad?" You say, cringing over the embarrassing question. His worried face drops, being replaced with a small chuckle and an amused grin.

"It won't." He chuckles, and you look at him with confusion.

"How do you know that?" You ask.

"I could smell you from the moment you stepped inside the door. Effect of the serum,” he clarifies. You nearly gasp.

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard,” you say, chuckling even though you’re mortified. "So you can just sense every time I'm turned on?"

He hums in answer while lowering himself towards your core.

"I'm never going to be turned on again,” you say, throwing your head back on the pillow.

Your chuckles are abruptly stopped as you feel his tongue lick a stripe through your folds, replacing the smile with a surprised gasp instead. You grab onto his hair for leverage as he flickers your clit with a swift move, sucking at the small bundle of nerves.

You can feel him smile, the warm breath against your core sending shivers throughout your body. The tip of his tongue dips inside of you, and you bite your lip over the new sensation. Your eyes close in pleasure while he sucks and flickers over your core, your legs threatening to close each time he uses his tongue to nip on your clit. His hands have found their way around your thighs, holding them apart while skillfuly bringing you closer to the edge.

"You're good at this,” you breathe out, grasping onto the sheets beside you, A small chuckle escapes his lips in answer, his tongue continuing his work on your lower body. You want to watch what he's doing, but your eyes continue to squeeze shut in pleasure. You guess it's a side effect of you trying to hold in the loud moans desperate to escape you, but it's embarrassing making sounds like that in front of him. Granted, his head is currently in between your thighs, but still.

A whimper spills out of your mouth when two of his fingers enter you slowly, while Steve looks up at you through his lashes, probably trying gauge your reaction. The new kind of intrusion is almost earth shattering, to be dramatic. Two fingers inside of you is new. You’ve only ever had one of your own before, and his thick digits take up a lot more space than yours.

After a few seconds he twists them, pushing them in further and pulling them out again while his tongue works your clit. You let your head fall back on the pillow, focusing on the feeling of his fingers filling you. A pace is starting to set, and the fingers add onto the building pleasure in your lower stomach. You can nearly feel how your walls clench around them, breaths starting to become shorter and more shallow. Your toes curl, trying to grasp around air as he quickens the movement of his fingers drastically at the sound of your quiet moan.

"There you go, sweetheart,” Steve says, voice all low and raspy and it shoves you off the edge immediately.

You can't hold the moan inside as your orgasm ripples through you, his fingers slowly riding out the high until you relax again. It takes a minute for you to regain your breath, all while Steve keeps his spot in between your legs.

"That was nice,” you say, voice strained but a smile on your lips. He grins up at you, and you can't help but feel heat travel to your face as his blue eyes filled with playfulness pierce into you, God, he's beautiful.

"Told you so,” he says with a grin. Normally you would smack him in the head if he said things like that, but you’re too wrapped up in your own state of post-orgasm bliss to care.

He pushes himself up from his position in between your legs, sitting on his knees while pulling off his t-shirt. Your eyes rake over his torso, taking in his godlike body. You look down after a second, trying to keep yourself at least a little respectful so he doesn't feel stared out.

"You can look, Y/n. It's only fair after I just gawked at your pussy for ten minutes,” he says bluntly. You glance up at him with a small grin on your lips.

"I never thought I would hear Captain America say pussy out loud,” you admit, resulting in a playful glare from him.

"Oh, shut it, Y/n. I'll edge you for an hour if you keep letting comments like that come out of your mouth,” he says, reaching out for his belt and begins to unbuckle the clasp.

"And here I thought I would be taken care of and treated nicely,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. "So much for a gentleman, Rogers."

He chuckles and shakes his head lightly, unzipping his trousers and stepping out of them. Even when doing something that's normally awkward he looks almost graceful. You can't help from smiling internally as you see the large bulge in his boxers, considering it's a result of what he just did to you. You are the cause of it, it's impossible to not let that get to your head.

Steve climbs up onto the bed again, setting his arms on the sides of your hips while he hovers slightly above you without being too close.

"Are you ready for this? We can stop if you want to,” he says softly.

"I wanna do this,” you breathe out, and he nods in answer.

His torso hovers above yours as he reaches across the bed for the nightstand, pulling out a condom from the drawer. You don't know where to rest your eyes as he tugs off his boxers. Shyness suddenly creeps up on you at the sight of his thick length springing out of the fabric. Your eyes flicker between his red tip and your legs, desperately trying to avoid him catching you.

He takes the plastic package in between his teeth, ripping it open with just a swift move. You clench around air over the gesture, surprised that you found something mundane so attractive. You close your eyes gently as he pulls the condom over his aroused length.

"You tell me if you want to stop or if it hurts too much, okay? This is about you and your comfort,” he says while crawling over you, and you nod in answer.

A sudden nervousness washes over you as he positions himself between your thighs. His left hand rests on your waist, while his other has a hold around his cock as he moves it up and down through your folds to let you adjust to the feeling of it. He looks at you for permission to enter. You nod through a gulp.

You gasp as the tip enters you, the intrusion shocking you even though you were prepared. His cock stretches you out, a slight burn prominent as he sinks in deeper.

"Oh, shit." You wince, grabbing a hold of his bicep for leverage.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sounding concerned as he stills his movements.

"Hmm." You nod. "You can keep going. I'll be fine,” you breathe out.

After a minute he bottoms out, his pelvis pressing against your hipbone as he stays still inside of you for a few seconds.

"Can I move?" He asks, rubbing small, calming circles on your hip with his thumb.

"Yes." You bite your lip to suppress the sting of his cock stretching you out.

A small frown is etched into your face as he pulls out slowly again, a wince of pain escaping yout mouth. "Wait, wait, wait,” you say, squeezing his bicep slightly to stop his movements.

"Doll, promise me that you'll tell me if it's too much. I'll stop, we don't have to continue,” Steve says, concern evident in his voice. You breathe out deeply for a few seconds, just needing to adjust a little longer to the burn.

"It's okay,” you say, signaling for him to continue. He looks at you for a moment, searching for a sign that he should pull out. You nod at him, giving him a small, but genuine smile.

Steve rolls his hip slightly, pushing in with gentleness a few times as tears sting in the corner of your eyes. Small groans comes out of his mouth, and the fact that he's in pleasure helps with distracting yourself. It's getting less painful and more uncomfortable with every movement, but his soothing hand on your hip takes your mind off it. Just a little.

"You're doing so good,” he says, his voice low and just a tad strained as he moves in and out of you with small and gentle thrusts. It's almost like he's scared of breaking you, but you can't be more appreciative of that right now. The subtle praise makes your heart flutter, moving your fingers up to his shoulder, rubbing up and down over his skin.

His fingers find their way down to your clit, rubbing small circles while he picks up his pace just a little. The pleasure from his hand transfers over to the aching contact between his cock and your walls, and while it's still not exactly enjoyable the pain has subsided completely.

A small moan escapes your lips as his fingers move faster over your bundle of nerves, resulting in an almost growl from Steve. His right hand sneaks it's way under the small of your back, angling your hips slightly, giving him better access. The small adjustment results in a big difference, and it's getting slightly more enjoyable as his thrusts reach deeper inside of you.

"Better?" He asks, sensing your subtle relaxation. You nod through your whimpers, this time of pleasure. Your left hand flies up to his hair, nestling itself at the roots while your fingers scrape over his scalp. An almost undetectable grunt comes from him, and you take it as a sign that he likes it.

Your legs sneak their way around his waist, pulling him in deeper against you as your chests collide with each other. His face nuzzles itself into the crook of your neck, his shallow breaths against your skin creating goosebumps over your body.

"Should I keep touching you?" He asks, and your body tingles as his husky voice whispers into your ear. You know he just asked for your own sake, making sure you’re enjoying it too, but god, does it sound like music to your ears.

"Keep doing it,” you mumble. Your lips part slightly, a quiet and small moan coming from your mouth as he thrusts into you with a little more force and a slightly faster pace.

"So good. Taking me so well,” he says quietly, a slight rasp in his voice. You clench around him over his praises, and you feel yourself longing for more of his words when you fall back into silence again.

You let your hand explore it's way over his skin more, realizing that you haven't been responding to his gestures as much as he deserves. You run your nails gently down his back, not so it creates marks or presses into his skin, just so he feels their presence. The gesture results in his fingers increasing their pressure and pace on your clit, and you arch your back slightly over the new wave of pleasure building up inside of you.

"God, Steve. I think I'm close,” you whisper, wanting to communicate with him. You’ve been quiet for the most part.

"Come for me, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your ear.

His words alone are enough for the coil in your lower stomach to erupt, and with heavy breaths and clenching walls around his cock you feel the orgasm coursing through you. You subconsciously grip onto his arms a little tighter, needing some kind of anchor as his thrusts help you through your high. It's not as big as the previous one, but it's enough to leave you panting and oversensitive to his movements.

His hand has pulled away from between your legs and are now roaming around your torso, his movements getting more desperate and sloppier.

With a loud moan he shoots his load into the condom, riding out his orgasm with a last few pumps. He hovers above you, both hands on either side of your head as he breathes heavily. His eyes are closed, and you take the opportunity to admire him above you. His lips are red, a hint of sweat glistening underneath his hairline. A small smile creeps up on his lips as he opens his eyes, and you look away immediately to avoid eye contact.

"You did so good,” he says, pressing a small peck to your forehead. “Took what I gave you so well, sweetheart.”

You smile lightly, but your face quickly turns into a frown as he pulls out of you. A wince escapes you as you feel the absence of him bringing on a slight burn in between your thighs.

"Where you this good in the 40s too?" You breathe out, still slightly panting. You didn't know sex was this tiring.

Steve blushes slightly, shaking his head in amusement while moving away from his position above you, climbing off the bed and begins walking towards the bathroom.

"Virgin until 95, remember?" He says.

"Thank you for doing this, Steve,” you say, glancing over at him as he discards the condom in the bathroom.

"My pleasure. Literally,” he says. He's already joking, while you’re exhausted. He comes back into the bedroom, walking over to his closet and pulls out a pair of sweatpants as you stay in your position on the bed.

You pull your legs over the edge of the bed, biting your lip to hold back the winces wanting to roll off your tongue. You feel overwhelmingly exposed, maybe even vulnerable, as you make your way to the bathroom, completely naked.

It's a tad colder in the bathroom, where the warm air from your intimate contact hasn't reached. Slight shivers spread through your body as you gently close the door behind you, leaning against it while giving out a sigh. It was so good. So, so good, and Steve was absolutely perfect. Caring, listening to your needs and somehow knew what you wanted without even a word escaping your lips. And still, you can't help but feel...sad.

You knew this was going to happen. You still did it, and you can't act like you’re surprised that this is how you’re feeling. You knew that you would long for his touch, for his affection, even though it's not yours to receive. You knew that you wouldn't be able to act the same around him after this.

What you didn't know, was that it would hit you so soon. You’re standing in his bathroom, only two minutes after, with waves of emotions crashing through you like a freight train. It's almost laughable, how you tried to convince yourself you didn't have feelings for him before this happened. Like this would magically make them appear, when they were already there from the beginning.

"Steve?" You ask quietly through the door after spending almost 10 minutes drowning in your own emotions. Your voice is barely above a whisper, but you know he can hear you.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, and you can tell he's walking closer to the door.

"Yes, yes. Could I just get my clothes?" You ask, leaning the side of your head against the door.

"Sure,” Steve answers.

Only a few seconds later you can feel his presence right outside the door. You open it slightly, just enough for your hand to stick out to receive the clothes.

"You know I just had you naked underneath me for half an hour, right?" Steve chuckles. You take in a shaky breath, trying to lighten up your mood.

"Yeah, I know,” you say quietly through the door crack, before closing it again.

When you step out fully dressed after a few minutes, Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, seemingly lost in thought. The tension in the air is evident, though you suspect most of it is coming from you. He looks up at you through his long lashes, scanning over your face to read your expression, just like he always does when he suspects something is wrong.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Steve speaks up, standing from his sitting position on the bed before he’s walking towards you.

"Yes, Steve,” you sigh with a small smile on your lips. "I promise. Everything's fine, it was great. Relax, golden boy,” you say, biting your lip slightly to suppress the small giggle that's threatening to escape.

He hums, still in thought. Either he doesn't believe you, or he's having regrets about what you just did. Both of the options tightens your chest painfully.

"I think I'm going to go back to my place,” you say and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, holding it there for just a second before taking a step back and turning around towards his door.

"Y/n, wait-" Steve starts saying just as you reach the door. You turn around slowly, resting your hand on the doorhandle. "Just...tell me if you need anything,” he says, and you nod slightly before walking out.

It seemed like he was going to say something else, but changed his mind just before opening his mouth. You’ve been there a few times yourself.

The walk back is embarrassing, even though you have nothing to be embarrassed of. For everyone else it seems like you’re strutting through the hallways like any other night, but you know you just had sex for the first time, but only as a favor. God, Steve Rogers, out of all people. Unattainable, America's golden boy, out of reach from most, and definitely out of reach from you.

And while you know the situation is very bizarre considering his entire demeanor and reputation, because he offered it himself, you know things could never go further between you than that. You had sex, as friends, and now you don't think you’ll ever be able to allow another man to take up the space he occupies.

The things he said into your ear, the way he touched you like you were fragile and something worthy of gentleness, how his tongue moved across your core like a man starved. How can you move on from that? From him?

You have to. The plan even before tonight was to hook up with strangers until the need from Steve disappears, until you can get what you want from someone else. But you don't just want sex. You want him, the entirety of him. You want him to be yours, to be able to cherish the man that is Steve Rogers and give him everything he deserves from the world that has failed him multiple times.

You slam your head into the wall as soon as you enter your room, groaning out of frustration over the entire situation. You’re going to have to pretend to be your old, happy self around him, like what you just did doesn't affect you and your entire friendship. Pretend like your feelings aren't there, like you don't adore him with everything you have.

And pretend you do, all week. Every time you end up with Steve in a room, you force yourself to put on a smile and act normal. But something is off between you, and you felt it from the moment you left his room last Friday. Each time you slip into conversation, it's like something switches in Steve after a few minutes, like he's reminded of what you did and merely the thought disgusts him. He closes off, begins to stutter on his words and speak with unfinished sentences. It breaks your heart, and you’ve realized that it was a bad choice. A really bad choice sleeping with him. You kind of knew what you were getting yourself into, but it seems like Steve wasn't prepared for the tension between you afterwards.

The only thing keeping you from completely detoriating and going into hibernation is the party Tony is throwing tomorrow, celebrating god knows what. Maybe it's his pool boy's mother's birthday this time. The excuses are always there, although never particularly good. But if you can get through to it, you can maybe find someone to bring home with you and then feel bad about that instead of the situation with Steve.

Wanda has been bugging you all day about helping her pick out clothes for tomorrow. She's the only person even near your age in this entire compund, and the poor girl is still so innocent despite everything she has been through, despite losing so many people she loved dearly. On the battlefield she is filled with rage, but at home in safety, you could swear she's still as sweet as a child. It makes you so glad when she gets excited for things, that you can't help but ride on her wave of excitment just for a few days.

God, now that you’re sitting on her bed watching as she rummages through her surprisingly extensive closet, there is nothing more you want to do than confess everything that happened between you and Steve. You almost do, before you realize that it would be so wrong for her to realize what you’ve done. The man is over a decade older than you. No, scratch that—a century. He's kind of your superior, and don't even get you started on the fact that he is Captain fucking America.

He casually took you through your first encounter with sex barely a week ago. You trust Wanda, you do, you just don't know what she will think of you if you tell her. Will she go to Tony and then somehow have you fired? Will she ever look at you the same way again?

"Y/n, I don't appreciate your looming thoughts clouding the room. There's no point in hiding things from me,” Wanda says with a frown, sounding stern and concerned at the same time. You look up at her with a hesitant expression, before returning your stare to the floor.

"I don't know, Wanda. I-i'ts fucked up this whole thing,” you say quietly, avoiding her burning gaze. "It's unprofessional confiding things like this to you."

"We're long past professional at this point, Y/n. We have been for quite a few months, actually. I'd like to consider myself your friend, and I'm concerned. You have been acting strange all week,” she says, sitting down on the bed beside you. You bury your face in your hands with a groan, leaning your elbows on your knees.

"I don't know what to do,” you almost sob, feeling tears well up in your eyes. Wanda's hand rests gently on your back, encouraging you to continue. "I'm so fucking stupid, going around falling in love with someone I'll never have."

"It's Steve, right?" She asks softly. You snap your head up with your lips parted, staring at her in shock.

"What? No-" You start.

"You don't have to lie to me, I've seen the way you look at him,” Wanda says.

"It’s so dumb. I don't even know how I got here, but something happened between us last week and now everything's weird and tense,” you say while a stray tear falls down your cheek. Like a fucking stupid girl in a cliché movie. "I think he regrets it,” you sigh.

"Now, I don't know what happened between you two, but like hell he regrets doing anything with you,” Wanda says, her voice slightly sterner than before. You almost giggle when you hear the curse slip out of her mouth. It's an unusual occurence. "Anyone would be lucky to be with you, and while I'm not particularly fond of you being with a man that much older than you, I know that Steve is a good man. And as a good man he should know your value. If he can't appreciate that he doesn't deserve you."

"But he hasn't done anything wrong. It was casual, what we did. No strings attached. I went and fucked things up with my feelings,” you say quietly.

"I think you should talk to him, figure out what he feels about the situation. Maybe he feels the same way,” she says while rubbing the palm of her hand up and down your sweater-clad back.

"There's no way. I'm not going to talk to him and he would never feel the same way, so I think I'm just gonna drink myself stupid and go home with some random guy at the party tomorrow,” you sigh while tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

"We both know that's a horrible idea, but if that's what you want to do I'm not going to stop you." She chuckles. "And Tony would kill you if you got drunk. I think you not drinking until you're 21 is the only responsibility he has taken seriously for the entire time I've known him."

"Yeah, well his bartenders are the ones who keep serving me,” you sniffle.

"Let's pick out something for you to wear too, huh? Make the Captain realize what he's missing."

"So much for Tony's mission to stop me from drinking,” you say while clinking your glass against Wanda's, earning a glare from the redheaded woman.

Your eyes quickly avert her gaze, flickering over the crowd while straightening your dress. While the tight dress looks quite pretty on you, it rides up constantly. You’ve been well on your way to flashing several party-goers many times in the past two hours, both while dancing and sneaking drinks from the bar.

"I think you should take a break. And have you spoken to Steve yet?" She asks while patting your hair, fixing a stray lock that's been messed up during the evening.

"No. Not planning on either,” you say with a hiccup. "Do you think that guy would go home with me? I'm pretty enough for a one night stand, right?" You continue while pointing at a tall guy in his mid-20s, resting against the bar counter with a smirk on his face.

"Y/n,” Wanda says with a warning tone in her voice.

"I think I'm gonna talk to him,” you say, trying to wrestle your hand out of Wanda's grip.

"I'll tell Tony,” she says, prompting you to turn around with a pout.

"You wouldn't,” you gasp.

"I definitely would, especially if you go bother that handsome man. At least find Steve first, let him know how you feel. Nothing good will come out of this, you'll only make yourself more miserable,” Wanda says softly.

You avert your eyes to your shoes, trying to avoid the truths coming out of her mouth. You know she's right, but you’re a coward and you’d rather regret sleeping with a random guy in the morning than get rejected by the man you’re in love with.

"I'm sorry,” you say while giving Wanda an apologetic smile, before turning around and heading for the handsome stranger at the bar.

It's like the man could tell that you were walking towards him, because while you’re halfway there his eyes lock with yours, before wandering down your body. A smirk adorns his face, and despite the small discomfort it brings you, you continue your walk towards him. It's so unlike you, just walking up to a guy like this. You’ve barely flirted with someone before, and now you’re going to coerce this man to take you home? Drunk you does stupid things.

"I'm not gonna lie, I had eyes on you all night,” he says when you come up to the bar, wearing a shy smile on your face. Your confidence withered with every step, but his statement rebuilds it slowly. He thinks you’re hot?

"Well, lucky me,” you say, leaning against the bar while tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'm Jake,” he says, reaching his hand out with the smirk still plastered on his face. This might be easier than you thought.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jake. I'm Y/n,” you say, grabbing his hand in return. It's clammy, and the contact sends unpleasant shivers down your spine. Are you really doing this? Yes. Yes, you are. You’re doing it, no matter how much you wanna back down right now.

"Let me buy you a drink. What do you want, kitten?" Jake says while turning his body towards the bartender on the other side of the counter, who visibly winces when the pet name falls out of Jake's mouth. Not much unlike you.

"A Cosmo, extra lemon slice on the side,” you say, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

"Nah, something stronger to celebrate the occasion. Four tequila shots, please,” he says to the bartender, who gives him a very unsubtle side eye. You gulp, wanting to curse out Jake for completely disregarding your wishes. It'll make it easier tomorrow when leaving the douchebag.

His hand sneaks its way to the small of your back while you watch the bartender pour up the liquid in four small glasses. It doesn't feel entirely wrong, which is a step forward if anything. You can't help but wonder how it would feel if it was Steve instead. He's done that a few times before, always the gentleman, while walking with you somewhere. The four shots is almost slammed onto the counter with lime and salt on the side, and you waste no time gulping your two shots down.

"It's hot, seeing a girl taking her shots so well,” Jake says while shamelessly ogling you. You force a smile onto your face, nodding slightly.

"Huh, I'll make sure to memorize that for the future,” you answer.

While you’ve grown to despise this Jake guy during these past few minutes, you’re not gonna lie and say that you completely despise the attention he's giving you. You’ve never had someone so clearly show interest in you before, even if it's obviously only for what you could give him. "So, Jake..." You say while resting your hand on his bicep, attempting to somehow seduce him with your severly inexperienced flirting skills.

"Hm, kitten?" Jake urges on, lowering his hand from your back until it squeezes your ass through the tight material of your dress.

"Should we head out of here?" You ask, ignoring the voice in your head screaming at you that this is a bad idea.

"I thought you'd never ask." Jake smirks, biting his bottom lip. His hand moves from your ass to your arm, tugging you away from the bar towards the door.

"Wait,” you say, stopping him slightly. "I need to get my bag."

"Oh, sure. I'll come with you." He nods, and you turn around before he can get the chance to grab your arm again.

You lead him through the thick crowd towards the seating area where you know Wanda will be sitting with your small handbag, containing your phone and keys. You saw her earlier, talking with Tony, Sam and Rhodey. An unusal quartet, but probably enjoyable nonetheless. You almost find yourself wishing you could join them too, but you’re doing this.

"Y/n! I haven't seen you all night,” Tony almost shouts happily when he sees you approaching.

"Hi, Tony,” you say, biting your lip nervously when you feel Jake's hand taking a hold of yours. Tony's smile falters when he sees the contact, and his face quickly turns into a confused frown.

"Who's this guy?" Sam asks, wearing the same expression as Tony. Though even in your drunken state you can tell it holds just the tiniest bit of resentment towards the unkown guy by your side.

"This is Jake,” you say quickly. "I was just getting my bag,” you continue while stepping towards Wanda who holds it in her hand. She gives you a dissapointed glare as she hands it over, and you meet it for just a second before averting your gaze.

"You going somewhere?" Sam asks again, continuing what could turn into an interrogation if you don't leave soon.

"I'll be back tomorrow,” you say quickly, ignoring and answering his question simultaneously.

"Hey, hey, hey. Wait a second,” Tony says, putting his drink down on the table. "Who are you?" His stare flickers over Jake, while a protective glare etches onto his face.

"Tony,” you warn. "I'm leaving now. Call if you need anything,” you say and turn around, tugging the suddenly quiet Jake with you.

"Stay safe, kid,” Rhodey calls from his seat on the couch. You turn around and give him an appreciative smile, as he is the only one who seemingly supports your little adventure. From the corner of your eye you can see Sam rising from his seat, but after getting several feet into the thick crowd away from your colleagues, you can tell that he isn't following you.

Throughout the hours the room has become more packed with people you both work with and complete strangers, pressing up against each other as the music blares loudly. You’ll never know how Tony manages to lure in this many people without alerting the entire city, but you curse him for it right now as you and Jake try to wrangle yourselves through the crowd. Sweaty and warm bodies accidentally bump into you as Jake's hand holds a steady grip around your wrist. You can barely see anything, even though you’re fairly tall on your heels.

The thick gathering of bodies thin out the closer you get to one of the exits, and you finally take a deep breath as you manage to get yourselves out into the lobby where the air seems lighter and much less suffocating. A few people still lounge out in the spacious halls, but the distance is enough to get through without having to shove them aside. Jake's hand still holds a tight grip around your wrist, like if he held you any looser you could bolt any second. The light is very unwelcome, and you almost have to squint to keep yourself from tearing up at the uncomfortable contact with your eyes.

As you near the exit, you give appreciative nods to the security guards lining the doors, which are returned with familiar smiles. Jake doesn't acknowledge them, but you didn't really expect anything else from an entitled asshole like him. You’re glad you will probably never see him again after tonight. Geez, at least pretend to be a little more excited, Y/n.

The warm summer air hits you as soon as you step outside, while the darkness surrounds you. The spotlights installed all around the compound lights up the beautifully constructed parking lot. You think the Avengers compound parking lot is the only beautiful parking lot in the world. You didn't know parking lots could be beautiful until you started living here. And now you’re thinking about parking lots instead of the guy you’re about to hook up with.

You barely get ten feet outside before you feel a hand at your shoulder, drastically turning you around to meet the face. You furrow your brows in confusion as you see Steve in front of you. Jake stops as well, and you can feel him gripping your wrist slightly tighter as he sees the great Captain America in front of you.

"Steve?" You ask hesitantly.

"What are you doing?" Steve asks with a stern face. "Sam told me you were leaving,” he says, and you realize that's what Sam was doing when he left the seating area earlier. Why would he tell Steve you were leaving?

"I mean, yeah...I am,” you say, confused over Steve's sudden need to know where you’re going. You turn to Jake, seeing him with a mixed expression of slight intimidation and irritation. "You go ahead to the taxi, I'll catch up,” you say softly, though you’d rather punch him in the face for the assholey things he's said the past 15 minutes. Jake reluctantly releases his hold around you and turns around with a scoff, walking towards one of the countless taxis parked around the compound.

Steve looks at Jake as he walks away with a glare, while you look at Steve with a confused expression. It's like Steve straightened his back as soon as he caught eyes with Jake, like the giant he already is isn't enough to intimidate anyone on this earth.

"What do you want, Steve?" You ask softly with a sigh. He immediately tears his gaze away from Jake, softening until his blue eyes shine through the darkness, boring into your soul. You have to force yourself from falling at his feet and kissing them, confessing your undying love and loyalty to the man in front of you.

"Don't go home with him,” Steve says, while his chest moves up and down like he just ran over here. Steve never gets flustered by running.

"What?" You ask quietly, looking at him with shock written on your face.

"Please…just, don't. Don't have sex with anyone else. I don't want you to have sex with him,” he says, and you furrow your brows as he speaks.

"Steve-"

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since last week,” he blurts out. Your heart stops completely. "Do you have any idea of how much I've thought about that moment, when I could finally get my hands on you? And then it happened, and I…” Steve trails off.

"What are you saying?" You ask timidly. If this is anything other than a confession of his feelings you think you might cry. By the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes, you think you will anyway.

"I've been forced to watch you with that punk, treating you like dirt. You know he didn't even hold the door open for you? You don't deserve that,” Steve rambles, and a small smile sneaks up on your lips over his gentlemanly thoughts.

"I really like you. A lot. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner, but I just…couldn't. I couldn't do that to you, confess my feelings and lay all that weight on you while being your superior. And you're so young, god, I know it's wrong. I might go to hell over this, but I have to know if you want this." He looks up at you, a hopeful look in his eyes. You stand still, unable to move your lips to get out the words desperate to escape. "Please tell me you feel the same,” he pleads.

The words seem to be unable to leave your mouth, so without second thought you retort to the only thing your mind can comprehend doing. Your hands cup his face, as you stand on your tiptoes to pull his face down into a soft kiss. It's quick and gentle, but you just needed to assure him that his instincts weren't wrong.

You pull away slightly, your faces mere inches from each other. Steve lets out an exhale, like he held pounds of tension in his body. You smile lightly, resting your forehead against his while calming your own breaths down. Your hands don't leave his face, needing to feel him for just a while longer.

"Steve, I'm head over heels for you,” you breathe out. A small chuckle escapes his lips, and if it isn't the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, then you don't know what is. Steve's hands sneak their way to your waist, pulling you into another bruising kiss.

"Hey! What the hell!?" A male voice interrupts your spontaneous make out session, and you involuntary pull away from Steve's lips to see who the voice belongs to. You giggle slightly as you realize it belongs to Jake. You glance up at Steve after a few seconds before turning your body towards Jake.

"Sorry! I'm kind of occupied!" You shout, your voice carrying through the parking lot to the poor guy. Okay, poor guy is an overstatement. He was a dick. Jake throws his hands up in the air, and you can almost hear the curses falling from his lips.

"Why don't you ditch that punk and let me take you home instead?" Steve smirks and presses another quick peck to your lips. You giggle into the kiss, nodding while smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

"Are you insinuating something, Rogers?" You say with a playful grin. "Haven't even taken me out to dinner.." You shake your head, smiling like an idiot.

"Very funny, sweetheart. Any other night I'd gladly bring you to my bed, but someone's just a little drunk,” Steve says, holding his hands protectively around your waist. A pout creeps up on your face, prompting a sweet chuckle to escape from Steve's lips. The most beautiful pair of lips you’ve ever laid eyes on.

"You're lucky I have a sweet spot for you, Steve Rogers."

"I don't think I've ever been more glad to have a sweet spot in someone." He chuckles, earning a bright smile from your tipsy state.

"You're so weird." You giggle.

"Yeah, yeah. Let me take my girl home now, will you?" Steve asks, while leading you inside again.

"I'd let you take me anywhere, Steve Rogers."

[ryttu3k]

Some brief thoughts on Blake as a character:

Andrea 'Blake' Blackman [Blechmann]. 11th generation Toreador, born 1940, Embraced 1963. Born in Sydney to Austrian refugee parents, with the Blechmanns becoming the Blackmans shortly after arrival, and being avid record-keepers of both international and local news (Johannes Blechmann, who had become John Blackman upon arrival, had been a historian back in Graz). Young Andrea grew up reading these accounts in fascination, too young to really remember the war but its shadow hanging over their entire childhood. It had always been... interesting, to young Andrea, how different some of the accounts could be depending on who was telling the story, and they grew up with a keen sense of what propaganda was, exactly.

A nosy kid, asked a lot of 'but why?' questions growing up, eavesdropping, always wanting to find why things were (they would, actually, make a good Nosferatu!). As a teen in the 50s, they got heavily into zines, mostly music and comics, but a lot of them had interesting political content they simply did not see elsewhere in the mainstream newspapers and radio.

After finishing school with high marks in English, they managed to get a job as a rookie reporter! …and was immediately shuffled into ~women's interests~, starting with working as assistant to a writer who ran a homemaking column in the Herald, because frankly the misogyny of the era was full-on and the papers simply had no time for an AFAB cub reporter who wanted to tell the real stories. Frustrated, Andrea started dressing in a more masculine way, cutting their hair short, and using the name 'Andy' in order to be taken seriously, finding to some consternation that androgyny actually fit surprisingly well, and, well, maybe some of those zines had some interesting answers in them, too, starting to write under that name, and about more underground arts, which were still fascinating.

This leads into their New Blood story, where they started getting shuffled exclusively into interviewing artists from the Black Rose Gallery, leading to their Embrace. (Which went slightly better than in the New Blood scenario, and didn't involve their poor sire being turned into a colander...) Their sire had recognised the passion in their zine writing, decided they would make good Toreador material, and brought them into the fold, and proceeded to introduce them into the Sydney Cainite community as a promising new arts writer exploring this newly-independent and fairly unique city (Sarrasine had only declared it fully independent in 1950).

Realising that even though their sire had been flattering, talking about their promise as a writer, etc, they were still getting sidelined from what they saw as the real stories. Empowered by the Embrace, Blake started quietly just… starting to investigate what the Sydney Cainite community was really up to. Knowing it would possibly be actual suicide to publish under their actual name, they started releasing low-distribution, handmade zines under the pseudonym 'Blake', close enough to their surname but just far enough away to maintain plausible deniability. They ended up with a very Toreador fascination for zines and underground media, which their sire inevitably noticed, and which Blake defended by claiming it was just the music and arts content, really.

Eventually, in the 80s, things got a bit heated and they ended up ditching Sydney for a bit, managing to get to LA, which was also a bit of a frenetic mess. Got fully into the Anarch movement, saw the issues the Sabbat was causing, read more widely on Camarilla corruption, stuff like that. Travelled over the US over the 80s and 90s, then on to Europe, then into Asia, and sort of made their way back to Sydney by an almost circuitous route, arriving back in the early 2000s around the same time as a bunch of instability from an averted Gehenna, only to find their sire had met Final Death and Sydney was, uh, chaotic (they later would find out, to their consternation, that their sire had known all along about their political writings, and had been quietly keeping it secret; their sire met Final Death after confronting another powerful local Cainite about information that Blake had uncovered).

In modern nights, they have a small, private museum of both mortal and Cainite zines dating back to the 50s. Still tries to investigate the truth wherever possible, and really looks up to Beckett, who they've crossed paths with once or twice and sort of went all starry-eyed over. A big Carmelita Neillson stan, and their dream is to run a Neillson library in Sydney (they currently have 1-dot The Art of Story from the Neillson loresheet, but aspires for the 3-dot Neillson Library one).

Foil and rival to Steven (about two thirds down this page, or just search for 'Steven White'); both are close in age and have near-identical backgrounds. While Steven, however, is part of the Sydney establishment, Blake works to find out the truths beneath it, and they suspect that Steven might have had something to do with their sire's Final Death. Maybe, in a better world, they could have been friends...

First tabletop experience! Played the New Blood scenario along with @robotslenderman , @nevertrustanoracle , and two others whose names I didn't catch. My character was Blake the Toreador investigative journalist whose first reaction to waking up in a meat locker was "oh hell no" with a good amount of staring intently at a clean patch of wall being all "I pretend I do not see it" and Suffering thanks to their bane, while also pretending their white trenchcoat wasn't covered in their sire's blood.

(They later changed into a white t-shirt. This turned out to be a Poor Idea when they got a messy crit and ate an SI dude.)

Very much a Baby Beckett - the sheet even specified that they carried around a recorder (which they used while narrating their actions in the write-up) and notebook, and their motivations were largely based around the truth. The scenario introduces you to both the Camarilla and the Anarchs, although Blake's stance was much more, "I don't want to make any decisions until I learn more about what's going on" and just went with the Camarilla plan to try and stay in a stable-ish situation while they learn more.

I think I might keep them? Unsure if I'll have the exact same story, ie. a new fledgling who woke up in a meat locker shortly after Embrace, but definitely the key concepts - a Toreador investigative journalist who focuses on The Truth and definitely carries around a video recorder and notebook. I actually may be able to work this into the idea I had for a Sydney Toreador who loves zines and street media, actually, that could be pretty fun!

In terms of the actual game mechanics, I vibed pretty decently with the V5 ones - the hunger rules, rouse checks, stuff like that. I think in the future I'd like to keep with the V5 mechanics, but more V20-compliant lore because fuck the V5 Tzimisce? Use my Tzimisce homebrew and the like, or, preferably, not have amalgams at all as replacements for entire discplines, and just keep combination disciplines as something rare and interesting instead of "the entirety of Vicissitude is now based on Dominating your body into doing what you tell it to" lmao god why. And I do still like a lot of the V5 lore! I super dig the SI, and I think what they did with the Banu Haqim and Ravnos in particular were great! It's just, you know, other stuff that bugs me, haha. So a hybrid version may work well for me!