#there's like 1800 words here holy shit

[tansyuduri]

Merlin Loregasm Rewatch S1E4

Hi Everyone! Welcome to my rewatch of Merlin focusing on the lore. I am a giant nerd so pretty excited about this. We're on THE POISONED CHALICE

OKAY so @catsconflictscopicsandchamomile our resident Old English expert explained to me something really interesting. the spell used by Nimueh draws its power from the Spear-Danes, the semi pagan culture featured in Beowulf (Who had their own lake lady in Grendel's mother who was likely a priestess of the old religion And linguisticly called Disir) There is more though The first lines of the spell also seem to be Nimue saying she owes her magic to the spear Danes (that Grendel the monster in Beowolf ate) At this point I'm wondering if its meant to establish she is saying HEY MY SPELLS ARE PAGEN This will not be the only Beowulf reference in this episode. (Its never referenced or quoted after this episode) I'm wondering if the translators threw this in as a joke or easter egg Or in my freind's words "fuck it. lets canonize Beowulf in this universe real fast" (Okay I just discovered one of their choices I'll talk about later and HOLY FREAKING SHIT)

Mercia is traditionally thought of as a kingdom formed during the anglo-saxon settlement of Britain (Which occurs post Merlin acoirding to Merlin having saxons of enemies in later seasons) The historic king Arthur if he existed was said to have fought against the anglo saxons but this is just a footnote as we are focusing on Merlin Universe) HOWEVER a 13th century text says "“Pagans came from Germany and occupied East Anglia, that is, the country of the East Angles; and some of them invaded Mercia, and waged war against the British.” 

British here being Original pre-saxon inhabitents. SO it is possible that a Mercia existed before The Anglo-Saxons. This could also be the Historian using the name he knows. Bayard is not a recorded later King of Mercia either so good choice in name if we want him to be a Britonic king from a Mercia founded before the Anglo-Saxons apear. Fun fact Mercia also resisted leaving paganism longer than any other Anglo-Saxon kingdom! BUT Anyway in Merlin Mercia is a thing, Its ruled by Bayard, and its color is blue. It would be in the midlands of England most likely.

Also he was at war with Camalot, but now is not. I wonder if that has to do with Uther having not inherited but taking over the kingdom! Uther: The treaty we sign today marks an end to war and the beginning of a new friendship between our peoples

I also think Uther as a peacemaker is interesting, especially as we see this more than once. It might be why some people view him as "A good king."

So this at first glance SEEMS like it hints more toward paganism. Beltane is a Gaelic May Day festival. But its renamed version May Day was not exactly Christianized. See most other big Gaelic festivals (usually religious) Were kinda taken over by Christianity when it came. Yule became Christmas Samhain became All Saints Day (All Hollows Eve) ETC. Beltane was also celebrated in some places ALONG with Christianity until the 1800s. (Scotland did this specifically) In modern times Beltane is VERY Pagan. And it is very possible this hints further toward the Camalot is pagan or just nonreligious side of the entire debate. (Despite people using words like god or hell.) But it's not quite as conclusive as many other type of references would be.

(For context despite it saying we've Arthur here is talking about Merlin, who just announced his cup was poisoned, exclusively which is interesting!) See slow gin is a type of alcohol made with juniper berries and blackthorn fruits. It was traditionally brewed (With a lot of home brewing) in October and November and used as a warming drink in the depths of winter. AS you can tell this episode does not take place in winter. I think there are two possibilities for Arthur picking this drink specifically to mention despite that. The first is that as a prince perhaps the drink is available to him year round if he wants it and he doesn't know that is not true of most people yet. The second is he is so panicked at the prospect of the trouble Merlin is in his mind latched on to the first drink that popped into it.

Okay, so Mort means death in Latin. And the ending suffix here Usually makes the word an adjective from proper or place names BUT often appears in flower naming. So basically this plant is named The "Death Flower" Flower or "Capital D Deathly" Flower

Gaius: it can only be found in the caves deep beneeth the forest of Baloch The flower grows on the roots of the Mortaeus tree.

Uh okay. THERE IS SOME SHIT GOING DOWN with this plant. First of all, flowers growing from the roots of a tree is just weird. flowers are basically there to attract things to pollinate a plant usualy. If a tree has flowers they do not grow from the roots. Second of all its kinda weird for flowers or trees to grow in DEEP caves. Sunlight cannot read them there. I would give it a pass if it did not say deep because if there were cracks in the ceiling of the cave that could put light though. It does kinda explain why they can ONLY be found there though. If its so odd and specialized it might be the only place it can grow.

This flower is either innately magical in some odd way or does not conform to evolution. So at this point I am pretty sure it was bred/engineered/magiced into being but some sorcerer. Likely specifically for poisoning people. and that person wanted to limit the people who knew of it and thus kept it in once set of caves. BUT SOMHOW news got out about it. Ok so I also looked up Baloch. In Welsh it can mean dig or sorry. In Irish it means boy and in scottish the same thing. So no info to be gleaned from that

Gauis: A cockatrice-- it guards the forest. Its venom is extremely potent, a single drop would mean certain death. OK first of all I'm doubling down on there being some past sorcerer, Because they were FOR SURE using these as guard dogs. Second of all I LOVE Merlin paying fast and loose with magical creatures from folklore because I can too in my fics A Cockatrice in folklore was a monster created when a toad or snake egg was hatched beneath a chicken. It could kill with a look, or a breath, or a touch, and was basically a two-legged dragonish creature with a rooster head. In the Merlin world it is very diferant. We'll see one soon! "Few who have crossed the mountains of Isgard in search of the Moraeus flower have made it back alive." Yeah can't find any meaning behind the name Isgard! BUT HAVE I MENTIONED I THINK A SORCER ONCE LIVED IN THE CAVES/FOREST.

Okay I think this is a reference to the actual historical job of taster. Basically important people (ESP royalty) would hire someone to taste all their food before thay ate it. That way if it was poisoned the taster would die instead of them. It was viewed as a pretty plum gig because poisoning didn't often happen (ESP if people knew there was a taster) and the taster got to eat REALLY good food and get paid for it. I think its also an interesting character detail that while this kinda implies that Uther might have someone (At least for his private food and not banquets) We see multiple times that Arthur in fact does NOT. It is quite possible he managed to put his foot down and get out of this somehow because he believes it to be wrong. Which not gonna lie is a very Arthur thing to do.

(Context: Arthur talking about how Gaius said they can save Merlin if they get the leaf so it is not a fools errand) Waiiit is this trying to imply that Gaius was the one who brought up the idea that one could use the old religion to give Uther a son? I mean we knew he was the messenger. but HOLY SHIT. And if that is true, Uther somhow forgave him? Why would Uther forgive him? The only thing I can think is if Gaius talked about how magic had tricked him and gave Uther something else to blame. This is all conjecture though. Uther could be referring on how Gaius is close to Merlin or something else. It just feels like it might be a nod at what all went down around Arthur's birth.

Okay so this is Merlin quoting Beowolf here. A Poem that is yet to be written down but might have had some oral tradition and actually takes place at the traditional time Arthur is said to have lived. Merlin is basically talking about how Arthur/Beowolf is endowed with honnor. This happens right after Arthur decides to ride out to save Merlin.

Magic Rule Established: Potions/Poisons can be more potent if magic is used in their preperation

Okay MORE Beowolf

Merlin says Arthurs name then basically talks about a young man doing good deeds.

Playing hard and fast as I said. LOOK Dinosaur!

Okay so more Beowolf At this point I am 99.99% sure the people hired to write the spells at the time where having the time of their life. Let me explain

This line talks about gifts of treasure (the light) he conjuress to help Arthur. Fine. BUT then it mentions Arthur being under his father's protection. Expect Merlinto protectg him. The spell writers used a freaking old english poem to let Merlin call himself Arthur's "daddy" I am not sure what I am expected to do with this knowledge. (It might have been chosen so they could use the next line of the spell but THEY DID NOT HAVE TO DO THIS) The next line (Which is actually also the next line in the poem) says something about how so that when Arthur is older his companions can stand with him when war comes.

Okay so yeah turns out there is no tree or roots. I'm chalking this up to he said she said. STILL GOING WITH THE SORCERER.

OKAY so it a potion is made using magic the antidote may ALSO need magic

Oh look our first hint Merlin is immortal. I find his brand of immortality intersting. HE CAN DIE he just comes back after a bit.

[greenfuls-secret-chambers]

Warnings : Minors DNI, shameless smut

Reader is of legal age

1800+ words

Our Little Secret

Tripping over your feet, you successfully made your way past the crowd to the door of the bar.

It was Friday night, being the last few weeks of your third year of college , you and all of your friends decided to go out for a drink. Next thing you knew, one drink led to two, and two some how led to four.

You pushed past the heavy door, finding yourself leaning up against the building fishing in your pockets for your pack of cigarettes. Finding the pack you took one out and put it to your lips. You took out your lighter, tried to light the end but no luck.

“Well fuck, isn’t that just peachy.” You groaned

You looked around, scanning the figures around you, looking for someone who might be able to save you from your predicament. To your left you saw a man blowing smoke out of his nose.

“Hey would you mind? I need a light.” You pointed to your cigarette.

He looked up at your with green eyes and smiled. “Sure, no problem. I’ve been there a couple of times myself.” He stood up and put his hand around your cig to light it.

Holy shit, was this man TALL. Not only was he built like a damn giant, he was hot as fuck.

You stared at him in the pale moonlight, taking in his light brown hair, his bright green eyes, but also a scar that ran across his face. What you wouldn’t give to be under this mystery of a man.

“You know, it’s not polite to stare.” He smirked, as if he knew what you were thinking.

“I’m sorry!” You blushed, “My name is Y/N, thank you for the light.” You smiled, trying to not make things awkward.

“Oh yes Y/N Y/LN, I know of you, I’m Professor Remus Lupin, I teach world history at UCL.”

Your brain short circuited.

Im standing here smoking in front of a professor. NO I’m standing here drunk, smoking in front of a professor.

Worried about your image you moved your arm down by your side trying to hide your cigarette. You couldn’t afford to lose your scholarships.

Seeing you become uncomfortable he spoke,

“No need to be bashful, I’m not going to scold you for smoking. That would be hypocritical of me to do so.” He brought his hand up to his mouth and took a drag.

“Plus we are off of school grounds, so it can be our little secret.” He smirked

There it was again, that smirk was making your knees weak.

You finished your cigarette and flicked it away

“Well professor, the night is still young, I’m going back in and to grab another drink.”

“Mind if I come and join you? It is the weekend and I could use one. Grading all these exams are going to be the death of me.”

Feeling a little brave, you smiled, “Sure, since you helped me out with the light, just put yours on my tab.”

“Well I never say no to a free drink”

With that you walked through the door making your way to the bar taking a seat, Lupin following behind you.

The bartended made his way over to you, “Need another jack and coke?”

“Yes please, and could you put his on my tab?” You looked at Lupin.

“Cinnamon whiskey on the rocks.” He requested.

Within a couple of minutes your drinks were sat in front of you.

Lupin turned to look at you “For someone as sociable as you, I know you couldn’t of come alone.”

Oh shit your friends, you had completely forgotten about them. You looked around the bar, but no dice. “Well I didn’t, I guess they have already left for the night.” You looked down at your phone confirming your suspicions.

*Hey, I hope you’re alright! We waited for you to come back to the table, but Maria started to get sick so we took her back to Uni. Be safe! I’ll see you back at the dorm later*

…

An hour had past, you were now on your 6th drink of the night and you were feeling it. The night was going very well. The both of you were chatting up a storm, everything from what was going on at university to even some hobbies you both shared.

“.. and you know what,” Lupin spoke in between sips, “Professor Snape needs to have the huge stick removed from his ass, he is so insufferable to work with.”

You almost spit out your drink from laughing and lightly slapped him on the arm, “Imagine being one of his students, I have never in my life had a professor who is such a hard ass for no reason, I think that man just needs to get laid.” You giggled.

Lupin looked down at your hand, still on his arm and bit his lip. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

He looked up at you, taking in the sight. He hadn’t noticed early but you truly breathtaking. His eyes began to look you up and down, noticing a couple of your buttons at the top of your shirt had come undone. You skirt had rode up just slightly, giving him a view of your upper thigh.

You but your lip and quipped “You know Professor, it’s not polite to stare.”

“Y/N, no need for formalities, please call me Remus.” He replied, trying to take away from you catching him staring.

You smiled, noticing you still had your hand on his arm, you squeezed it ever so gently. This caused him to shift a little in his chair.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for another smoke.” You said trying to break the tension.

“I think you’re right.” He smiled

You both made your way outside, it had gotten a little colder which caused you to shiver.

Seeing this he asked, “I’m freezing, would you want to smoke in my car?”

Taking the opportunity not to go into hypothermic shock, as well as be alone with him, you happily agreed.

You both made your way to his car, getting into the passenger you could smell chocolate and warm spices. It was a nice change from the mustiness of the bar.

You both took out a cigarette. He lit his, waiting for him to hand you the lighter never came. He leaned over and lit your cig with his. His face only inches away from yours. Between the booze and his action, your cheeks turned red.

You both smoked in silence, stealing small glances while the other one wasn’t looking.

A few minutes went and you had both finished your smokes, flicking them out the window.

You checked your phone seeing it was almost 2am. “Well it’s getting rather late, I need to get back to the dorms soon.” You sighed.

Your hand reached for the door, but before you could open it, Remus grabbed onto your arm and pulled you over to him. Leaving you both inches away from each other’s face.

Staying in that position for what seemed like eternity, you closed the gap putting your lips to his.

He kissed you back immediately, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip, begging to be let inside, you happy obliged and parted your lips slightly, allowing him access. You both fought for dominance, but in the end letting him win.

A few seconds later he moved his hand to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling you away to look at him.

This caused you to whimper. Your cheeks where flushed, and your eyes where slightly closed.

“Such a pretty girl, I was just waiting to get my hands on you.” He looked you up and down, taking in the sight before him. You skirt had rode all the way up, giving him a view of your black lace panties.

Wanting more you moaned out, “Professor please ..” Starting to rub your thighs together.

He smirked “Professor? I do recall telling you to call me by my first name.” He brought his other hand to your thighs and pushed them apart.

Taking his finger and rubbing them up your clothed slit, he lowly chuckled feeling the wetness.

“Oh I see. This little slut has a thing for getting fucked by a Professor huh? That’s quite naughty isn’t it Y/N?”

You couldn’t take it, he was turning you into a moaning mess.

“Professor Lupin, please don’t tease me, I need more.” You gasped out, grinding down on his hand.

“Exactly what I would expect from a whore like you, don’t worry my love, I’ll give you more.”

He pulled your panties over to the side and pushed two long fingers into you, immediately curling them.

With his other hand, he let go of your hair, almost causing you to lose your balance, to unbutton his pants. He pulls them down just enough to free his cock.

Your eyes grew wide at the sight. He was definitely larger than average and so thick. You have no idea how it was going to fit inside you.

He brought his hand up to your mouth and commanded, “Spit.”

You did as you were told and watch him bring his hand down to his cock, starting to stroke at the same speed he was thrusting his fingers.

He started to speed up both hands then completely stoped.

“Come here, I want you to get in my lap.”

Without hesitating you climbed over the middle console.

He slid down in his seat to give you more access. He pulled your panties back over to the side and slowly pushed you down on his cock.

“Professor Lupin, you’re stretching me out.” You moaned, bitting your lip.

He grunted as he buried himself completely to the hilt. “Y/N, you have such a tight little pussy.”

Without warning he started to thrust upward into you. Both of his hands ripped open your shirt, sending buttons flying all over his car.

He pulled your breast out of your bra and leaned forward to take a nipple into his mouth.

His thrust started to become more rough causing you to grab on to his shoulders for more stability.

“Professor please, I want you to ruin my pussy, fuck me harder.” You cried out, begging.

He released your nipple from his mouth and grabbed the back of your neck pulling you close to him.

“If you keep squeezing around my cock like that, im going to make sure you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

And with that he sped up, thrusting into you at a speed you couldn’t even fathom , before you knew it your orgasm hit you like a train

“Fuck Remus, fill up my tight pussy.” You pleaded, riding out your orgasm.

With his name leaving your mouth he sped up.

“Y/N I’m so close my darling.” He groaned

Feeling you clench around him caused his movements to become uneven. With a final thrust he emptied inside of you, panting to catch his breath.

You both sat there, slumped in the driver seat. He brought his hand up to your cheek , taking his thumb ever so gently to rake across it.

[arislore]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚જ⁀➴ It’s All About The Mythos

inspired by @oneforthemunny’s prompt. sorry though it’s about steve. the way i wrote it fit him better. 371 words.

It started with a note falling out of your locker.

Meet me in the library during lunch.

- S

Butterflies erupt in your stomach.

In school? While everyone’s still here?

You sigh, shaking your head. You grab your lunch off the shelf and head downstairs, making sure to bring a random textbook and notebook along. When you walk through the doors, the librarian shoots you a look of disapproval.

“I’m studying,” you tell him. “There’s a test next week, and I don’t have a free period.”

He huffs, going back to unloading books from his cart.

You sit at the table furthest from the desk, but still visible from the door. You wait, staring at the door, before there’s a tap on your shoulder. You yelp, nearly falling out of your chair as you turn around.

“Steve! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” you hiss, wanting to wipe the shit-eating grin off his stupid face.

“Sorry, honey. I just miss you, and you didn’t see me.” His eyes crinkle around the edges.

“What did you want?” you ask, knowing damn well what he asked you down here for.

He shushed you, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of your chair.

“Where are you taking me?” you whisper-yelled.

“Shut up and you’ll see,” he whispered back.

Then, you see it. You stop dead in your tracks.

“Holy shit. Holy shit!” He’s tugging on your hand but you won’t move.

“What? What is it?” He rolls his eyes, scanning the shelves where your eyes are boring holes in them.

“Is that fuckin’… Bulfinch’s Mythology?” You pull your hand away, stepping closer. “Holy shit. It is!”

“What the fuck is that?” he asked, looking over your shoulder.

“It’s, like, this guy from the 1800’s who wrote down a bunch of Greek myths. I’m pretty sure there’s one where Apollo stalks some chick until she turns into a tree.”

“… so?” He put his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean ‘so’? It’s a literary masterpiece.” You turn around to him. “Okay, maybe not a masterpiece, but I’ve been looking for it for years.”

“But—”

You cut him off. “I’m checking it out.” You pause, grabbing the book off the shelf. “You comin’?”

[musings-of-a-rose]

Build Me Up - Chapter 2

Pairing: William “Ironhead” Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2600+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: So holy shit, it’s been a year and what, 4 months since I updated this fic? I stumbled upon this chapter in my drafts, 99% completed. I have no idea why I never released it! I am so sorry it’s taken me this long to post but I promise I have a plan for this fic and will update it in a more timely manner. Maybe. 

**Reader is not described

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Build Me Up Masterlist

General Masterlist

<&lt;Chapter 1

Will picks you up at 6pm to get some pizza before the movie. As dinner goes on, you can see he’s relaxing around you, seeing that you’re not going to run away. After pizza, you head to the theater to see some action movie. You honestly didn’t care what movie you saw as long as it was with Will. And now that you’re sitting in the theater, you hoped no one would be quizzing you on the plot, because you were hardly paying attention. 

After the popcorn and snacks were consumed, you laid your head on Will’s shoulder. He immediately lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you in as tight as he could in the theater chairs. For a few minutes, you just breathed him in: he was warm and smelled like pine and soap. Even with just his arm around you he made you feel safe, protected. Shit I really like this guy.

Then you noticed his hand, the one that had been resting around your shoulder. His fingers started tracing the skin on your shoulder, little invisible circles and lines being drawn on your skin, sending goosebumps across your arm. His touch leaves a jolt of electricity in its wake and you can feel your heartbeat quicken. Some explosion happens on screen and you don’t even flinch, solely focused on the lines he’s tracing into you.

Then his hand starts to move. Tracing lines across your collarbone and repeating the same motions there, the shoulder he just left tingling at the loss of contact. He stays at your collarbone for a few minutes before his fingers start to move lower, eventually lightly brushing across the very top of your boob, dipping below the cut of your shirt. 

Unable to stop yourself, you audibly gasp and chance a peripheral glance at his face, finding a smirk dancing across his face. Two can play at that game.

You snuggle in closer, allowing him more room to touch you, but at the same time, you place your hand on his thigh and echo his movements there, gradually moving your hand up his leg. You make it about halfway before he shifts in his seat, trying to covertly adjust himself. A smirk appears on your face now and you both sit there, continuing your movements, trying to see who cracks first. 

You never find out because the movie ends and you file out with the rest of the movie goers, Will chatting away about the movie. 

“What was your favorite part, Robin?” He asks as you pull out of the parking lot. 

“Uh…what?”

“Of the movie.”

“Oh. Um-” your brain desperately tries to remember something, anything from the movie. “-the car chase scene.”

“The car chase scene.”

“Yup. So cool.”

Will glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Which one?”

Shit.

“Um, the second one?”

“The second one?”

“Yeah.”

“Robin, there weren’t any car chase scenes.”

Shit.

“Yeah there was!”

“No, there wasn’t. The movie was set in the 1800s.”

Will pulls into your driveway and you hop out of the car, quickly trying to think of an excuse as Will comes around the truck to walk next to you.

“Oh, yeah no I meant horses.”

Really?

“You mixed up cars and horses?”

“Yeah because of the…horsepower.”

He starts chucking. “What, Will?”

“You didn’t watch the movie.”

“I-I did!”

His smile is bright and as he stops in front of your door, he turns that smile to you, adding fuel to the fire that had been simmering inside of you, causing you to swallow hard.

“What was so distracting that you couldn’t even remember it was a Western?”

“I-” His eyes are boring into you, twinkling with mirth because he knows exactly what was distracting you. He just wants you to say it. 

“I was tired?” You said it more as a question and mentally chided yourself. 

Will takes a step towards you as you take a step back towards the door. 

“Tired?”

“Yeah-Yup.”

Another step. Now your back is against your front door. 

“I think you’re full of shit.”

“I’d like to be full of something else.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, but a second later you don’t even care.

Will breaks almost immediately after your comment, pulling your chin towards him and kissing you, pushing his tongue inside your mouth as you dance yours around his. You wrap your leg around his and pull him closer, winding your fingers in his blonde locks and tugging ever so slightly. You feel how wet you already are and can feel Will straining against the denim of his jeans. 

He pulls back a moment later to look at you. “Can I come inside?”

“Oh fuck yes. OH you meant the house!” Heat rises to your cheeks as Will chuckles, kissing you once more before barely pulling back his lips. 

“I meant your house, but good to know.”

You kiss him deeply once more, tugging a little harder on his hair before you let go and push him back a step, turning to jam your key into the lock. You miss the keyhole a few times because Will’s hands have come to rest on your hips and he is flush up against you, using your ass to relieve some of the pressure building in his jeans. 

Finally, you shove the key in the lock and open your door, quickly stepping inside, Will never taking his hands off of you. You slam the door shut and lock it, tossing your keys on the little table next to the door. Will spins you around and grabs your hips again, kissing you deeply. He feels a little hesitant and you know why. Pushing him back slightly, you look up into his blue eyes and take his hand, pulling him with you as you turn on a few lights. 

“Living area-” you gesture around, “-kitchen,” you point across the room to an open concept kitchen. “Patio door is next to the fridge. It’s screened in but it’s an exit. This way-” you gesture to the hall “-on the right is a bedroom and bathroom and on the left is…my room. Also has a bathroom. No roommates, no pets. Windows all slide open.”

Will stares at you in awe. “How did you-…right. Your family.”

You nod. “Yeah. They always have to know where all the points of entry and exit are, if there’s any other living thing in the house, have their backs to a wall. I know.”

“You made sure we had a table where I could see the doors and have my back to a wall at dinner.”

You smile coyly. “Well, yeah. I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

The words barely leave your lips before he’s on you again, kissing you and biting your lips. He starts to walk you backwards down the hall as you unbutton his shirt and slide it off his arms, letting it fall to the floor. He copies and tugs your shirt up as you separate to raise your arms. It’s then you see his chiseled form, your hand reaching out to touch his abs.

“Holy shit, Will. You’re ripped.” 

His chest puffs out a little with pride at your praise and he slides his hands around you, making quick work of your bra clasp. It falls to the floor to join the parade of clothes down your hallway and Will moves his hands to open your pants as you try to open his. Your moves are desperate, frantic, both trying to move quickly. You back into your room as you both slide your pants down, kicking them off somewhere in the room. You move to take off your underwear, but Will grips your wrist. 

“Lay down on the bed.”

His command goes straight to your core as you scramble up your bed, trying to do what he said as quickly as you can. He crawls up your body, eyes dark with lust, and hovers over you as he kisses you again, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck before they find your boobs. He pulls one into his mouth and sucks hard and you cry out as he starts to swipe his tongue over your nipple. Your hand flies to the back of his head as you hold him there, moaning his name. He moves to the other boob and repeats the same motions, but this time he brings his hand up and pinches your other nipple just a little and you yell out at the slight pain. “Fuck!”

He starts a path of kisses down your stomach and stops at your panty line, his fingers pulling the fabric down just a tiny bit and he licks there, making his way around the shape of your panties. When he gets to your inner thighs he starts to suck a hickey, noticing the growing wet patch on your underwear. He hooks two fingers into your panties and yanks them down and off, tossing them across the room. He prys your legs open as he settles between them, staring at the apex of your thighs. He’s taking more time than you’d like and you swear you might die from anticipation. 

“Touch me Will. Please touch me.”

He gives you a smirk before his attention is back on your pussy, his hand sliding down your inner thigh and pausing just before he reaches your slit. You know you’re leaking by this point, swear you can feel it dripping down you.

Will picks his hand up and gently pushes his pointer finger inside you and you cry out at finally being touched. He pushes all the way in and slides his finger out before adding a second. He slowly slides his fingers in and out of you, watching as your arousal coats his hand. He slides his fingers in and then curls them, tapping around to try and find your spot. After a few taps, he hits something glorious, causing your body to twitch and you to let out a moan.

“There she is,” he says with a slight drawl. 

He starts tapping that spot inside you as he reaches his other hand around and gathers up some arousal from your leaking core and slides it up your slit, finally gliding up to rub small circles into your clit. 

“Oh fuckfuckfuck! That feels..” you get lost in the sensations, tense and beautiful at the same time. You feel that fire building inside you and you grip Will’s wrists, halting his movements, noticing his hips grinding on your bed.  

“I want you inside me when I come.”

“Fuck!” Will yells out as he pulls his hands from you, standing to yank his boxers off, his cock springing free. You see how endowed he is and you clench around nothing, your pussy waiting to be filled. He lines up with you, the tip of his cock touching your entrance and he grips your chin. 

“Look at me.” Your eyes meet his and he pushes inside of you, your mouth open in a silent scream as he slowly inches his way to the back of you. Once he bottoms out, he slides out just as slowly and you feel every inch of him as your pussy tries to grip him. He starts to push in again and you close your eyes, the sensations overwhelming you gloriously. He stops and tightens his grip on your chin.

“Look at me.” 

You lock eyes with him as he pushes in slowly again, bottoming out. He doesn’t pull out this time, but thrusts deeper somehow, which not only hits a spot inside you but also rubs on your clit. You whine out, your eyes still locked on his. He grips your leg and pulls it up on his hip, changing the angle and somehow going deeper. He moves with slow deep thrusts, watching your facial expressions and listening to the little sounds you give him as you move under him. 

“Oh fuck, Will. You’re..you…feel so..” You close your eyes again to relish the sensation and he lets you, focusing on his own pleasure. He leans down and takes a boob in his mouth and you whine loudly, curling your fingers in his hair. You tug a little and Will starts to speed up, moving a little faster. You pull his hair again and his speed increases and he nips at your boob, causing you to yelp a little in a pain/pleasure response. You suddenly feel like Will is really holding back, but you tuck that away to think about later as you feel your orgasm coming. 

“Will, I’m gonna-”

He grips your chin again and you open your eyes, a sea of blue staring back at you. Never pulling out, he makes quick, deep thrusts, punching that magic spot inside you and rubbing your clit. You yell his name, throwing your head back as he fucks you through it, digging your nails into his arms. Only a few short thrusts after he’s coming himself, letting out slightly high pitched moans as he fills you. He rests his forehead on your chest, both of you breathing heavy as you run your fingers through his hair. 

Will stays like that for several more moments before pulling out with a hiss, moving to grab something to clean you up with. You reach for the cloth but he pulls it back and gives you a look. Laying back down with your hands up in concession, Will pushes your legs apart and starts to dab at your sensitive core, your thighs jumping at the touch. You’re not sure what happened but suddenly the cloth is tossed aside and he’s knuckle deep inside of you, curling his fingers and pulling out sounds you’d never heard before as you grip the sheets, screaming his name when he leans over and sucks on your clit. Will sits up, wiping you off him with the rag as he watches you, splayed out and chest heaving. 

“Sorry, darlin’. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Never…apologize…for that.”

He chuckles, this time actually handing you a cloth to clean up with. When you manage to walk to the shower, Will follows and you pull him in with you, pulling another orgasm each before the shower is done. After, you dry off and slide under the blankets still naked, turning to look at Will. He’s standing there, towel wrapped around his waist, looking…lost?

“Will? You just gonna stand there or?”

“I uh…do you want me to stay?”

“Oh. I mean, I want you to but you don’t have-”

“No, no. I’ll stay.” 

Will moves around the bed, dropping the towel on the floor before he slides in beside you, pulling you into his chisled chest and kissing the spot on your neck that starts to spark something between your thighs. 

“Night, darlin’.” Will whispers in your ear.

“Good night, Will.”

When you wake in the morning, Will is there, coffee already made and you think “I could get used to this.”

—----

>>Chapter 3>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby-blog @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed  @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol  @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

[tempest-talks]

irl quotes <3

hayyyyyy y’all, i’m back and if you want to see some of my irls here on tumblr C is @some-horse-gurl and Titi is @jarondont

one more thing, if you’ve read these before you’ll have seen E but she’s annoying and decided she will now be ‘slayer of dance’ so keep an eye out.

Me: “baby shot glass would murder the world” lady floutist: “i would thank it”

idk where the baby shot glass came from but i don’t trust it

C: “my beautiful water bottle i dropped down the stairs and hit two children”

C: *southern accent* C: “i don’t know what i did wrong to little Suzie”

C, who is Suzie? we don’t know one

lil miss muffin: “why do they have faces?”

C: “cause some of us aren’t creative” Me: “who’s some of us?” C: “me”

goth leaf: “dude is pizza real food?” lady floutist: “i don't know...i think pizza is just...pizzaaaa”

C: “that’s unfortunately my child” lady flouist: *offended* C: “i love you slightly less than my other child”

C: “i’m sorry but my other child makes my school papers look demonic.”

tomato: “tomatoes go on your shirt”

truer words have never been spoken

C: “what like .01% of the time?” slayer of dance: “No, no be nice” C: “I’m talking about myself” slayer of dance: “oh then carry on”

once again, i present, the ‘married’ couple

Me: “ew leap day” C: “lake be nice” Me: “the last one was in horror year i will not be nice”

C: “that’s too bad because you kiLLED EVERYBODY ELSE”

you believe me if i said this is about the oregon trail?

C: “have any of us died yet?”

again, oregon trail

lil miss muffin: “slayer of dance drowned” C: “YES”

still oregon trail

C: “that’s too bad because you kiLLED EVERYBODY ELSE”

oregon trail!

lil miss muffin: “C are you being greenist?”

watching the wizard of oz with your friends is fun, i promise.

C: “I hate when they describe a place like it’s so old and beat up” C: “I DONT GIVE A FUCK”

C: “my entire family has brown eyes including me, except for my dad like whAT DO YOU THINK MAKES YOU SPECIAL”

i don’t think she likes her dad much

C: “you can’t help people by bashing their head in”

slayer of dance stole C’s water bottle

slayer of dance: “i thought you were gonna say you can’t help people by bashing their head in” slayer of dance: *hits C* slayer of dance: “i think it’s working”

with a paper. i think.

Me: “… and you’ll die” C: “slay”

tomato: “why do i kinda want a lockdown to happen” Me: “because it would be exciting and you could possibly die” C: *gasp* C: “i wanna die”

we are very concerning

C: “when in doubt divorce it out”

Me: “i’m aliv-“ *coughs* *dies*

C: “kindness doesn’t matter” C: “Be a mean person”

lady floutist: “here C, try this” C: “HOLY SHIT”

istg lady floutist carries bricks in her backpack

C: “leave no space for other citizens”

Titi: “i am actually sobbing” Me: *doesn’t look up* Me: “are you sure? that doesn’t seem true” Titi: *offended* Titi: “i WAS sobbing”

she’s reading the oddest because she’s obsessed with Epic: the musical

C: “please just flip people off”

lady floutist: “what’s with all the ruffles this isn’t the 1800s, burn it like the witches that wore it”

goth leaf: “i love witchcraft”

i do too!!!

lovely, this was fun but i shall see you all again in the future, adieu!

[constellation-sys]

bsd ramblings (seasons 1, 2, and dead apple)

i would commit double suicide with dazai

why does everyone have a gyatt

kunikida x dazai??????

WHY ARE THE SIBLINGS SO WEIRDDDD

ranpo’s my scrungo

atsushi has trauma and is a furry

kunikida and endeavor sound really similar

dazai <33333

what the actual fuck is wrong with the doctor 

oh hey ginger

oh those bitches are homosexual 

the way they fight is so homoerotic 

“go to hell! i was being saracastic!” — chuuya to his boyfriend

dazai x chuuya

atsushi x akutagawa 

WHY IS EVERY SINGLE GUY IN BSD SO HOT

the animation has no right to be so good 

kenji is so silly. i love him

kenji loving cows is so real of him

i need more port mafia exec dazai

“he both fears death and is drawn to it” ME FR

DAZAI <33333333333333333333

i want to hold dazai. i need to ruffle his hair. i want to commit suicide with him, my last words being heard by him only. i want to drown with this man, the holy water bringing us both to the afterlife. we will both be free. 

chuuya is so silly

“come now, take me with you to the afterlife” DAZAI AJHDISBEUDBEUBD 

dazai is a disaster bi and i love him for that

i pledge allegiance to the flag of bungo stray dogs and to the fandom for which it stands. one nation under dazai, indivisible, with fanfic and fanart for all. 

dazai is down horrendous for oda. i don’t blame him

dazai my silly wet cat disaster bi husband <33333333333333333

akutagawa is so silly

WHY DID THE THEME SONG HAPPEN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE EPISODE WTF

men <3

oda is my dad now bc i said so 

the kid’s name is shinji? evangelion reference?? 

“because odasaku’s my friend” NO HE AINT DAZAI. HE’S YOUR UNREQUITED CRUSH. 

“because i know my friend better than anyone” DAZAI’S LITTLE GASP OMFG IEBEKSHWJJDEBBE OMFG OMFG IM GONNA CRY DONT EVEN WINEUEHEJEJ (friend who got me into the show) YOU BITCH

“you’re a were-tiger, grow some were-balls” KUNIKIDA YOU DID NOT

ranpo is autistic

WHY THE HELL IS THE BOSS SO WEIRD ABT HIS KID WIHDJEBE OMFG

“i can’t hear the voice of god with you staring like that” — every catholic ever

nathanial hawthorn is a silly catholic

margaret basically being the daughter of a rich plantation owner in the 1800’s is so american 

ranpo my silly

chuuya <3

q and kyouka are my children

osamu dazai my silly little wet cat autistic depressed suicidal maniac disaster bisexual husband <3

WHY IS MARK FUCKING TWAIN SO FINE OMFG THIS SHOW

lovecraft is weird. i like it. he’s accurate. 

margaret x nathan?? 

chuuya and dazai are an old married couple. i love them so much. 

“god i hate you” — chuuya to his husband who he loves very much

“don’t worry, buddy. i’ve got you” — dazai to his lover

“i’d expect nothing from you, my worthy adversary” poe to his bf

WHY IS POE FINE SOEJDIHENSHDBE

ranpo is so silly 

dazai is a cool uncle to kyouka fuck you

akutagawa and atsushi are down bad for each other 

why is scott fitzgerald a crossbreed between a dilf and a twink

cmon you two kiss each other already

is akutagawa down bad for dazai or just looks up to him

WHY IS THE WIFE NAMED ZELDA?? IS SHE A PRINCESS OR WHAT

i am OBSESSED with this show

never have i ever watched an anime with a shit theme song. i love bsd’s intro so much

hehe moby dick

if kyouka dies i’m killing myself /hj

welp guess i’m dying 

akutagawa my silly <3

nvm not dying today. hey at least kyouka isn’t dead 

dazai is akutagawa’s father figure sorry not sorry 

lovecraft is so real for jumping in the sea 

POE IS HERE WIHEEIHEIEHEUDHEHD I LOVE POE 

RANPO KISS HIM RN KISS YOU TWO KISS 

“but i prefer the women in my life to be under 12” E X C U S E M E S I R 

RUSSIAN MAN???? 

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT DUDE HELL YEAH

IWJDUEBEHE DAZAI QUOTING ODA IEHRUEBEUDHWHDUENDJDJHE IM GONNA CRY AGAIN BYE—

DEAD APPLE IS AMAZING. I WATCHED IT ON 9ANIME. ONLY SUB THOUGH

READING THE TRANSLATOR STRUGGLE IS SO FUNNY. o7 TO THEM GOOD JOB.

[yellowocaballero]

Hi! I really your fics! Came for Stephanie Brown currently waking my way through best life.

My impression of Iron Fist was that it was like flawed in premise. It’s hard to make that one specialist white guy who got mystical monk powers in fantasy Tibet not seem like cultural appropriation. (Dunno why Dr.Strange doesn’t catch more flack.) Those characters were first made a while ago.

Anyways you make Danny Rand seem so likeable. Really liked that one with him and Colleen. Is he like that in the comics?

Hi, I love this ask! That Iron Fist story had a truly stupid amount of thought put into it, and I wish I had more opportunity to speak about it! I had a lot to say. I'll say one of the things here, and maybe reblog this with more specific commentary on the fic. But yes I want to talk about Iron Fist again!!! Only person on Earth!!

Yes, Iron Fist is based off an outdated trope. I'm not going to use the word problematic, because I do think it was sometimes an earnest exploration of an idea that had to be told in a way that the audiences would accept. In the 1970s, there was this perception (reality?) that white audiences simply would not watch a story with a lead of color. If you wanted to tell any sort of story about other cultures, then the lead had to be white. I've always called this the 'Dances With Wolves' story, and when it falls into problematic shit TvTropes calls it Mighty Whitey.

This is everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Everywhere before 2000 (generously), and frequently even these days. It's even portal fantasy/isekai. It does not end. I'd break it down into two categories, four options. Very broadly:

Dances With Wolves (or Atlantis The Lost Empire, for a movie I like). The white hero is the POV character for white audiences to project onto and for wish fulfillment. As I talked about a while back, the basic assumption is that the audience is white and male, so he's the audience insert. In better movies, this character is used as an entry point so the movie can explore the other culture and their problems through the white viewpoint. In worse movies, this is straightforwardly Mighty Whitey where the POC are interchangeable hypemen present to make the MC look cool and heroic and save them all and probably become their king. This is Iron Fist.

Pulp Adventurer Hero (Tintin, the shit Indiana Jones was based off). Think of these as basically portal fantasies or isekais. In the 1800s when Americans got a taste of the Adventure (TM) bug, add in the Race For Africa and Orientalism and Wild West, you have a lot of intrepid super spies or archeologists or explorers investigating Distant Lands like the Congo or China. This was all late 1800s, got super popular in the 20s with dime novels, and tapered off in the 60s. Orientalism was at a high and Asian countries were viewed as very exotic and alien and foreign, so it got the brunt of this. Every single solitary one was HORRIFICALLY RACIST. Like holy SHIT. The mysterious Congo pygmies were little better than talking animals. Better, slightly more modern versions are Indiana Jones and the Mummy, who's directly based off these dudes, and is only pretty racist instead of horrifically racist.

You can organize the vast majority of Hollywood media predominantly featuring other cultures made before the 1990s into one of these categories. At best, they're outdated. At worst, there are some things I ask you not to Google. I do love Little Nemo in Slumberland and Tintin but holy hell.

This is the chain around Iron Fist's leg. You can slap a coat of paint on it, you can make it as woke as you like, but you cannot escape the basic foundations of the problematic story (and this is problematic, not outdated). You would have to literally kill off or get rid of Danny to fix that. When I talked earlier about how Iron Fist does not meaningfully engage with race the way it wants to engage with race, it is because of these things.

Very few tropes cannot be done well and should never be used. This trope isn't one of them. You could take any of these stories and really drill down into them, break them down into pieces to study the source code and genetics and foundation, and build it back up into something truly fascinating.

Never saw the Iron Fist show, but I'm guessing it wasn't deftly written and it didn't really engage with this. I think it's possible to write a good Iron Fist story, but you cannot do it through ignoring these foundations or dumping so much stuff on top of them to try and hide them. You can't. You have to drill down into this. There's stuff you can say using this trope, and if you write thoughtfully and actually have something to say you can write a damn good story (By the way, this is why the Mandarin in IM3 fucked hard - it didn't slap a coat of paint on the hugely problematic character, it looked at why the character existed and what the modern day equivalent of that character is and rebuilt it with the intent of having something to say).

Iron Fist is inherently bad. It is also not inherently bad. Its stories are inherently boring. Its stories can be inherently interesting. You just really have to open the clockface and see what makes the story tick. Anyway I'm Narcissus looking into his own AO3 because I actually did this and it fucked hard. IT CAN BE DONE YALL! IT CAN BE DONE!

TL;DR: Danny is nothing like that in the comics :D

[hellmouth]

Okay, so, because I was caught in 4K HD in the tags on @hero-adjacent's post rambling about this theory that I don't think I've heard anyone on the brainwave of before, I figured I'd write the whole thing out. This is probably going to be a goddamn dissertation and I am so sorry. Giving credit where it's due for being the one who first said it, @reetamorgan was the original Oh Shit Oh Fuck mastermind here.

So bare with me here alright, this is off the fucking walls at first but hear me out:

We never get a specific timeline (to my knowledge) of exactly when Angelus was cursed with his soul, only that it happened when he killed a Romani girl (I'm not using the slur, Whedon, get bent) and the Elder of that tribe had him cursed with his soul for the pain and suffering he caused On Purpose like he was some kind of vampire psychological sadist Picasso. Now, here's where we get into the theory at hand: what if that girl was Drusilla?

Dru was sired in the mid-1800s, Darla was the one who hand-picked her for Angelus to bat around like a cat with a mouse, but it was his decision to sire her instead of kill her because he thought she was special (Angel 2x5). Darla was not 100% on board- case in point:

Angelus: "We turn her into one of us. Killing is so merciful, in the end, isn't it? The pain has ended."

Darla: "To make her one of us? She's a lunatic."

Angelus: "Eternal torment."

And he sires her before she can take her vows solely so that he can have the final laugh. Which... is kind of a big fuck you to just have nothing done about it, you know? What sparked the theory itself is a conversation that takes place in BTVS 2x14 Surprise in an exchange between Jenny and her uncle and the very specific language he uses to describe the situation which is as follows:

"...You just forget that he destroyed the most beloved daughter of your tribe? That he killed every man, woman, and child that touched her life? Vengeance demands that his pain be eternal as ours is!"

Except we do! Because it's my post and I said so and I warned you this might get dissertation length!

So the main reason this made us pause and stare at each other like the slow-pan to look at the camera in The Office after our- what- I think this is our third or fourth rewatch together? Was because he used the word "destroyed". He didn't say killed. And because he used the phrase "eternal pain" directly after this. Obviously that kind of tragedy stick with you for a very long time, but that specific usage very much sounds like something that they are actively still suffering with the consequences of, and not just because Angel is still alive.

We get a little bit of Drusilla's life in Angel the series, granted, with her mother telling her that her visions are an affront to the Lord and a little bit about her sisters, but to my recollection, we don't really get that much about her family life or ties other than this? I would think that it's entirely reasonable to assume that they could be of Romani descent, that her mother may have decided to possibly step away from her family once she was married and embrace a different lifestyle, or one of many different scenarios that would put her and her family slightly out of the frame of that lense, and that the visions Drusilla has could very well be a hereditary thing, something passed down from generation to generation, or possibly one that skips a generation, much like the Elder Woman is mentioned having visions in Surprise when Jenny's uncle tells her that she's seen that Angel's pain is lessening, that her visions are never wrong. This could also be why her mother reacts so aggressively to Drusilla having these visions in the first place, why she was so adamant that only God was supposed to see things before they happened.

Angelus proceeds to kill her entire family in front of her for The Bit, before forcing her to run to a convent to escape him and waits until just before she's about to take her holy vows before he turns her, again, purely for The Bit, and if that shit doesn't get you cursed, especially a curse of that magnitude, I don't know what else says fuck around and find out quite like that does.

I also think that it would be a rather karmic thing if the fate of Angel's soul was quite literally in the hands of the girl he tortured to madness and turned into a vampire, eternally bound to kill to live and still wracked with visions of things to come, whether it be knowing Buffy would become someone that would irrevocably change Spike, the man she herself sired, hence her almost desperation for him to get rid of her when he first comes into contact with her, or even the smaller glimpses at visions she gets throughout the Buffyverse of things that one way or another do come to pass.

It would also serve to tie into the weird connection and mutual trauma that Buffy and Drusilla seem to share, down to the fact that they even share a birthday. That because of Angel and Spike, their lives are always going to be a little bit entwined, they both love Spike in their own unique ways, and they both have a love and loathing for Angel for the attention and love he's given them and for the utter betrayal and frankly sadistic level of malice he has for both of them for making him feel anything for them when he's without his soul, how he's absolutely overtaken by the need to destroy everything that they hold dear, to take every last bit of light in their lives and make them suffer for as long as possible because they made him feel before he kills them or sires them- which I'm entirely convinced that if he got the chance when it came down to it, he'd have tried to turn Buffy too. Because as he said before, death is an end to the suffering. He wants it to last. He wants it to be eternal.

Anyway, that's the Overview of the "what if Drusilla is the reason for Angel's curse" bit that Wills and I have been tossing back and forth like Apollo's prophecy dodgeball. This was way more words than I had originally intended but goddammit I do my research when I have quite literally nothing better to do with my time. This has been Theories With Boofer, thanks for tuning in, that's my time.

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

[writing-and-wondering]

Scared to Love you - I

Pairing: Hangman x Reader

Warnings: Passing out, Swearing

Request: yes! by a lovely anon, find it here

Word Count: 7.9k 

Synopsis: Due to some grueling training and the extreme heat, you find yourself passing out from heat exhaustion. Luckily, Hangman is there to catch you. 

A/n: first Hangman fic lets goooo ! love this guy and it was such a pleasure writing for him :)

GIF by @unicornships

You lean your head back against the leather couch, noting with a groan how the fan above you is doing little to alleviate the heat sticking to your skin. Though it’s on full blast and shaking so much you think it might fly off the ceiling, it feels as though it’s doing absolutely nothing. 

From beside you, Fanboy lets out a gasp as he refreshes the weather app for the twelfth time. 

“Please tell me that it isn’t hotter from the last time you checked.” You mutter, reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat off your forehead as you glance over at him. 

Fanboy makes a face, his mouth opening as he goes to speak but is interrupted as Hangman walks over, “Hate to break it to you, but it did in fact just got hotter. Now that I’m here, that is.” He says with a grin, taking a seat on the other couch. 

You glare at him, “You’re insufferable. Especially now.” 

All he does is wink at you and despite how much you’re already sweating, you hate how heat rises to your face from the simple action. Damn him, you think as you let your head fall back against the leather. 

“How hot is it really, though?” Hangman asks, leaning forward as Fanboy tilts his phone towards him, “Holy shit.” 

You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling, “Do I even want to know the temperature?” 

“If you want to be able to prepare yourself for when you’re up for training.” Fanboy responds. Suppressing another groan, you unstick yourself from the couch and lean forward so that you’re arms are resting atop your knees, “Just tell me.” 

“117 degrees.” 

“Fuck me.” You sigh, your head dropping into your hands.

“Well, only if you let me take you out to dinner first.” Hangman says, and you can hear the smug grin in his voice. Not even bothering to look at him, you let your hand do the talking as you flip him the bird. 

Fanboy laughs at the exchange, “Wow, the tension here is making me sweat.” 

“Dude, you’re literally already glistening.” Hangman states. 

“You’re no better, my guy.” Payback says as he plops down next to Hangman, his flight suit tied around his waist in an attempt to not over heat. You hear more footsteps and look up as the others walk in, having just finished their time in the air for the day. 

Eyeing Rooster, you sit up a little as he approaches, “How is it out there?” You ask as he practically collapses onto the bar stool across from you. He just shakes his head, unzipping his flight suit, “It’s so hot and humid out there it feels like we’re walking through Satan’s ass.” 

“Ew, man, what the hell.” Payback groans. 

Rooster just shrugs, “It’s true. You’ll see, they’re calling the next teams up in a minute.” 

“Lord help me. I’m going to melt out there.” You say, shoving your flight suit off your shoulders, “God, the AC in here sucks.”

“You’d think it’d be better since it’s like, the military. But, no. No, they hate us.” Fanboy mutters as he drains the last of his water. 

Hangman chuckles, “Considering how much they need us they really to like to see us suffer.” 

You nod along as he speaks, the uncomfortable feeling of sweat rolling down your back making you antsy, “But come on, they couldn’t spare a little on some decent air conditioning? I mean, my apartment has better AC than this and it’s from the fucking 1800′s.” 

The others make grunts of agreement, the heat seemingly melting their brains to form any other type of response. What you would give right now to get an ice bath. 

Looking over, you almost leap out of your seat as you see Phoenix and Bob return, arms full of bottles of water, “Your saviors are here!” Phoenix says as she hands out the water. 

“You’re an angel, Phe.” You say as you catch the bottle she tosses to you, the condensation from the cold water breathing some life back into you. You drain the water in less than a minute, the coolness spreading through you and leaving you gasping for air as you bring the empty bottle back down. 

The room falls into silence, save for the crinkling of water bottles, as the others do the same. “I’m going to need like seven more of these little blue bitches.” Payback says as he finishes off his drink, his fingers running along the wrapper as he draws on the condensation. 

“Be my guest to go find more.” Phoenix tells him, “I swear we had to go clear to the other side of the base for some cold ones. Everyone’s clearing them out like it’s the damn apocalypse.” 

“May as well be. It feels like the world’s on fire.” Bob admits, holding his now half full bottle against the back of his neck. Watching him do it, you wish you had held off enough water to be able to do the same. But you didn’t, and now you’re just sitting here sticking to the leather sofa in the unyielding heat. 

The room falls into silence once more, until the admiral walks into the room, waving his hand to keep you all from standing at attention. You look over as he addresses you, “Alright, next team to go up will be Hangman, Artemis, and Phoenix and Bob. Get your gear on and head out there, even though it’s hotter than hell.” And with that he walks out of the room, using his clipboard to fan himself.

You groan at the idea of moving, the heat weighing down your limbs. Rubbing at your eyes, you’re just about to get up when you notice Hangman offering his hand to you. Raising your eyebrow at him, he just smiles in response, “You seem like you could use some help.” 

If your face wasn’t already so red from how hot you were, you would’ve been embarrassed at how fast the heat rose to your cheeks. But in this moment you couldn’t find it in you to care as you took Hangman’s hand and accepted his help in quite literally unsticking you from the couch. 

Now standing, you're close enough to him to smell his cologne that somehow masks any scent of sweat. You feel him squeeze your hand before letting go, another simple wink from him leaving you stunned. 

“Alright, Artemis. Let’s go- as Rooster said- have some fun in Satan’s ass.” Hangman laughs at himself before walking towards the door. 

“That still sounds nasty, man.” Payback calls after him. Shaking your head, you pat Payback’s shoulder as you pass, “At least you don’t have to fly with him.” You say. 

“Ooh. I wish you luck.” He tells you, to which you wave your hand at him without turning around, “Thanks. I’ll need it.” 

Once in the locker room, you splash cold water on your face and neck before going to get the rest of your gear on. Phoenix shares your look of discomfort as the two of you get ready. 

“Great, more layers. Just what I wanted.” You mutter, sweat already rolling down your neck again. Phoenix nods in agreement, “Let’s just get through this and then before we know it we’ll all be drinking ice cold beers at the Hard Deck.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me with a good time.” You say with a grin, thankful to Phoenix for being able to bring light to the situation. 

She shifts her vest on, “I swear, the minute I get a drink I’m going into the ocean with it, I don’t even care.” 

You lean your head against the lockers, “God, that sounds so good right now. I would literally fly into the ocean if it meant being able to cool off.” 

Phoenix laughs and then fixes you with a pair of squinted eyes, “Don’t actually do that though.” 

Raising your eyebrows at her, you shrug, “Why not? I’ve done it before.” 

As the two of you walk out of the locker room she gapes at you, “Huh?”

You can’t help but laugh at her expression, “Oh, don’t tell me that you’ve never heard this story before.”

“Heard what story?” The two of you look over as Hangman joins you, followed by Bob. Phoenix gives her WSO a fist bump before answering, “The story of when Artemis apparently flew into the ocean.” 

“What?” Bob sputters, his eyes wide. You roll your eyes at his and Hangman’s shocked expression as the four of you make your way to the tarmac, “Well, crashed into the ocean. But yeah, it was a couple of years ago and honestly wouldn’t mind doing it again today.”

Bob nudges your arm, “Please don’t. That look of yours makes me unsure on if you’re serious or not.” 

You simply pat his shoulder as you smile at him, “Well, we’ll just have to find out now won’t we?” 

As you push open the doors, you’re immediately hit with the thick air that takes the breath out of your lungs for a moment. Slipping on your aviators, you find that they do little to stop the blazing sun from making it feel like your eyeballs are about to melt out of your head. 

“This is disgusting.” You say, pulling at your collar as you make your way to your jet. Hangman reaches over and squeezes your shoulder, “Good thing you’re here then to make it all better.” He says to you. 

You stop next to your jet and fix him with a stare, the way he said it making your heart flutter, “Was that sarcasm? Are you joking with me right now, Seresin?” 

He doesn’t answer, but there he goes again with winking at you and making your stomach do front flips. Hangman gives you a little wave as he smiles, “How about we give everyone a show, huh?” 

You roll your eyes, but a smile still finds its way onto your face, “Lead the way, Hangman.” 

“Aye! Stop eye-fucking and get in your jets so we can get this over with!” Phoenix yells over to you both from where she’s already sitting in her own jet. 

You and Hangman share a look, the two of you barely suppressing your laughter as you smile at each other. He gives you a fist bump before jogging over to his jet and climbing in, you doing the same. 

Upon getting set up and closing your canopy, the air feels a little more stuffy but the familiar hum of the engine takes away from your discomfort. Though you would much rather be swimming somewhere in the ice cold water, nothing can ever diminish how much you truly love flying. 

Glancing over as Hangman starts moving his jet towards the take off point, you realize that it isn’t just your love for the sky that is easing your troubles. 

Whipping your jet around, you feel your stomach flip as you come back from being inverted, the sun seemingly spinning around you as you right yourself. Gripping onto the lever, you pull back just as you complete the maneuver that you all had been tirelessly working to perfect. 

“WHOOO!!! That’s how it’s done!” Hangman cheers as he brings his jet up next to yours. You look over and see him positively beaming at you and you’re sure your heart is about to jump out of your chest. After unclipping your mask, you smile back at him and knock on the canopy with your fist, “That was awesome!” 

He throws his head back in laughter, the sound of it like honey to your ears. Shaking your head a little from where your mind was drifting to, you look over to the left at Phoenix as she speaks, “I’m pretty sure we beat our own record with that. It was literally perfect.”

“Of course it was, I’m team leader.” Hangman says, his voice dripping with confidence. 

“Barely. Pretty sure Artemis did more leading than you, Bagman.” Bob cuts in, though his tone is one you recognize to be joking. Chuckling at his comment, you look over to Hangman only to see him staring in Bob’s direction with his mouth open in shock. 

“Low blow, Bob.” He mutters, his eyes squinting toward the man. 

You look back to the left and see Bob shrugging, “I only speak the truth.” 

“Alright kids, let’s head back. I’m in desperate need of a cold shower.” Phoenix says as she turns her jet to the side and heads back to the ground. You follow, “Aren’t we all.” 

As you descend, the adrenaline from the successful maneuver begins wearing off, leaving your mind a little hazy. You can hear the muffled voices of the others speaking, but all you find yourself focusing on is how hard it is to catch your breath all of a sudden. 

You shake your head, blinking rapidly as the tarmac comes into view. You’re following Phoenix’s jet and reach up to rub your eyes when suddenly there’s two of her. Taking a deep breath, you tightly grip the lever as you line your jet up for landing. 

There’s a muffled voice in your ear and it takes a little too much for you to simply respond, “What?” Though you're not entirely sure who was speaking. 

“You’re looking a little low there, Artemis.” Hangman’s voice comes across to you, “Pull up a bit. There you go.” His words bring the smallest amount of focus back to you, just enough so that you’re able to successfully land without any issues. 

As your jet rolls to a stop, your hands fall away from the controls and you lean back against your seat, breathing hard. Shaking your head again, your wipe the sweat from your eyes before opening the canopy. 

You’re vaguely aware of it moving as you stare ahead, a loud ringing in your ears. Your body doesn’t feel like it's your own as you lift yourself out of the jet and climb down the ladder, your hands shaking slightly. 

Once your feet are back on the ground, you find yourself unable to let go of the metal rungs as you star at the tarmac beneath your boots. Blinking hard, you squeeze your eyes shut as your head spins. 

A gentle hand on your shoulder brings you to open your eyes again, looking to the side to find who the hand belongs to. In staring at them, you can see that their lips are moving but you hear nothing. 

The ringing in your ears grows as you fumble with the strap on your helmet before clumsily taking it off, barely feeling it leave your grasp as it tumbles to the ground. You stare up at the man talking to you, “What?” You ask, your voice coming out weak and distant. 

You barely catch the way Hangman’s expression creases in concern, his other hand coming up to cup the side of your face, “You with me, Artemis?” He sounds as though he’s underwater as he speaks, leaving you feeling very confused as you’re certain that you aren’t underwater. Right?

Taking a deep breath, or at least trying to, your hand drops from the metal rungs of the ladder in favor of gripping onto Hangman’s wrist, “Why are you so quiet?” You ask, looking at him with squinted eyes as the sun burns down on you. 

He shakes his head, his eyebrows drawn together, “I’m not- are you okay?” 

You nod, blinking hard as you step away from his hold, “Yeah. ‘M fine.” You answer him, feeling as though you’re trudging through mud as you force your feet to move forward. Reaching up, you hold your hand above your eyes in an attempt to block the sun. 

Hangman’s voice drifts over to you but the ringing in your ears keeps you from fully hearing him. A part of you plans to just ignore him in favor of focusing on walking forward, but you think better of it and turn to face him. 

As you do, your vision blurs as the world tilts sideways. You stagger to the side just before finding yourself on your knees. You’re left staring down at the tarmac, confused for just a moment before gentle hands find their way to your arms. 

Looking up, you lose all feeling in your body just as you fall backwards. All you can see is Hangman’s panicked face in front of you as your world fades to black. 

Hangman is still jittery from the team’s success in the sky as he practically jumps out of his jet. He waves at Phoenix and Bob, who wave back before turning to finish up their final checks. Despite the heat, Hangman swears he has never felt better. 

There’s just something about things going perfectly that fill him with a type of joy that reminds him of just how much he loves what he does. Ducking under the nose of his jet, Hangman smiles as he catches sight of you descending your ladder. 

“Artemis!” He calls, his hand waving over to you. His smile drops ever so slightly when you don’t respond. As he walks closer, he watches as you stop at the base of your ladder, still gripping tightly to the rungs. 

His pace quickens and all traces of his smile are gone as he jogs up to you, his hand coming up to rest on your arm, “Hey, you okay?” 

Your lack of response fills him with the beginnings of panic, and just a little bit of hurt. His first thought is of you just ignoring him, but upon bending down a bit to get a better look at your face, he throws that thought out the window. 

He should’ve known something was wrong when you started to get a little unsteady during your landing. Gripping your arm a little tighter, Hangman tries again, “Artemis?” 

The relief he feels when you finally look at him in unmeasurable. Though, as he meets your eyes and sees how unfocused they are, that relief is overthrown by his growing panic. 

“What?” You ask him, your voice not nearly as strong as it usually is. Hangman feels his throat tighten as he reaches up to hold the side of your face, just to keep you looking at him, “You with me, Artemis?” 

His heart rate quickens as you let go of the ladder and hold onto his wrist, your grip barely there, “Why are you so quiet?” You ask. Hangman blinks at you, his hold on your arm tightening once more, “I’m not- are you okay?”

Though he hates to, he allows you to shrug him off as you nod, “Yeah. ‘M fine.” Hangman watches as you turn away from him, but he leaves his hands still outstretched towards you. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on with you, but not one part of him likes it. 

The second he sees your feet misstep he’s following close behind you, “Artemis, I don’t think you’re okay.” Hangman cringes at the way his voice wavers ever so slightly. He’s reaching out to you again as you turn to face him, your mouth open as if you’re about to say something. 

But it never comes, for you stumble to the side and fall to your knees before Hangman can even breathe. The sight of you falling sends him into overdrive and he’s by your side in under a second, his hands holding onto your arms. 

“Artemis?” He asks, his voice filled with panic as you blearily look up at him before your eyes roll into the back of your head. Hangman hardly has time to react as you go limp in his hold, your head jerking backwards as you fall. He stumbles and skids his knees on the tarmac as he catches your head. 

Brining your body close to him, Hangman pushes the hair that was stuck to your cheek back, “Hey, hey- Artemis? Artemis?” He asks, his voice growing with panic as your body jerks a little. 

“Shit, shit-” Hangman doesn’t know what to do as he looks up, his eyes frantically searching around for help. He lands on Phoenix and Bob, who have their backs turned. 

“Hey! Hey- get help! We need help!” Hangman yells, causing both pilots to whip around. Upon seeing your collapsed form in Hangman’s arms, Bob takes off running to get the medics as Phoenix hurries over to you. 

“What- what happened?” She asks, kneeling down beside you as she grabs your wrist. Hangman shakes his head as he watches her check your pulse, “I don’t- I don’t know! She was out of it a-and then she just-” His breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you. 

All of the color was gone from your face and your eyelids were fluttering violently. Phoenix grips onto Hangman’s arms, which brings his attention back to her, “We need to get her inside- now.”

Hangman is nodding and lifting you up before she’s even finished speaking. The way your body just falls against him pulls at his heart in a way that makes it hard to breathe. 

Phoenix runs ahead of him and holds open the door. Hangman watches your head as he rushes through the doorway, frantically searching for help. Before he’s even a couple of steps into the building, he almost collides with Bob as the man comes sprinting around the corner. 

“Medics!” Bob exclaims, his eyes wide, “I got the-” He cuts himself off as he steps out of the way of the nurses, his hands motioning towards the stretcher they’re pushing. 

Barely processing what’s happening, Hangman rushes forward and gently places you onto the bed, barely daring to even breathe as he catches your hand and grips onto it before it drops over the side. 

The nurses begin rolling the bed through the halls, Phoenix and Bob running ahead of them to open doors as they move towards the med wing. The whole way Hangman is by your side, his eyes not leaving you as he holds onto your hand so tightly he loses feeling in his own. 

Just as they reach the med wing, a gentle hand on his chest stops him. Your hand is pulled out of his grasp as they push the bed away, just for you to disappear out of his view as the doors close. 

“I- I have to-” Hangman starts but the nurse in front of him gently grabs onto his forearm. She gives him an understanding look, “We’ve got her from here, Lieutenant. You’re welcome to stay out here until she’s steady again, okay?” 

Hangman blinks at the nurse, her words coming across muffled to him. After a minute though it clicks, and all he can do is nod. She offers him a smile, “We’ll let you know as soon as we can.” And with that she walks to the doors that you had just passed through moments before. 

He stands there for a minute, staring at the doors as they swing closed. Glancing down, he finds that his hands are trembling. Shaking his head, he reaches up and runs them over his face as he takes in a deep breath. 

“Hangman?” Phoenix’s soft voice pulls his attention away from the doors. Looking at her and Bob, he finds that for once he doesn’t have it in him to say anything. 

Without speaking, Phoenix leads him over to the chairs, understanding in her eyes. As he sits down, Hangman’s eyes lock onto a broken floor tile and his gaze stays glued to it as Phoenix reassures him that everything will be fine. 

He knows they’re both talking to him, but he has no idea what they’re saying. All he can focus on is how he had watched the color drain from your face and barely caught you before your head hit the ground. Gripping onto the armrests of the chair, Hangman blinks hard as he feels the sting of hot tears. 

“Get some rest, okay?” Is what he finally catches from Phoenix before her and Bob make their leave. He just nods at them before leaning forward and dropping his head into his hands. 

Hangman’s eyes are closed when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. He looks up as they stop in front of him, and he offers the smallest smile when he sees Phoenix. She smiles back before motioning to the seat next to him, “May I?” 

“Please.” He nods, folding his arms across his body. 

Phoenix lets out a sigh, “How are you doing?” 

Hangman shrugs, “Fine.” 

She doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push it. Instead, she looks him over, “Did you shower?” 

Nodding, Hangman runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah. Rooster came and got me to take one with him.” 

He glances over and sees Phoenix’s expression buffer for a second, “You... showered with Rooster?”

“Yeah.” Hangman says before his brain finally catches up, “Wait- no. No, no. We didn’t- I didn’t shower with him. I just- He came and got me but we didn’t-”

“I know.” Phoenix chuckles, “I figured.” 

Letting his head fall against the wall, he lets out a breath of laugh, “Oh, you are an ass.” 

She just grins at him, “Did you eat?” She asks, changing the subject. He raises an eyebrow at her, “Yeah, before we went up in the air, remember?” 

“The last time you ate was before the training session?” Phoenix asks, the sudden concern in her voice causing Hangman to fix her with a confused look, “...Yeah? It was only a couple of hours ago.” 

“Jake, that was seven hours ago.” She states. 

Hangman’s mouth goes dry, “Wha- seven?” There’s no way it had already been that long. He had been sitting here in the waiting room this entire time, save for the ten minutes he allowed himself to step away for a shower.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Phoenix reached over and dropped something in Hangman’s lap. Looking down, he saw that it was a bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped in plastic. 

“I figured you probably hadn’t eaten.” She admits, motioning for him to dig in. He shoots her a thankful look before doing just that, only now realizing how hungry he was. 

As he finished his sandwich and had taken a couple of gulps of water, Phoenix cleared her throat, “Have you told her?” She asks. 

Almost choking on his water, Hangman looks over to her in confusion, “Sorry?” 

Phoenix’s gaze softened, “Jake, I’ve known you for a long time. And never once have I ever seen you react like that. To anything.”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Hangman shrugs, “I was worried. That’s all.”

Phoenix shakes her head at his answer, “That wasn’t just worry and you know it.” Hangman feels his throat tighten. He had done good hiding his feelings, hadn’t he?

From his lack of response, Phoenix decided to continue, “You really care about her, don’t you?” 

Dropping his gaze to his hands, Hangman chewed on his lip, “Yeah.” Is all he can think to say. Because it’s true. He does care about you... but it’s also so much more than that. So much more. 

He can feel Phoenix staring at him and it takes more than he thought it would to lift his eyes to meet hers. Once met, Phoenix’s expression softens into one that he had never seen before. 

“Do you love her?” She asks, her voice impossibly quiet. 

Blinking at her for a moment, it takes a second before her question hits him. Letting out a slow breath, he leans his head against the wall, his mind filled with nothing but you. All entirely you. 

“Yeah.” He breathes out, “I do. I really do.” 

Phoenix hums, and Hangman can tell that she already knew the answer to the question before she even asked it. 

“Why haven’t you said anything, then?” She questions, turning her body so that she’s facing him full on. All Hangman can do is shrug as he thinks of what to say. 

He clears his throat and sniffs as he picks at the skin on his hands, “I guess... I don’t know.” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I didn’t want to fall in love with her.” 

As he says it out loud, it shocks him just as much as he can tell it does Phoenix. She falls back against her seat, letting out a slow breath before she speaks, “What do you mean by that?”

Hangman looks at her as his gut twists with the feelings that he’s been trying to ignore since the day he met you. Running a hand down his face, he inhales deeply before trying to explain, “I... I flirt a lot and I make jokes, but I never expect them to lead anywhere, you know? I know that I come off as this cocky, confident ass who knows exactly what I’m doing- which I do but-” 

His ramble is cut off by Phoenix as she cocks her head to the side, “Where is this going?” Her exasperated look brings a slight chuckle out of him as he shakes his head, “Sorry, sorry. What I’m trying to say is despite how I act and everything... I care far more than I let on.”

Hangman’s voice trails off a bit, his words getting caught in his throat as his brain scrambles for the right things to say. Phoenix stays quiet as she urges him to continue, which he does after a moment, “I guess I thought acting like I didn’t care would make it true, but all it’s done is make it clear to me just how much I do care. Not just about Artemis, but about all of you. I don’t know if you even know it but-”

“We do.” Phoenix reassures him as she pats his arm, “We know, of course we do.” 

He shoots her a grateful smile before continuing, “And with Artemis... I don’t know- I mean, the thought of falling in love has always been in the back of my mind but I never thought it would actually happen, you know? Especially not with someone like her.”

Phoenix is quiet for a moment, “Did you not mean to fall in love?” She asks hesitantly. Hangman sighs, “I don’t think anyone ever means to... but, I just... I didn’t want to. With what we do...” He looks up to the ceiling, imagining what the night sky looks like above. 

“Every time we go up there’s no guarantee that we’re going to come back down.” He says simply, “I couldn’t... I didn’t want to fall in love with her... or even act upon it because I couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her alone. I couldn’t do that.” 

His eyes stray on the ceiling tiles before they drift to Phoenix, who stares back at him with an expression full of nothing but sweet understanding. Her hold on his arm tightens a little as she speaks, “Being in this line of work, every pilot knows the risks. We’re actively aware of them every time we fly and though we may not like them, we accept them. We accept the risks.” 

Hangman nods along with her words, but his throat tightens in a way that doesn’t allow him to speak. Phoenix catches on to his silence and continues, her voice quiet but stern, “I’ve known Artemis for a long time. She’s one of the most talented, strongest people I’ve ever met. I’ve never known her not to do something out of fear of what could happen. Once she’s set on something, there’s no changing her mind... even despite the risks.”

He knows this about you, he’s seen it. That’s part of why he just completely and utterly adores you. You were never one to back away, despite being scared, though you never let anyone know it. And you never failed to make him laugh with whatever remark you could think of to retaliate against his stupid comments. 

Hangman smiles at the thought, though his voice stays quiet. Phoenix pats his arm, “Tell her. Part of being in love is being scared, but if you just talk to her... it won’t be so scary anymore.” 

Nodding, Hangman breathes out deeply before fixing Phoenix with a grin, “Since when did you get so wise?” 

She smiles, “Always have been. You’ve just refused to acknowledge it.” 

He laughs sarcastically, throwing his head back for emphasis. Phoenix lightly hits his bicep, but he notices that she’s laughing too. 

Balling up the plastic from his sandwich, Hangman nods to her, “Thanks for the food. And for the pep talk.” 

“Anytime.” She responds before getting to her feet and brushing off her pants, “I’m going to head to bed, you should try to get some rest too.”

He gives her a two finger salute, “I’ll try.”

She hums before motioning to his water, “I want you to finish that and then go get another one.” Hangman chuckles as he twists off the cap of his half emptied bottle, “Okay, mom.” 

Rolling her eyes, Phoenix turns on her heel, “Night, Hangman.” 

“See ya, Phoenix.” He responds, watching her go until she disappears down the hall and out of the doors. Doing as he was told, Hangman drains the rest of his water before tossing it in the recycling. He walks over to the vending machine and presses the buttons for water. 

After watching it clamor off the shelf, Hangman reaches down and retrieves the drink from the bottom. 

Sitting back down in the uncomfortable chair, he rests his head against the wall and allows his eyes to slip closed. His last thought before he drifts off is of you. 

A soft shake to his shoulder is what wakes him. Opening his eyes, Hangman sits up when he sees the nurse standing in front of him, a clipboard in her arm, “Are you here for Lieutenant Y/L/n?”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Hangman nods as he gets to his feet, “Is she okay?” He asks quickly, his heart rate picking up as he waits for the nurse's response. 

She smiles gently, “She’s fine. She just woke up, if you’d like to see her?” 

All he can do is nod before the nurse is leading him down to your room. He can hear his heart beating loudly in his ears as his feet carry him through the hall, his hands fidgeting restlessly at his sides. 

The nurse stops in front of a door labeled B2 and turns to face him, “She’s on some medication so she may seem a little out of it but she’s going to be completely fine.” 

As soon as the words reach him, he feels an unmeasurable amount of relief flood through him, “Okay, thank you. Thank you.” 

She gives him one last smile before stepping away and heading into another room. Reaching for the door handle, Hangman finds himself freezing with his hand clasped around the cool metal. A thousand thoughts scramble through his mind before he shakes his head and takes a deep breath. 

Turning the handle and hesitantly entering the room, his relief only grows when he sees you sitting up in the hospital bed. You’re in an old academy shirt and sweat pants, the sight of you not in a hospital gown eases his worries ever so slightly. He wasn’t sure if he could handle anything that might make you seem worse off than he thought you were. 

As he closes the door behind him, it feels as though his heart practically lights up when you look at him, a smile finding its home on your face at the sight of him. In just seeing you smile at him, he has to stop himself from dropping down on his knee right then and there. 

God, he loves you.

Quiet beeping is the first thing you notice, the second being the scratchy sheets underneath your fingertips. Opening your eyes, you squint at the florescent lights before taking a moment to look around.

You’re confused for a moment as you take in the hospital room and the IV’s connected to your arm. Poking at them, you frown. What happened?

The door opening brings your attention away from your arm and to the doctor entering the room. She gives you a smile, “Looks like someone’s finally awake.” She says as she walks over and checks through your chart. You watch her flip through the pages, still confused. 

Peering over her clipboard, you can see when she notices your confusion, “How are you feeling, Lieutenant?” 

You swallow, “Uh, thirsty.” 

Nodding, she heads over to the sink and fills you up a cup of water before handing it to you. You thank her before draining it in a matter of seconds, feeling the cool liquid flow through you. 

“Do you remember what happened?” She asks you, looking over the machines that are off to the side of your bed. You think for a moment. 

“Um..” You say, leaning your head against the pillow. “We were flying... but then once I got back to the tarmac I started feeling... weird.” You tell her, the events of before blurring in your mind. 

She hums as she leans over and places her stethoscope against your chest. It’s cold against you skin as she talks to you, “You passed out from heat exhaustion.” She informs before returning her instrument to its home around her neck, “Why they had you go up in the air when it was pushing close to 125 degrees, I don’t know.” 

Biting your lip, you wring your hands together as you think back to earlier. You remember the excitement from completing the maneuver- completing it perfectly. But then how disoriented and distant you felt comes back to you, the feeling of the metal ladder still beneath your hands. 

“I will say, you’re lucky your friends were able to get you here so quickly, or else we’d be having a very different conversation right now.” The doctor’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. 

You turn to her, a question playing on your lips, “My friends?” 

She nods, “Lieutenants Seresin, Trace, and Floyd. They alerted my staff and we were able to get you help within minutes of you losing consciousness. I was very impressed with them.” 

That’s right, you were out flying with them. You remember how Hangman was the one who came over to ask if you were okay. How he was right by your side when you passed out. 

How he was the one who caught you. 

You feel your heart rate pick up and heat flood to your face, nothing but his concerned voice playing on loop through your mind. 

“Lieutenant?” The doctor asks. You turn to her, “Can I see him?” 

She looks taken aback by the urgency in your voice, but then understanding filters across her features, “Of course. Let me just finish up here and then I’ll have someone get him for you.” 

You nod, the rest of what she does goes by in a haze and before you know it you’re left alone in the room. Looking down, you tug on a loose string on your shirt, thankful to not be in a hospital gown. 

You never were one for hospitals, the pristine cleanliness of the room and the bright fluorescents bringing you nothing but discomfort. Sipping at the new cup of water the doctor had given you before she left, you try to focus on something else. 

The ticking of the clock almost sounds as though it’s mocking you, each click only adding to your uneasiness. Sitting up on the bed, you fold your legs together in front of you, resting your hands impatiently in your lap. 

You’re just about ready to jump out of the bed and go see what’s taking so long when the door opens, revealing the very man who ensured that you got here. Watching as he walks in and gently closes the door behind him, all of your uneasiness seems to melt away the second you meet his gaze. 

The relief in just having him here in front of you makes you feel fuzzy, but in a good way. The best way. A smile makes its way to your face, and you can think to do nothing but hold out your hand to him. 

Surprise floods across his features for just a moment before he’s taking your hand and sitting down on the edge of the bed, his thumb circling gently across your knuckles. 

As you watch him, you feel your heart pick up and heat rise in your face. Though this time, you can’t find it in you to care about the heat. Not with him sitting right there, holding your hand in such a way that dissipates every worry you ever had. 

Not quite knowing what to say or do, you slowly reach towards him and cup the side of his face, tilting his head up so that he’s looking at you. Meeting him with a smile, you gently brush your thumb across his cheek, “Hey.” 

He relaxes into your touch, “Hey.” You don’t miss how uncharacteristically quiet he is, or how he’s holding your hand as if it’s the only thing anchoring him down, “You okay?” You ask softly. 

He huffs out a laugh, reaching up to take your other hand in his own, “I feel like I should be the one asking you that.”

You squeeze his hands, “I’m okay.” Leaning forward, you’re so close to him now that you can smell the sweet honey of his cologne, “Thanks to you.” 

And does he ever just look at you. As your eyes meet, you’re overwhelmed with everything that’s swimming within the sea of blues staring back at you. Hangman studies your face for a moment before taking a deep breath, “You really scared me, you know.” 

Your brows crease together as a frown pulls down on your lips, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “You don’t have to be, there’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But I can understand.” You tell him, “How scary it is, I mean... to see someone just... collapse like that.” 

He stares back at you, his eyes searching for something but you’re not quite sure what, “That’s the thing... it wasn’t just someone. It was you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks, your head shaking slightly, “I don’t-”

“I know I can be an ass sometimes.” Hangman interrupts you quickly. You blink, your mind almost short circuiting because where did that come from? He takes your confused silence as a sign to continue, “I know how annoying you find me and-and that you can’t stand me but seeing you- watching you fall and being barely able to catch you made me realize something.” 

Your chest tightens, your heart beating so loud in your ears that you’re surprised you can even hear him as he goes on, “I... I realized that I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want to be scared of- of what I feel, or what sort of unpredictable things could happen in this life.”

“Jake...” You start but he shakes his head and pulls your hands to his chest, “I have spent so much of my life being scared- being scared of things that I almost never even got the chance to have.” 

All you can do is stare at him, a million thoughts racing through your head. A part of you is searching for how to respond while the other part is so eager to hear what he has to say. You don’t even notice how you’re leaning closer to him, hanging on to every word as if it’s the very thing that’s breathing air into your lungs. 

Hangman stares back at you, his eyes glistening in such a way as they reflect the lights that no longer seem so unbearable, “There’s so much that I want to say to you, but that- that fear held me back for so long that I...” He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to your hands. 

You immediately miss the sea of blues, your heart pulling as you watch him struggle to speak, “Tell me.” You lift his chin up, your faces mere inches apart, “Talk to me, Jake.” 

“I’d never forgive myself if I never got the chance to tell you...” He whispers, his breath ghosting across your lips. Gently moving your hand to the back of his neck, your fingers tangle in the ends of his hair, “Tell me now.” 

He looks back at you, his eyes telling you everything you need to know even before the words pass through his lips, “I love you.” He’s barely finished speaking before you’re closing the distance between the two of you, your lips slotting against his. 

You feel his arms wrap around your back as he pulls you to him, the small amount of space in between the two of you closed off in one movement. One hand tangles in his hair while the other cups the side of his face, the fire inside you surging throughout your entire being as you deepen the kiss. 

Your hands trail down his back, gripping onto his shirt just as the two of you break apart, gasping for air. You breathe him in, every part of him as you stare into his eyes, the cool blues doing little to calm the heat igniting within you. 

He reaches up and cups the sides of your face, leaning forward until his forehead is resting against your own, “I love you. God, I love you.” He says, placing a gentle kiss against your lips once more. 

You smile into it, “And I love you.” You lean back so you can see his face. Your heart flutters as his expression practically lights up, everything that he is positively beaming at you, “I love you... even when you annoy me.” 

He laughs and the sound is the sweetest melody to your ears. Wrapping your arms around him, you bury your face in the crook of his neck as he holds you, “What I would give to be able to freeze this moment and be able to live in it forever.” He says softly, his voice muffled slightly by your shoulder. 

Your face is beginning to hurt from how hard you’re smiling, but you can’t find it in you to care when you lean back and stare into those beautiful eyes that you promise to commit to memory, “Why stay here when we have the rest of our lives?” You ask him. 

There’s no greater joy than watching his eyes widen and his smile grow, “You mean that?” He asks, holding you tighter. Your head falls back as you laugh, “No, I was just saying it to sound cute.” 

“Oh, you-” Hangman cuts himself off as he kisses you, his lips fitting against yours in such a perfect way that you can’t believe you waited this long. He leans against you and you feel yourself get pushed gently into the pillows, “I will never stop loving you.” He says into the kiss. 

You push him back with a hand against his chest, “Is that a promise, Seresin?” 

He looks down at you with a smile, nothing but love swimming in his eyes, “With everything that I am, darlin'. I love you.”

Your hand turns and you're pulling him to you by the collar of his shirt. You pause just before your lips touch, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Then you kiss him, all the love you have for this man and his absolute ridiculousness going into it. 

The idea of love used to scare you. But knowing what you feel for Jake, it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. 

☆☆☆

A/n: Hangman is an absolute sweetheart when it comes to the person he loves. I swear by that, and I love him for it. Hope you liked it :)

Tags: @rosiahills22 @obiwankenobis-lap @haljordangreenjedi @ollyoxenfrees @dempy @alluringshawn

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

wait are there people earnestly defending genshin by saying that dark skin just doesn't work in anime style?

oh that’s just the tip of the iceberg! Other stuff I’ve seen (on my own damn, very neutrally worded post even) are

-but but there’s light skinned people in the Middle East too they’re just representing them! (Ok and where are the dark skinned people? MENA/SWANA isn’t 98% lily white WHERE ARE YOUR BRONE AND BLACK PEOPLE?)

-no one cares lol (hm well there’s 1k+ notes on this and 25+ comments all agreeing this was a wasted opportunity, so clearly by statistical alone you’re…wrong. Quite a few people care actually!)

-china doesn’t care about dark skinned people so they won’t put dark skinned people in! (Holy xenophobia. Uh. Ok so china DOES have a serious issue w colorism+racism BUT it’s also not a racial monolith AND it also has some pretty diverse gatcha games already? For starters there’s arknights and dislyte, and there’s absolutely more. Don’t use an entire country to shield one company’s shitty racist decisions bc that’s ALSO racist)

- his skin is white bc he’s based off a fennec fox which has white fur (literally when has any kemonomimi design based the skin color off the fur and not the hair. Even yae miko FROM GENSHIN has pink fur and pink hair, her skin is independent of that)

-I personally am from that region and am pale so I do not see the problem (ok good for you? But tons of people who ARENT pale (or who are but wanted more diversity) are rightly frustrated that the first region where they had an honest reason to make more people dark skinned refuses to go darker that a cafe au lait. they aren’t doing this to rep light skinned south Asians or North Africans or whoever they’re doing it bc they don’t think it’s worth it to represent darker skin tones and YOU KNOW THIS. Don’t be stupid at me)

on that note, I’ve seen very similar trains of dumbasses run on other people who have brought up legitimate complaints on the outfits that the sumeru cast has been put in. It doesn’t matter how well they researched actual Persian dancer outfits or the effect western oreintalism and movies like Aladdin has had in it and the perception of their dance and culture, or their personal relation to it, or how they word it, a bunch of idiots will inevitably be like ‘well I think that the outdated inaccurate racist outfits that they referenced off of other gatcha games and jrpgs from the 90s is sexy and I don’t care about this so shut the fuck yo and stop asking them to do better’ and it pisses me off, honestly

Like really? Why is this so hard for people to understand? If you’re going to use real life cultures you have to try and be respectful of them-and the real life ones are often WAY prettier and more creative than anything a lazy sterotypes from the 1800s could’ve come up with. We can do better now and it looks better feels better and is more interesting and engaging so why are people so resistant to it? Why does it hurt their brains so much to think about the fact they aren’t the center of the world for once? Idk

And for the record, before anyone gets any ideas, fgo is NOT better just bc arjuna and ashwatthama are actually dark skinned. You can’t say shit about how racist Scheherazade’s design is on twitter without a bunch of people who think masturbating to porn filtered with racial tags applied makes them culturally sensitive screaming at you about how you’re too easily offended and need to get over yourself; bc as we all know the hypersexualization and fetishization of dark skinned women isn’t a serious irl issue that is perpetuated by stupid shit like a gatcha game having its horny h*rem girl design tell you that you should just station her in your bedroom bc that’s all she’s useful for when you summon her! (THIS IS SARCASM)

Like ffs one side here is obviously more easily offended than the other and it’s not the one you think…

[parkers-gal]

through the tears T.H.

warnings : child birth, cursing

summary : reader goes into labor, and the grandparents meet the baby !! (requested)

word count : 1800

i wrote this like months ago lmao but enjoy

Any day now, you had told yourself. Any day. Of course, you were nervous, and quite frankly kind of terrified of the baby Holland coming. Weeks into your third trimester, you and Tom couldn't be anymore prepared, and the preparation of the baby coming made you forget that she was actually coming.

You were watering the plants on the shelf in the living room. You were due any day now, and you were as ready as you could be. Maneuvering around some leaves, you started to pull the pot a little closer for easier access, but then you felt something leaking down your leg. Looking down you realized your water had broken.

Oh shit, here we go.

And then, Tom came in, a phone in one hand and a notepad in the other.

"Hey, love. Do you think we should go with the first model or th-"

But when he glanced up to look at you, you were slowly turning around, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Love? Are you alri-"

"My water just broke."

You were making your way to the car now. Tom was grabbing the emergency bags, for you and the baby, making sure his wallet and phone were with him before he started the engine.

"Try to stay calm. Remember the breathing exercises we learned? In and out, in and-"

You had groaned in pain at the first, very minor, contraction. Though it was one of the less painful ones, it was still an unfamiliar feeling, and you weren't used to it.

"Almost to the hospital, love."

"Thomas slow down! We might get pulled over or something!" You said, a small smile on your face, grinning through the pain.

When you arrived at the hospital, Tom jogged in to let them know of your situation, and two nurses came out, one with a wheel chair and the other with a clipboard. They were wheeling you in and keeping you updated, asking you very few questions before letting you know that your doctor was preparing for your labor.

"You're the husband?" She turned to Tom.

"That would be me," he said.

"The cervix is still opening at the moment, but once it's wide enough we can start the process. We won't know for certain how long this could take, but at this rate it'll probably start within the hour," she informed him.

Tom was wide eyed at the mention of the cervix opening, but he nodded nonetheless. Then, he was back by your right side. You were laying in the bed, legs spread as the hospital gown was covering most of you. You were sweating, panting, and reaching for Tom.

"I'm right here, love. How're you feeling? You're gonna do great, angel."

"I'm-" you took a breath. "I'm alright. Hurts like a bitch though."

He laughed at you before kissing your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He leaned down to your ear to whisper a few words. "I'm gonna make a few calls. I'll be right back, angel." And then he kissed your shoulder and speed-walked out into the hallway.

He was ringing the landline to his parents, in hopes that word would spread and he would only have to make one call.

"Hey," Tom spoke first, testing the waters for who picked up.

"Hey, Tom? It's Harry. What's up?"

"Uhm, Y/N's water broke and we're at the hospital right now."

"Holy shit! What?" Harry screamed, excitement and nervousness evident in his tone. "Are yo-"

"Harry, you're gonna make me more nervous. Please, just tell mum & dad so they can get here. I need to go."

"Right yeah, of course."

"Thanks, bro."

"Anytime."

Tom sighed in relief, and he was about to hang up before Harry spoke up again.

"And, Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Congrats, man."

Tom was starting to tear up. It wasn't everyday that him and his brothers had a heart-to-heart moment, and the realization of becoming a dad made it all the more emotional.

"Thanks, Harry. I'll see you soon, alright?"

"Yeah, man. We wouldn't miss it."

***

"Mum? Dad?" Harry called out, grabbing his phone and his wallet before heading in what he hoped was their direction.

"Yes?" Nikki answered, drinking tea from her mug as Dominic sat across from her.

"Y/N's going into labor. We need to go now."

The mug made a clattering noise from the small drop onto the table. It didn't break, but it sure did surprise both boys. And then, she was calling the rest of the Hollands and loading them into the car.

*** Harrison had arrived first, finding Tom's duffel bag on the floor in the hallway outside your room.

"Hey, Tom!" he said, walking in.

"Oh man -- hey, Haz."

They did a quick 'bear-hug' before making eye contact.

"You're about to be a dad."

"I know," Tom said, his voice more nervous than Harrison had ever heard.

"And you're gonna be great."

Once again, tears were welling up in Tom's eyes. But before he could continue the conversation any further, a nurse was coming up to Tom, almost disregarding Harrison's presence.

"Mr. Holland?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Your wife is ready to go into labor, now."

The boys made brief eye contact, Harrison understanding, and he left the room to wait in the waiting-room chairs.

"Hey, love," Tom said, reaching for one of your hands, which you gladly gripped and squeezed.

"Thomas where the fuck have you been?" You whined, sweat coming out profusely and covering the entirety of your neck and face.

"I'm right here, darling. I'm not leaving, okay?"

"Get ready to push, Y/N," your doctor said from between your legs, interrupting your brief conversation with Tom.

Your husband had kissed your forehead, whispering encouraging words as you squeezed his hand for push number one.

"You're doing great love," Tom said, looking to the nurses for confirmation, to which one of them gave him a thumbs up. "I love you so much, Y/N. You're doing amazing. You're gonna push again, okay?"

You let out a loud groan, more like a cry and scream of pain and effort.

The doctor had felt your stomach over the hospital gown, mumbling something to the nurse beside her, before speaking up. "Last push, Y/N."

You groaned, attempting at one but failing.

"Just one more, love. Can you give me one more?" Tom said gently.

"I can't. I can't!" You cried, falling back onto the pillows.

"Just one more, baby. You're so close, and you've been doing great. Last one, darling. Okay? One more for me."

You nodded, hair sticking to the back of your neck as you squeezed his hand harder then ever. With a loud grunt, it was over, the baby successfully out as a nurse cut the umbilical cord. You fell back into the cushions as Tom went to look at his babygirl for the first time ever.

The nurse who was holding her smiled at Tom before letting him know they were going to wash up your baby.

Tom had taken a cold, damp towel and wiped your face. He got a new one to completely dry it off, before kissing your forehead and your hand. "Did so well, love. I love you so much."

"I love you, Tommy," You had managed to get out.

Less than ten minutes later, she was in your arms for the first time. Your gown was pretty low on your breasts, so the skin-to-skin was breathtaking. Tom was crying now, looking at his two girls and thanking whichever gods gave him you.

And then you were handing the baby over to Tom. Tom held her gently, like she was the most fragile being in the world.

He gasped through his tears. "Just like her mum."

"She's got your eyes, Tommy."

"Nonsense, darling."

You had breathed out a laugh, looking at Tom and your baby before letting one last tear fall.

"God I love you so much," you said.

"I love you. Both of you, so much," Tom had replied.

His phone had chimed in his pocket, and he was handing the baby back to you.

"What... what're we going to name her?" Tom asked timidly.

"Scarlet?" You said.

"After.. my grandmother?" Tom said, more tears forming.

"Yeah," You smiled softly.

"I like that," Tom said. "I like it a lot," he laughed through his tears. "Scarlet Leslie Holland?"

"Leslie," you repeated in a whisper. "Leslie," you whispered again. "Scarlet Leslie Holland."

"Yeah," Tom whispered back.

"I love it a lot."

Tom had kissed your forehead again before making his way into the hallway, where both sets of parents and siblings were waiting.

"Well?" Nikki said first, standing up as everyone else stood behind her.

"Do you want to meet her?"

*** The room was large, enough to fit everyone, thankfully. Upon entering, Nikki was first to catch a glance at you and her granddaughter, and the sight made her gasp, a hand to her mouth as tears formed quickly, falling just as fast.

"Oh, Tom. She's beautiful."

"They are, aren't they?" Tom said, standing on the other side of your bed as he watched his family's reaction.

"Do you want to hold her?" you asked, sitting up.

Nikki nodded, coming over and carefully taking the baby from you. She was in awe, cooing at the youngling while you whispered something to Tom about where your parents were.

"They said they'd give my family some time alone, first.. you know how your mum is: always the polite one," Tom whispered back.

You laughed before nodding. You turned back towards Nikki and the baby, silently watching them, as was Tom.

"Oh, Y/N," Nikki said. "She has your eyes."

"You see, love?" Tom said, smiling.

"She's so beautiful," Dominic confessed. "You two really... you two did really good."

"Thanks, dad," Tom said, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

"What's her name?" Paddy asked.

You glanced at Tom, smiling bashfully before replying. "Scarlet. Scarlet Leslie Holland."

"Scarlet," Nikki whispered, just as you had with Leslie.

While Nikki and Dominic were preoccupied with the baby, Harrison had made his way over to the two of you.

"Tom," Harrison said.

"Haz."

"You're a dad now," He said, his green orbs watering.

"Yeah," Tom said, laughing while stray tears fell.

"I'm so proud of you, man."

"Thank you, H."

"You know, Harrison," you cut in. "You're gonna be a pretty awesome godfather, don't you think?"

Tom looked down at you and smiled. He had let you choose who the godparents would be, and it warmed his heart to know you had chosen Harrison.

"Wait-" Harrison said. "You're serious?"

"Yeah," you said, laughing.

And then, the two boys were hugging and crying.

When they broke apart, Harrison spoke again. "I feel so lucky to have you three."

Each of Tom's brothers had a chance to hold the newborn, each one crying tears of joy and feeling immense pride in being apart of yours & Tom's journey.  

And then, Scarlet was back in your arms. You cradled her close to your chest, cherishing the feeling of her fresh skin against yours, the sweet smell of her new life starting, and you smiled through the tears.

[avintagekiss24]

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

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

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

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

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

MONDAY

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

“Because! I’m gonna throw it out.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening it.”

“Come on MJ—”

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

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

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

“It looks real.”

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Well, he or she obviously knows you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, prude.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh loudly.

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

“Are you gonna order the pizza or what?”

“You should go, I’m just sayin’.”

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

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

“MJ—”

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

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

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

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

TUESDAY

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

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

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

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

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

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

“What flower shop are they from?”

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

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

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

“Yo.”

“There are flowers sitting on my desk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you hear that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty chill? The fuck does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

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

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

“Love you too.”

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

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

WEDNESDAY

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

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

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

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

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

Hope it fits… A.S.B.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It could be! You don’t know!”

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

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

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

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

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

THURSDAY

MJ💕 12:37pm

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

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

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

You 12:40pm

Sure, sure. Chinese?

MJ💕 12:41pm

Yum.

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you had class today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” MJ hisses, “Talk.”

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

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

“Exa-Exactly.” Peter stutters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like—

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

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

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

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

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

What scares you is that you want to answer.

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

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

“He’s your favorite.”

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

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

You shrug, “It could be.”

MJ drops her eyes from yours.

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

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

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

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

For passionate love is still divine

I lov’d her as an angel might

With ray of the all living light

Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine

See you tomorrow, love — H.R.D.

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

FRIDAY

You don’t go into work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What time is it?”

She glances at her phone, “7:25.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You still do— feel like you know him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MJ nods, “We’ll stay by our phones.”

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

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

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

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be careful.”

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

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

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

A test.

“Oh, um, S.G.R.”

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

You shake your head, “Pink roses.”

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

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

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

-

1543 Asher Lane is lit up like Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Your mouth drops open as you pull up out front, every window glowing with a warm light. The front doors are thrown open with seemingly hundreds of people moving about inside. The driver opens your door and holds out his hand for you, prompting you to slide your palm into his. He keeps a firm grip on your fingers as you step out, and then helps you up the long front steps.

He only releases your hand when you reach the front door, bowing gently before he skips back down the stairs and towards the car. Your heart drums in your ears as you place your crystal, half face mask on your face and adjust it gently before you drop your hand to the necklace nestled in your cleavage. You play with the large yellow diamond as you step inside, your eyes going wide as the lively noise of a full blown party suddenly fills your ears.

An orchestra plays in the middle of the large, open foyer, the sounds bouncing off the walls and rising up into the tall ceiling. Twenty or thirty couples dance to the upbeat tune and you’d swear you’d just stepped into the 1800s. All the men that move about are dressed in black tuxedos, the only distinction between them all being their different masks. The women twirl in their Venetian ball gowns, their jewelry and intricate, flamboyant masks glinting underneath the light.

There’s double staircases winding up walls, leading up to the second floor, more people laughing and talking intimately on them. Waiters in white suits, black ties and white gloves move seamlessly about, slipping in between the bodies with plates of champagne and finger foods— each one bending forward politely and placing their free hand behind their back as party goers pluck the goodies off their silver serving plates.  

The floors are made of marble. A large, ornate chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, spilling a warm, almost golden light over everything and everyone.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

You snap your head towards the voice as it breaks you from your trance, “Thank you,” you smile as you take the thin champagne flute from his tray.

Just as quickly as he arrived, the waiter is gone again, leaving you to admire the scene before you. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid and pull out your phone, taking a quick picture and sending it to MJ with a short message. You’ve barely tucked it away when another voice sounds at your side.

“Would you care to dance?”

You turn towards the calm, deep voice, your lips parting as your eyes bounce between two crystal blue eyes. Blonde hair is swept back neatly, a strong, smooth chin and jawline visible underneath his silver, laser cut Venetian mask. He’s tall— towering almost, his chest and shoulders wide and broad. You’re taken by him almost immediately. You nod quickly, blinking a few times as he takes your champagne flute from you and hands it to a nearby server before he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the floor.

You gasp as he sweeps you up in his arms, resting his large hand on the small of your back and pulls you into his hard body. You can’t help but stare up at him as he starts to twirl you around the floor, taking complete control of your steps. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he spins you away from him, extending his long arm until just your fingertips are touching, and then pulls you back into his chest.

He’s a confident man— you can tell by the way he spins you around the dance floor. Even as the tempo of the music changes, from upbeat and fun, to slow and somewhat sad, he stays right in rhythm. You’ve always been a sucker for a man that can dance.

A slow smile creeps onto your face as your eyes bounce back and forth between his while the orchestra plays, “What is this song?” you ask suddenly, breaking the ice between the two of you.

“Sicilienne in E flat major, do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” You laugh a little, turning your head to watch the young cellist, “He’s so young, is he local?”

“He isn’t, no. That’s Sheku Kanneh-Mason of Britain, you may—”

You snap your head back towards him, “He played at the Royal Wedding! Oh my god!”

He chuckles as he gently tightens his hold around your waist, “The very one.”

You turn your head to watch the young man as he plays, completely in awe of his raw talent and bask in it, knowing you’ll never be in such company again, “My God, this is incredible. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You laugh.

“Well, you were invited, yes?”

“Yeah but I—” you stop yourself, shaking your head gently before you smile again, “I had a crazy thought about this party. I thought someone from my past was trying to reach out to me.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes scanning your face. You laugh again, “Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining things apparently.”

“Someone from your past?” He nudges gently.

You’re not sure if it's the champagne you’ve been sipping all evening, or just because for some reason you feel like you’ve known this man your whole life, but you start to spill your guts, “I thought, God, this is going to sound stupid. I thought my mom, or someone who knew my mom was trying to reach out to me through this party, which sounds insane now that I think about it. I was adopted, so,” you shrug, “I dunno, I was kinda hoping that she’d be here or that someone could get me in touch with her. Sounds crazy, right?”

He spins you again, this time slow, his eyes dragging down your body. He pulls you back into him and you rest your hand on his chest as you watch the orchestra, a soft smile on your face, “You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others,” you recite, “Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.”

His steps hitch ever so lightly.

You turn back to face him, blinking up at him as another smile spreads on your lips, “I didn’t catch your name?”

He blinks at you, something new in his eyes— something like relief? You can’t tell. His lips part and he takes a breath, trying but failing to get his mouth to move, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, laughing gently as he shakes his head, “Um, I’m Steven— Steve. Um, Edgar Allan Poe?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “He’s one of my favorite poets. That last line just kind of describes my thoughts over the past few days is all.”

“It’s strange for a young girl like yourself to be an Edgar Allan Poe aficionado.”

You shrug again, nodding, “I know. I just, I’ve always had an affinity for him, it’s one of the few memories of my father that I have. He used to read Poe’s poems to me as a child.”

He stops dancing abruptly, “May you excuse me? I’m sorry, I have to um, I have to go see someone very quickly. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can even answer, he brushes past you, dipping in and out of the people still filling the dance floor. You blink in confusion, watching as he jogs up the stairs and stops at the very top step, leaning into a dark haired man. They both turn in your direction after a few minutes, catching your eye before they turn back to one another, the dark haired man grabbing Steven’s arm in… surprise, maybe?

They break apart seconds later, Steven jogging back down the stairs, the dark haired man walking briskly along the long catwalk, stopping only to tap three other men on the back before they too follow quickly behind him and disappear. You grab another champagne glass from a waiter and take a gulp as heat flushes through you— nerves suddenly racking your body.

You keep your eyes on Steve as he pushes through the people again, making a line straight towards you. Tilting your head back, you finish off the rest of your glass as he approaches you again, “I’m sorry,” he smiles, “That was rude of me.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s no problem,” you laugh nervously, clearing your throat as you glance around the crowded room.

He holds out his hand to you, “Would you come with me? Please?”

You shake your head as fear strikes you, “Oh, you know, I actually have to get going, I—”

“I know your mother,” your eyes widen at his words, stopping you dead in your tracks, “And your father. Please, come with me.”

You aren’t crazy.

Someone is really trying to contact you.

You grab his hand and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. He steps aside and lets you lead, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you move up the long staircase. Once you reach the top, he grabs your hand again and pulls you along the catwalk until you disappear down the hallway. You pass by a series of doors before you stop at the last one, Steve stopping to knock.

The door pops open seconds later and Steve steps aside again, dropping your hand to hold his out towards the door. You remove your mask and sweep your hair out of your face as your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at Steve.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, his voice soft and calm.

You take a step, and then another, your heart beating hard and fast, goosebumps popping up on your skin. You step into the room but stop dead in your tracks as the air is sucked right out of your body. Four men sit at a long, antique, baroque style table. Their hands are placed flat on the dark marble top, heads bowed. The room is dark except for the flickering candles that sit in their ornate holders in the middle of the table, the light accentuating the mens’ black and gold scaramouche masks.

Fear rolls through you in waves, your breaths shaky and heavy as it falls from your lips. The door clicks behind you and you feel a hand on the small of your back again, another one on your elbow, “It’s alright darling,” he whispers in your ear, “I’ll help you to your seat, okay?”

“Steve,” your voice trembling, “I don’t, I don’t understand, I—”

“It’s alright, I promise you. We are not going to hurt you. That goes against everything we stand for. Come.”

You blink wildly at the men at the table as Steve pushes you past them slowly. They don’t flinch— no one makes a move to glance up at you or even breathe harder than what they already are. You were so busy staring at the men occupying four of the five chairs at the table, that you didn’t even notice the hand carved chair sitting against the wall at the back of the room.

The frame is golden, the upholstery teal in color and covered with floral embroidery, the back designed with a diamond tuft. It sits up a little higher than the table— propped up on a small, hand built stage with three steps leading up to it. Steve helps you up the small steps, keeping your hand in his until you’re seated.

As soon as you're settled, the four seated men pull a candle from the center of the table and place it right in front of them. The golden flames dance at the tips of the long, white candles, casting shadows over the dark walls.

“You may begin.”

You snap your head towards Steve as he speaks, your mouth hanging open, your eyes wide, breath shaky. The dark haired man that Steve first spoke to stands, his chair scuffing against the floor as he pushes away from the table. He grasps the candle holder in both hands as he approaches you slowly, his eyes cast down towards the floor.

Your breath quickens as he nears you. You squeeze Steve’s hand as you push back into the chair, starting to draw your feet up as he kneels before you, “Wait, wait, wait, wait! What are you—”

“It’s okay, darling.” Steve purrs, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hands, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Just relax.”

A hot tear streaks down your cheek as your whimper, your chin trembling as you push a hard, focused breath out of your mouth. The man in front of you mumbles something— in French you think, but you aren’t sure— before he reaches into his pocket. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to sprinkle rose petals at your feet, chanting as he does.

You feel his fingers brush over your exposed toes before he lifts your right foot and slips off your gold shoe— tracing a cross with the tip of his finger on the top of your foot. He repeats his actions to the left and stands, keeping his head down as he makes a cross over his face and chest and then turns and returns to his seat.

The next man stands, a thick beard covering his chin, his candle in hand as he approaches you, never making eye contact. Instead of rose petals, he lays money at your feet— a single dollar bill— before he traces the cross into your skin while he speaks in French.

The third man is clean shaven, like Steve, but his hair dark— some falling over his mask and onto his forehead. He leaves a handful of herbs and one white egg at your feet before sweeping his fingertips over your toes and branding each foot with an imaginary cross.

The fourth man that kneels before you repeats everything to a T. He’s tall, his skin a deep, smooth walnut brown. He leaves behind a handful of wheat grain and what looks like raw sugarcane before he blesses your feet and rises again. He taps his forehead and chest before each shoulder and moves away, retaking his seat at the table.

Tears still trickle down your cheeks as you blink furiously— your stomach churning, your palms clammy. You snap your eyes towards Steve as he finally releases your hand and grabs a bowl from the small table tucked into the corner of the room. He steps in front of you and kneels, setting the hand painted bowl at your feet. He lifts your feet gently, placing them in the bowl with care, massaging your ankles and lower calves to calm you.

It works— your voice trembles as you push out a gentle hum, focusing on his hands on your skin. He starts to speak in French, his voice low and calm, much like most of the evening. He pulls a small flask out of his jacket pocket and pops the lid before he pours the unusually cool liquid over your feet. You flinch instinctively but focus again on his soft hands, kneading your feet as he washes them.

Steve pulls the white silk pocket square from his suit jacket and dabs at your feet, wiping away the moisture. He traces a cross on the tops of your feet before standing again and cups your face with his hands. You’re drawn into him— resting your forehead to his as he continues to chant, his lips so close they brush against yours as he speaks.

“Bless this missing child,” he whispers, the only part of his chant in english, “She is home at last.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, every burning candle is suddenly extinguished by some force now filling the room. You blink in the darkness, your breath quickening as you grab Steve’s forearms.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he coos, stroking your bottom lip with his thumbs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

The room is full— so full of energy; power. It whips around you, electrifying your skin and blood, rattling your bones. It’s foreign— anomalous— but yet feels so comforting and warm. Like love. Like you're surrounded by family. You loosen your grip on Steve’s forearms as the fear drains from your body, a voice— a soft whisper in your ears. A voice you’ve never heard before but have somehow heard your whole life. It’s a language you don’t understand, but yet you know exactly what it’s saying.

Your eyes pop open suddenly and the room is washed in a warm light as the candles are suddenly lit again. Steve smiles at you softly as your eyes, now full of wonder and a new sacred knowledge, bounce back and forth between his deep blues. There’s a new electricity between the two of you, something unspoken, but written in the stars all the same.

The blood in your veins rushes hard, the sound of your thumping heart beating in your ears as goosebumps pop up over your skin again. Your stomach tightens as the molten of your ardor starts to pool and spread through your body, blazing a quick path. Steve’s thumbs still sweep over your lips, underneath your eyes, over your nose as you hold loosely onto his wrists. You grab your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes fall to his mouth before you inhale sharply— soft and pink, his lips.

His large palms spread warmth through your face, his thumbs still circling— still pushing along your smooth skin. Blue eyes dart around your face, continually meeting your deep brown eyes before dipping to your expectant lips. He pushes closer— so close that his pillowy lips rest against yours, but he doesn’t rush it— doesn’t press any harder.

He leaves it all up to you.

The energy is back in the room, swirling, filling you up with the power and presence with each breath you take. You press your lips to his as the sweet sirens start to whisper to you again. A moan slips from your mouth and into Steve’s, where he gobbles it up, exchanging a deep, pleased groan of his own.  

His lips start to travel, moving down to your chin and jaw. He nuzzles into the soft, warm crook of your neck where he sucks lightly— his velvet tongue sneaking out and slipping along your skin. You push your chest into his as your back straightens, a gasp filling your lungs with the sweet air that surrounds you.

The emotion takes over in the heat of the moment— the fire of his lips and hands setting you a flame. Your leg hooks around his waist as you curl your fingers over his broad shoulders, digging your black painted nails into his shoulder blades. His teeth nip at your taut flesh and you lurch forward, your head tilting towards the ceiling as a choked moan strains in your throat.

You feel his deft fingertips on your naked calf, slipping along the length— over and around your knee, up your thigh— where he kneads and gropes, pulling heavier, louder sounds from you as his lips caress your flesh. A shiver rolls down your spine when his thick digits brush over your sticky panties. He doesn’t shy away, he sweeps the pads of his fingers over you again and again, finding a sweet little rhythm as he applies a gentle pressure.

Hips roll. Chests swell. Grips tighten as your head rolls back. Your mouth falls open as you drag in a breath, pushing it out with a husky groan. Your teeth grab your bottom lip again as you slide your hand around his wide back, hooking your arm around his neck. Humming, you open your eyes, blinking slowly back at four sets of hungry eyes trained on you and Steve. You inhale again, letting your lips part as you link eyes with each man at the table.

The men sit stark still— not moving a muscle as the flame from the candles light your bodies. Shadows dance across their masked faces as they watch in silence, but you can feel each and every one of them. Each energy is slightly different but acutely masculine, acutely tuned into you.

You don’t mind them watching. The scene salacious— vulgar.

Wrapped up in two large, muscly arms, you’re hoisted from the chair as Steve grabs your lips again with his own. He walks you to the table and sits you on the edge, right between two of the four men occupying it. The marble top is cool to the touch as he helps you up onto your feet, holding the tips of your fingers with his hand. He leads you into the center of the table, five heads all tilted up towards you as you stand there, the bottom of your dress dragging behind you as you move.

You feel like a princess with all of their eyes on you, hanging on to your every move, drinking in every inch of you. You twirl— a giggle falling from your lips before you sink down to your knees, peeking over your shoulder at the only brown eyed man in the room. You place your thin fingers over your lips, playing with them gently as you bat your eyes at him and sweep your hair over your shoulder— exposing the zipper of your dress.

He obliges without hesitation. Standing to his feet, he reaches for you— a warm hand on your bare shoulder, another grasping the zipper. You nuzzle your chin and cheek against his long fingers before brushing your lips over them quickly. His warm brown skin melts into yours as he pulls on your zipper, exposing more and more of your naked back as he goes.

The soft smile on your face grows wider as he centers his large palm in the middle of your back. Warm skin to warm skin. His eyes are ablaze— dark, blown pupils against a lighter brown iris— set dead on you as his lips part, showing off a distinctive gap in his teeth as his fingers whisk across your back and shoulder.

You turn to face him, still kneeling in the center of the table, and reach for his mask— pulling gently on the black tie until the bow falls away. He lets you remove it from him, a soft smile playing on his lips as you reveal the handsome face underneath.

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Steve offers softly.

Samuel tips his head towards you as you run the tips of your fingers along his softly bearded jaw, “S.T.W.” you say easy, recalling the last of your calling cards, “Hi Sam.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his— one gentle, chaste kiss before you break away from him with a soft smack.

You follow Steve with your eyes as he moves to the man seated next to Sam. Steve places his hand on his shoulder, “Andrew Stephen Barber.”

You bat your eyes at Andrew as he stands and takes your hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips, “Andy.” He supplies as he removes his mask and sits it gently on the table.

“A.S.B., thank you for the dress.”

His presence is calm— gentle, matching the softness of his beard and dark hair. You press your free hand into the halter top of your dress to keep it from falling, but all the modesty you once had is evaporating quickly. You feel like you’ve known them all forever.

The next pair of blue eyes bring a forceful energy, one of entitlement and defiance. Before Steve can get his name out, he’s standing, his mask in his hand revealing his boyish, clean face, “Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” He winks at you suggestively, “Ransom.”

He wraps his long arm around your waist and pulls you close, crashing his lips to yours in a fury. You giggle against him before accepting his velvety tongue into your mouth, letting it sweep along your bottom lip and then slide along yours. Steve taps his shoulder and after a beat… or two, Ransom releases you from his grip, a smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eye.

You turn to the fourth man— the dark haired man that Steve initially spoke to on the stairs. He’s standing, with Steve behind him, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of the long table. He’s the only one wearing gloves. His breathing is controlled, his eyes set on you as you inch towards him, sitting up on your knees in front of him.

You walk your fingers up his chest seductively, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you smile at him, “You must be J.B.B.”

He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I could be S.G.R.”

“While the guy named Steven stands behind you?” you squint playfully, reaching for his mask.

He grabs your wrist with his left hand, making you gasp. It’s a firm grip, but it excites something deep in you. You drop your hands into your lap, flattening them on your thighs as you take a deep breath and push it out of your nose. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, who nods just once before he turns back to face you and starts to pull at the fingers of his gloves. He removes the right hand first, tucking the black glove into his pocket before he starts on the left, pulling slowly— finger by finger.

Your mouth drops open as he pulls the nylon material away, your eyes going wide as he stretches out his digits, the candle light glinting off of the dark metal. The breath in your throat hitches as you watch him reach for his mask and untie it, pulling it away from his face to reveal a familiar one.

J.B.B.

James Buchanan Barnes.

So that means—

You blink towards Steve, whose mask is now off and sitting on the table. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he exhales deeply, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he then points at himself, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

You blink rapidly— completely dumbfounded as the two super soldiers stand before you. Bucky takes your hand, brushing his lips over your fingers before he pops them into his mouth, sucking gently on your digits as he flicks his eyes back up to yours. Your stomach tightens. A hum accompanies the breath that vibrates through your chest as he drags his left hand up and down your arm.

Steve cups your cheek and turns your head towards him before he traces your jaw and chin with his index finger, “We’re gonna take care of you baby girl,” he whispers as he places his fingertips on your forehead and brushes them down your face, “We’ve searched for you for so long.”

You believe him— you don’t know what he’s talking about, but you believe every word.

You push in and kiss Bucky, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and squeeze gently before you turn towards Steve, pulling him into another deep kiss, “Get this dress off of me.” You whisper.

Hands— so many hands, each pair distinctively different, are on your body within seconds, tugging and pulling at the heavy dress until you’re free of it. The only piece of clothing left on you is your thin thong as you lay back on the table, your hands over your bare breasts, covering them. You gaze up at the five men peering at you, their eyes wide and hungry.

Steve slips his hand down your sternum, the pads of his fingers sliding down your stomach to your hips, where he traces the thin band of your underwear— his touch making you raise your hips from the table. Sam drags his thumb along your chin and bottom lip before he pushes the tip just inside your all too eager mouth. You suck gently, running your tongue the length of his digit as Ransom pries your hands away from your breasts.

You moan softly, arching your back into Ransom’s hands as he starts to tweak your taut nipples, rolling them both between his fingers before he leans down and sucks your right breast into his mouth. Hands grab your thighs, kneading your flesh and pull them apart as Andy licks into your mouth, his tongue massaging the roof as he holds your chin.

The energy is back in the room— the power swirling as the men start to devour you. There’s tongues over your toes, hands on your tight nipples and abundant breasts, lips on your shoulders and neck. Fingernails scrape against your skin as they slink underneath the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and calves before they slide over your ankle and are discarded to the floor.

You feel the warm metal and flesh hand of Bucky around your ankles, drawing your legs up so they’re bent at the knee. He crawls onto the table, his heavy blue eyes drinking you in as he lets his metal fingers dance up and down the inside of your thigh. You start to shiver at his touch— your back arching away from the table as you gasp and hiss from the hands and mouths and tongues all over you.

Bucky sinks down— low, onto his belly— his eyes still trained on yours as he wraps his arms around your thighs. He starts to blow warm air against your sticky, hot sex, his eyes finally dipping away from yours and to your lower half as your hips jerk and whine. His metal fingers push through your folds gently, rubbing the sensitive nub at the center of you, then teasing your slit and opening.

Steve presses his balmy lips right in the valley of your breasts and peppers kisses along your jiggling flesh. The tip of his tongue circles your nipples before his teeth nip and bite. You gasp loud as a metal finger, and then a second push into your cunt— a thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips jut upward as you mewl, the sound quickly being covered up by Sam’s mouth as he kisses you hard.

Bucky blinks up at you as he withdrawals his fingers and waits— waits for you to make eye contact with him before he sucks them into his mouth, wiping them clean of your slick. He moans— heavy and hard as he closes his eyes, savoring your taste.

Your hips start to roll into his hand as he dips his fingers back into you, his breath washing over your quivering thighs. Ransom tickles your right knee, then skips his hand down the inside of your thigh, where he cups your sex around Bucky’s pushing fingers. Ransom starts to rub your clit, pressing firm circles into your wet flesh as Bucky curls his fingers to massage your muscles.

Andy sinks his teeth into your side before his tongue glances out over your stomach, circling your belly button before he sucks on your skin. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to add some pressure— Sam and Steve each taking a breast into their wet mouths, their tongues swishing and swirling.

You dig a hand into Steve’s hair and cup Sam’s head as they tease your nipples, a sharp yelp bursting through your lips as Sam bites down gently. Ransom spreads your folds with his index and middle fingers and suddenly, there’s a tongue— a warm, velvety tongue flattening against your clit. You push your head up to watch as Bucky sucks on your nub, his eyes searing into yours as he releases you with a smack, and then dives back in, the tip of his tongue flirting with your opening, his fingers still pumping.

Your head and hips roll as unrestrained groans rumble through your chest and fill the room, mingling with the deep moans and growls of the five men pleasing you. The sound of a zipper bounces off the walls— your hand then grabbed and pulled to your left. You gasp at the heavy warmth that fills your palm as your fingers wrap around Sam’s length. You roll your head towards him, biting your bottom lip as you watch your hand slide up and down his impressive girth.

You grab Steve’s hip with your free hand, digging your fingers into him as you lean up, beckoning him to come closer. You kiss him hard once he’s within distance, smacking your lips against his before you sound into his mouth as Ransom slaps your pussy, the gold band around his ring finger adding a heaviness to the strikes.

Bucky kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh every now and again until he reaches your ankle and foot. He thumbs at your black painted nails before he pulls your toes into his mouth as he massages your calf, “These are cute, these toes.” He murmurs, a light chuckle vibrating through him.

A chorus of zips start to sound, one right after the other. Their jackets soon hit the floor, the crisp, white sleeves of their button downs are rolled up their forearms before they all descend on you again. You’re lifted from the table into Andy’s arms as Sam slides into the space you once occupied on the table, his pants riding low on his hips. Andy kisses you deeply before placing you back on your feet on the top of the table, keeping a hold of your hand as you traipse along Sam’s side.

You throw your leg over Sam’s body and sit slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself on his lower stomach. You reach back, dragging your fingers through the curly patch of hair covering his lower half, tickling his skin. You slip your fingers into his unzipped pants and pull him free, stroking and squeezing him slowly before you swipe your fingers over his wet tip.

Two strong hands grip your waist— Ransom— as you slip your hand down to Sam’s base and lift upward, guiding him towards your entrance. Ransom holds you steady as you sit down on Sam, your cunt swallowing every delicious inch of Sam’s cock until he’s completely disappeared. You lean forward, splaying your fingers out on his wide, thick chest as he grabs hold of your thighs. You pull up, hissing as his cock slides out of the tight grasp of your pussy and then sit back down, moaning as he fills you again.

Ransom slips his hand up your spine and wraps his fingers over your shoulder as you start a slow rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Your hips roll as Sam starts to buck his hips up into you, each stroke a little harder, a little sharper than the one before it. There’s a chest to your back and then teeth nibbling at your earlobe as you lean back into the body and rest your head on a shoulder. Ransom’s mouth then covers yours as he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight as you ride Sam, your nails digging into his rich brown skin.

You gasp as a tongue teases your thick nipple, and then a hand closes over your left breast, squeezing and kneading gently. You slide your hand into Ransom’s hair as you watch Steve flick the tip of his tongue against your nipple before he sucks your breast into his mouth, moaning as his tongue swirls.

Andy slips his hand down your stomach and starts to work your clit, grabbing your chin with his free hand and tilting your head towards his. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes hooded as he peers down at you through his long, thick eye lashes. You whine as Sam’s pace quickens, fucking up into you hard as he grips your hips so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks behind. Andy snarls his lip as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, as your hips falter, as you get louder and less restrained. He licks into your mouth before he lays a filthy kiss on you— demanding and sloppy.

Ransom squeezes your shoulder before he pushes you forward with his other hand, nearly crushing you against Sam’s chest. You shiver when you feel his cock slide through your ass cheeks, leaving a wetness behind. He pulls back and the backs of his fingers glance over your ass, deep hisses and a grunt coming from him as he strokes his cock— a drop of his cum dribbling onto your skin.

He suddenly pushes his fingers into your mouth— index, middle, and ring— wetting them with your saliva before he drags them back through your ass, the tips circling your hole. There’s a tangy taste left in your mouth, some of you, some of him, as he slaps his dick against your ass and then spreads you apart. Sam slows beneath you and then stops as he drags his large hands up and down your forearms, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers into his warm mouth.

You slam your eyes closed, tensing as Ransom starts to push the head of his cock against your asshole. He places his hand against the center of your back, Bucky cups your face in his palms, sweeping his thumbs over your cheeks as he pecks your lips with his, singing gentle praise to help relax you.

“You can do it baby,” Bucky whispers, rubbing his nose against yours, smiling softly, “You can take him baby, I know you can. Can’t she Steve?”

Steve sinks his teeth into your shoulder, humming as he drags his red, swollen lips down your arm, “This pretty girl sure can,” he reassures, his voice smooth and low, “And it’s gonna feel so good, baby. You’re gonna feel so full, so stretched.”

You whimper loudly. You grab Bucky’s shoulder as Ransom’s dick finally breaks through your threshold. Ransom lets out a breath, the warm splashing over your back as he stills, a shuddering groan vibrating through his chest. Ransom squeezes your shoulder again, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your back, “More?”

Steve kisses your temple before he nuzzles into the side of your face, “You can do it sweet girl. You can take him all.”

Bucky kisses your lips again. Sam nibbles on the tips of your fingers as he nudges his hips into yours, burying deeper into you. You nod quickly— you do want more. More, more, more.

Ransom starts to push again, spreading your tight muscles as he forges, filling you right up. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out— his stomach now pressing into your ass as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky purrs as he reaches between you and Sam’s bodies, starting to play with your nub, “Such a sweet, pretty girl.”

Sam is the first to move, pressing up into you before he withdrawals slowly. Ransom counters his actions, pulling out when Sam pushes in, delving in when Sam drags out. It’s hypnotizing— the rhythm, the push and pull. Your mouth goes slack as Steve rolls your nipples in his hands, his tongue and teeth nipping and licking at your damp skin. You roll your hips, pushing back into Ransom as Sam fucks up into you as electricity flows through your veins.

“That’s it baby girl,” Bucky praises through impassioned kisses, his tongue slipping along your lips and the roof of your mouth, “Stuffed full, aren’t you sweetie?”

Your stomach tightens at the words, your heart beat pounding against your chest and in your ears as a tingle rushing up your spine. There’s a pull deep in your belly, a molten heat and the raw emotions spreading through you as your body tightens hard.  Your hips jerk as a sudden current strikes you— your cunt closing around Sam. He shudders and you feel it, feel it rumble through his chest as his own hips get desperate.

Ransom fucks your ass with fluid motions, his enormous hands and long fingers digging into the supple flesh of your waist. He grunts, hard and grainy as the warmth of your insides caress his cock. Ransom gets loud, Sam gets loud, you get whimpery— needy, almost to the point of tears as the waves roll harder and faster through you. Each stroke, each thrust, each plow of their hips driving you closer and closer to your demise.

A moan chokes in your throat as your orgasm blooms across your skin, but soon the sounds are pouring out of you. Loud, desperate, relieved as the waves finally crash. Bucky bites his bottom lip hard as his fingers slap against your jumping clit. Steve pinches your nipples as he rests his forehead against the side of your face, his hot breath sticking to your skin.

Sam drives his hips into yours once more and digs his thumbs into the creases of your thighs as his cock starts to spit, over and over again, spilling into you. Ransom fucks through it all, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder until he too comes undone in your ass. He pushes deep, deep, deep inside as he spurts, watching as your hole spasms around him.

Ransom pulls out of you as soon as he’s milked and you feel his cum bubble out of you, slipping down the inside of your thigh. You’re lifted off of Sam— brought to the edge of the table, on your hands and knees, your feet hanging over the end. A massive hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest and head down onto the cool surface as you try and catch your breath. You jump when a pair of warm lips connect where your ass ends and your thigh begins, a soft beard brushing against your skin.

Andy drags his finger up the inside of your thigh, collecting the cum that’s spilled from you and pushes two fingers into your hot cunt— your muscles still quaking, still constricting. He fingers you slowly, skimming his fingertips up and down your thigh as he pushes his digits, cramming Sam and Ransom’s cum deep.

You hum with each stroke, lunging forward softly, your nipples grazing over the marble table top as you move. You blink slowly as you lift your head, watching as Bucky climbs onto the table, spreading his legs as they slide around you. He slides his flesh hand into his pants and starts to stroke his cock— long, languid pulls as his metal fingers pull on his tight balls. You wrap your hands around his thighs, the excitement bubbling up in your chest once more as you watch him.

Andy replaces his fingers with his dick in one fell swoop. You mewl, your tits bouncing as he starts a brisk pace. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls as Ransom, Sam, and Steve watch on, chests rising and falling hard as they tug their hands up and down their cocks at the sight.

You rock forward, your face inches from Bucky’s cock as he jerks himself, peering down his long body at you. Keeping your eyes on his, you push your tongue out from behind your teeth and lick at his shaft quickly before puckering your lips to kiss the thick vein running the length of him. You push your hands over his hips and up over his abs as your mouth slides over his wet, red mushroom tip.

Bucky moans deep, his back arching from the table as he pushes his hips up into your mouth, sending his cock right to the back of your throat. You pull upward as his hips sink back to the table, releasing him with a pop and smiling as his cock sways back and forth. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, wiggling him a little before you lower your mouth over his tip, sucking lightly as you swirl your tongue over his slit.

Your plump lips go slack around Bucky as Andy presses into a spot— sending a jolt right to your heart. Andy lets his hands roam along your back and sides as he fucks you, gripping and squeezing, groping and kneading your thick, soft flesh. He’ll push deep, and then just stay there for a few seconds, savoring the warmth, the tightness of your slick muscles before he wiggles his hips and withdrawals from you, just to plunge back in.

You release Bucky quickly to swallow the piquant spunk left on your tongue before you cram him back into your mouth. You suck on his cock head as you pump him up and down, twisting and turning your hand as you go. A muffled moan seeps from your mouth, vibrating around Bucky’s cock as you slam your eyes closed, feeling Andy’s strokes in your stomach.

The tingles are back— the pull in your belly. Your pussy tightens as the electricity within you starts to bounce around, synapses firing. Andy feels it, Bucky too, their hips pushing harder and faster. Your nails scratch at Bucky’s skin, squeezing uncontrollably as your heart beats in your ears, heat flushing your face.

Andy fucks into you good, hard and deep, sending you right over the edge once more. Your release spreads through you, warming every inch of flesh, every pore, every follicle. Andy thumbs your clit as he continues to pump his hips, fucking your right through your orgasm until your contracting muscles and slick coax his climax. Bucky erupts at nearly the same time— long, hot ribbons of his cum shooting from him, splattering on his stomach and dribbling down his cock.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, Steve standing from one of the chairs to grab your chin, pushing your head and face up towards him. He kisses you hard— sloppy, sucking on your bottom lip before he tongues the roof of your mouth. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands gently as he rubs his thumbs along your cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of affection.

“Such a good girl.” he whispers.

He pulls you into another kiss, but this time it’s softer— sweeter. Slower.

Andy pulls out of you, his hands still sweeping over your back and ass and thighs. He presses another kiss right into the creases of each cheek before he falls into a chair next to Sam. Bucky slides off of the table and sits next to Ransom, resting his head on the back of the chair and lets his mouth go slack as he lets out a breath.

Steve crawls onto the table as the four other men drag their chairs to the edges of the table, sitting up straighter once they get situated. Steve grabs your lips with his, a soft hum wavering in his throat. He separates from you but doesn’t go far— resting his forehead on yours as he nuzzles into you, rubbing the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours. He starts to guide you back, his hand behind your head, as he lays you down flat on the table, your knees drawn up, your feet flat against the cool surface.

You sweep your hands up and down your thighs in anticipation as you watch him unbutton his shirt slowly, his blue eyes wandering the length of your body as his fingers move. You push up onto your elbows, tilting your head as you blink at him when he pulls the material away from his buff torso.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you dip your eyes to his broad chest, his skin tanned and tight. There are faint scars littered along his skin— a few tiger stripes on his biceps and sides. His stomach is firm and flat, six perfect abs carved out, and the cutest belly button you think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. You sit up, placing your hand in the middle of his chest, right in the middle of those hard pecs and watch your hand move with each breath he takes. Your fingers fall, down his sternum, over those abs, and slightly into the dark blonde patch of hair that peeks out of his open pants.

You draw your bottom lip into your mouth and send your eyes up to his as your hand digs deeper— your dainty fingers wrapping around his hard, hot cock. His chest tightens at your touch. You inch your body closer to his, throwing your legs open and around either side of his body as you start to pump him slowly. You draw your hand up his shaft, sweeping your palm over his sensitive, weeping tip before you push back down, squeezing him gently— feeling him.

His breathing gets deeper, his chest and stomach constricting, his lips parting and quivering ever so lightly as you massage him. All five pairs of eyes are on you— unwavering, barely blinking as they consume you and only you. The power swells in your chest. You feel like a goddamn queen. Captivating. Strong.

You pull him free of his dark slacks and have to take a breath at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Thick and long, his tip shiny and wet and red— eager— his dick jumping every now and again as cum dribbles out of his slit. You sweep the pads of your fingers over the tip again, collecting the warm, cloudy spunk and push it down his shaft, along the thick vein that runs down him, wetting every inch of him.

He pulls you into his lap in one swift move, like you’re absolutely weightless. His cock settles against your pussy and clit, resting against your stomach as he wraps his arm around your back and waist. You instantly start to roll your hips, sliding your skin along his dick— coping a feel— letting it radiate through you.

The current in the room picks up. The flames of the candles start to flicker as if there’s a strong breeze that threatens to extinguish them. You push up with the help of Steve’s strength, your mouth hanging open as you guide him towards your entrance. You push his flesh through your folds, teasing yourself a little before you align him with you, starting to sink your hips down.

You dig your fingertips into his shoulders, let your head fall back as he opens you up inch by inch. A growl scratches at the back of your throat when you feel his hot lips on your neck, peppering kisses, tongue lapping, teeth nipping as you take him. The candles flicker hard as Steve bottoms out in you— hip to hip; flesh to flesh.

Throwing an arm around his neck, you really start to move, pulling up on that towering dick before sinking back down on it. Your tits bounce as your hips roll, a delicious burn starting to spread through your thighs. Steve’s hips fuck into yours, meeting you halfway as you crash down. There’s hands on you again— on your shoulders and arms, on your thighs, wrapping around your ankles— Andy, Ransom, Sam, and Bucky— grabbing, kneading, gripping, groping.

The electricity in the room bounces off the walls, energizing you, drawing you into Steve more and more with each passing second. The wind even kicks up outside, slamming against the sprawling house, shaking the lush trees. The warm moonlight cascades into the room and over your bodies as you fuck Steve unmercifully on top of the old table. You gasp and moan and pant— the sounds bitten off, choked, and heavy as your pussy constricts around him.

He appeases each whim of your hips, driving into you deep and hard, taking control when your hips jerk and shudder. He encourages you— they all do— sweet, tiny whispers, filthy, low declamations. Their voices rattle your brain and your bones as the candle light trembles again.

You’re slamming into each other, Steve bottoming out with each thrust. Your stomach is tight, your body warm and prickly, your clit stinging as another orgasm looms in the distance. Steve’s hips are rolling and pushing, his fingernails scratching your skin as he rakes them down your naked back. There’s teeth on your shoulders and neck, lips over your nipples, fingers prodding against your clit until you come undone, shouting and pleading to every God you know.

A sudden burst of warmth explodes inside of you— Steve’s strangled groans growing loud as he comes. Your face breaks with passion, tears threatening to spill as ungodly, high-pitched sounds spill from your lips. You’re all shrouded in darkness. The candle light whipped away, suddenly extinguished by the invisible forces in the room.

The candles relight again out of nowhere as you collapse against Steve as your body finally gives out after the thorough fuck session. You’re heavy and limp, air rushing out of your mouth, sticking to his damp, humid skin. You can’t even keep your eyes open. You hum intermittently as their hands brush over your skin before they pull you away from him, laying you back down on the table.

Their voices ring out, all in sink, chanting again in French. Sam sprinkles your body with the flask, from your head to your toes— Steve traces a cross on your chest. They all flatten your hands on you as their chorus finishes, and you hear the soft voices again. They’re warm and happy, the feminine voices, as the love— the familial undercurrent— fills the room again.

You’re lifted into arms, pressed against a chest before one of their discarded jackets is thrown over your shoulders. Your head is foggy, thoughts slow as someone carries you out of the room. You feel their protection, the fierce safeguard of you as suddenly you’re the center of attention. It feels as if hundreds of eyes are on you— because there are as they walk you right through the center of the party.

“Our missing child is home.” Steve announces, smiling softly down on you, sweeping his large hand over your forehead, “The family is complete once more.”

An exuberant applause erupts.

You’re moving again, slowly the eyes on you disappearing as the fivesome moves you through the house. A door clicks, the sound of the bottom of it sweeping across the carpet filling your ears. A warmth surrounds you as you’re laid down onto a bed, a large, full comforter covering your naked body. You squirm, your head rolling against the pillow as you murmur and whimper.

“Shh shh shh, little one,” Sam purrs, stroking your face with his thick fingers, “You’re safe.”

“We’re all here sweet girl. Just rest.” Andy says calmly, brushing his lips over the backs of your fingers.

Naked bodies surround you— cram you right in the middle of them. Arms and legs are thrown over you, fingers thread with yours, lips and beards glance over your skin as they whisper and blether. You roll into a body, you’re not even sure who’s, and you hold onto them tight, letting the sleep seep in, letting it pull you away into the deep.

SATURDAY

There’s an intrusive light burning into your face. You shift, rolling your head away from it before rolling your entire body over onto your side. You stretch your arms out and sigh slowly, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the soft, deep slumber that had been disturbed— but your brain has other plans. It slowly starts to awaken, the fog lifting, memories and visions of the night before playing before your eyes. Hands on your skin, lips locked on yours, eyes following your every move.

You spring upwards.

Your eyes pop open as you inhale sharply. You snap your head to the right and then the left before you scan the room, finding it completely empty. You turn back towards the windows, squinting and blinking as the sun belts into the room, the light spilling over the floor and bed. Voices float towards you— warm, male laughter— before it dies away again and all you hear are the random chirps of birds and the soft swish of the breeze against the trees and house.

That’s when the soreness seeps in. You roll your shoulders as you recognize the subtle pain, roll your neck before stretching your arms above your head. There’s laughter again, the clatter of pans and dishes and you blink at the closed bedroom door. Questions start to populate and swarm, pushing away the rest of the sleepy fog in your mind.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but throw your hands back on the mattress as you stumble, having to steady yourself. Your legs are jelly. A hum vibrates in your chest and throat as you take a step after a few sobering seconds. The muscles of your sex scream at you— achy and tight— used. It’s sharp but also dull, nagging and deep— the soreness. It feels good. Feels right.

Spotting an egg shaped floor length mirror leaning up against the far wall, you pad towards it, squinting and hissing as pangs of the delicious pain prickle along your skin and muscles. You peer at your body, twisting and turning. You’re marked beyond belief— suck marks on your neck and shoulders, red raised welts on your sides and thighs, deep bruises and teeth marks scattered along your body like a map.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You spot a small bench in front of the bed, a pink satin tank top and matching shorts tossed over it. You slip the tank top over your arms to cover your bare torso and pull the shorts up your legs, your ample behind poking out of the bottom of them. You start for the door and move into a long hallway, following the laughter and voices emanating from deep in the house.

This is a really big house. It takes a while, well, you’re nosey so you peek into each room you pass and stop to eye the paintings on the wall, but you finally find the source of all the noise. You turn into the vast kitchen, finding five men placed throughout it. Sam is over the stove, cracking eggs and flipping potatoes and fresh vegetables. Andy sits at the bar, his nose buried in the Saturday paper as he sips on a black coffee. Bucky and Steve sit at the table, talking hushly over some old papers, and Ransom leans against the fridge, thumbing through his phone.

Bucky’s the first to notice you. He greets you with a wide, bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his nose scrunching, “Good morning beautiful.”

The rest of the men all blink at you and a warmth flushes through your face as you play with your fingers. Before you can respond, Ransom sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing you hard and deep before he sits you back down and swats your behind, “Mornin’ doll.”

“Don’t be so rough with her,” Andy chides the slightly younger man. He grabs your wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Sleep well, baby?”

“I did, thank you.” You smile, nervous but flattered by the attention.

“Hope you’re hungry sweetie,” Sam says, leaning into you to peck your lips as you move towards him.

“I’m starving.”

“I bet. You slept hard last night.” He winks, nudging you with his shoulder, “Ransom, plates.”

“I’m not the help, Wilson.”

“Well you are to-fuckin-day. Get the plates, trust fund baby.”

You laugh as you move towards the table, getting swept up into another breathless kiss by Bucky before Steve pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose over the back of your shoulder. Ransom and Sam hand out the plates one by one, taking drink orders and handing them out before they take their seats at the long table. You stay in Steve’s lap as you eat, listening as they all chat and cut up a little, teasing the youngest of them, Ransom, and listening intently as Andy talks about his latest case.

“I bet baby girl over here has some questions, hmm?” Bucky says after a while, cutting into his sausage and popping a small piece into his mouth.

You nod as you chew and swallow, before your eyes go wide, “Oh shit! My sister MJ! I bet she’s—”

Ransom slides your phone towards you, “I texted her for you last night and again this morning. Convinced her not to call the cops— she’s a feisty one.”

“Oh God, thank you.” You sigh, glancing over the texts.

“You can call her if you’d like. We can step out.” Steve offers, peering at you over your shoulder.

“No, no. She seems to be pacified for the moment. I’ll call her in a little while. So,” you lead in, “How, um, what is all of this? How do you guys know me, or my mom, to be more specific?”

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him before he takes a breath, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s a really long story.”

“I got time,” you laugh, “It’s the only reason I came last night. Didn’t expect to get fucked by five dudes, but, you know,” you giggle, “Shit happens.”

“Steve and I,” Bucky starts, “We knew your great-grandmother, Marie-Angelie Paris Laveau of New Orleans. Steve was… sickly.” You nod quickly, having read everything there is to know about the great Steve Rogers, “I had heard that there was this new religion, down south. A woman that claimed to be a healer and Steve was my best friend, so, we decided to check it out in the early forties— wanted to see if she could help him.”

“When we finally got to Louisiana and tracked Marie-Angelie down, it was nothing that Bucky and I had ever seen before.” Steve chuckles, “Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, had thousands of followers, just like her mother, and her mother before her.”

“Followers?” You ask, furrowing your brow.

Bucky shifts his eyes to Steve before they land back on you, “You’re a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of the French quarter.”

Your eyes widen at the words.

“The elder Marie was a very powerful woman, passed down her knowledge and her gift to her daughters who kept her spirit and her craft alive. Marie-Angelie took one look at Steve and knew she could help. So,” Bucky takes a breath, holding it in his chest for a second before he pushes it out, “We made our offerings, appeased the spirits and we had Steve stay with her for the night.”

“She prayed over me all night. Chanted, offered the spirits many gifts, had me drink this potion that she’d made,” Steve says slowly, “I’m not too sure what happened. I just remember waking up and looking like this. It came with conditions of course, one of which she told us about, the other she didn’t.”

“What were they?” you breathe, engrossed in the story.

“The condition we knew about was that Bucky and I had to join the society.” You raise your eyebrows, prompting Steve to smile, “The elder Marie, your great-great-great-great grandmother entered into a pact with Sam’s great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“He was a farmer,” Sam says after he takes a sip of his coffee, taking over the story, “My great-great-great-great granddaddy went to Marie for a little advice and to have her pray for his crops. He was flat broke, about to lose the farm, Louisiana was going through a terrible drought— he offered Marie the last dollar he had in his pocket. His crop came in more bountiful than ever, in fact, it was the only farm that yielded that season. Made him a millionaire overnight. So, in exchange for her prayers, he offered her and her offspring protection. As long as there's a Laveau bloodline, the Wilson’s will watch over them.”

Silence falls over the room as you blink back at Sam, unable to speak. Bucky leans forward, placing his flesh hand over yours and rubs gently as concern fills his blue eyes, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, closing your eyes as you swallow, “Yeah, I, um, so… okay, so Sam, Steve and you are bound to protect me? Because of this society that was formed?”

“Us too,” Andy adds, “My great-great-great-great grandfather, Reginald Barber was a politician, went to Marie for some help around the same time as Sam’s granddad did, and when she fulfilled his request, he also joined.”

“My grandad is a writer, he too ended up joining the society in the early sixties with your grandmother when his first novel blew up.” Ransom says, “Harland Thrombey.”

“Harland Thrombey, the mystery writer, right? I thought he had a daughter?”

“That’s my mom. When I was born, I took her place in the order.”

You lift your eyebrows, nodding your head, “Wow.” you laugh a little, “So, what exactly do you guys do for me?”

“We just keep you safe. Watch over you, try to fulfill all of your… needs.” Sam answers with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, “Keep the bloodline going, if need be.”

You squint suddenly as the wheels and gears in your brain turn, “Wait so, this is passed down? From generation to generation?”

“Yes.” Andy answers simply.

“So, that means that all of your fathers, had sex with my mother? Am I.. oh my god,” your hands fly to your face, “Am I related to you one you?”

“No, oh my god!” Ransom recoils, his face screwed up in disgust, “The fuck do you think we are, weirdos? No.”

Steve laughs, rubbing your stomach with his large hand, “Your father is James Rhodes. He’s part of the congregation, the followers of your grandmothers. He was chosen for your mother, just like your partner will be chosen for you.”

You blink, your mind empty, “Chosen?”

“It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation.” Steve nods, “Either way, your partner will be someone who will understand our debt to you and your family. If your partner is indeed someone in the society, that person is then removed, so there’s no impropriety, and someone in the congregation will take his place to keep the society full. Once you’re paired with whoever, we all then have a duty to reproduce so our children can take care of yours— again, with women in the congregation who understand our duty, and so on and so forth.”

You fall back against Steve’s chest, slumping a little at all of the information, “It’s a lot,” Sam reassures, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Insane is what it is, you think, rubbing your forehead with your manicured fingers. Somehow though, it all just kind of makes sense, “You said there was another condition? After you and Bucky went to Louisiana? What was it?”

“Me.” Bucky smiles, leaning back into his seat as his eyes fall into his lap.

You glance back at Steve, “I don’t understand.”

“In order for me to achieve this,” Steve motions towards his body, “Something had to be sacrificed, “The spirits chose Bucky. Some years later, after we joined the army—”

You gasp, covering your mouth again, “When he fell from the train.” You finish for him.

Steve just nods, “I put two and two together after a while. I went back to Marie and told her I was done— I wanted out and I didn’t care what happened to me for it. So I ended up just kind of floating through life. Threw myself into my work and saving the world. I didn’t know at the time that some of my blood had gotten into the hands of the Germans during the war. They studied it— noticed that my enzymes were nearly indestructible. They created the super soldier serum to replicate my strength and healing abilities.”

“Hydra, is what they were called. They found me and started experimenting.” A sad smile covers Bucky’s face. You lean forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and rub your thumb just under his eye. His smile turns upward as he nuzzles into your warm palm, “I’m alright.”

“I got wind of Bucky in the eighties, he had assassinated this researcher, they actually got a picture of him. I had to bring him home,” Steve shrugs, “But he was tricky— elusive. I tracked him for a few years but I couldn’t ever get close, and I knew I only had one option at that point.” Steve rests his lips against your shoulder, brushing them back and forth slowly against your warm skin, “I tracked down your grandmother and your mom for help.”

You feel him smile against you and you turn, throwing your arms around his neck as he continues his story, “You were barely walking when I met you the first time. You were so cute, so little. Even though I was still pissed, you stole my heart as soon as I saw you. You were the only innocence in this craziness.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his fingers, smiling softly at you as you’re overcome with emotion, “Did you used to read to me?” you ask with a shaky voice, the early, fragmented memories you have of a blonde, blue eyed man suddenly making sense.

“Tamerlane by Edgar Allan Poe was your favorite.” he smiles, “That’s how I knew it was you last night. Poe was your favorite, even back then.”

You hug him tightly and feel hands on your back and shoulders, a pair of lips on the top of your head and the side of your face as Andy, Bucky, Ransom, and Sam crowd around you, “We brought you home now.” Sam voices gently, “We’ll take care of you baby. From now until the end of days.”

You let them soothe you. Let them stroke your hair and whisper their sweet nothings. Let them kiss your skin and wipe away the tears as the sun cutting into the room through the windows washes you in warmth. You lean back after what seems like forever, sniffling gently as Steve brushes those fingers underneath your eyes, “I want to meet my mom.”

“Of course. We’ll take you to her whenever you’re ready. She was supposed to be here but, she couldn’t deal with the heartbreak again if it wasn’t you. She’s been looking for you for so long— they both have.”

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you rest your head against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him, “Why was I taken?”

“Somebody sent a tip to the police that your mother was living in a commune—” you feel him tense, his tone going harsh, “Just a nosey ass woman who didn’t have anything better to do with her time. Made up some shit about drug trafficking coming out of the house. It was raided while I was in Europe— they took you, put you up for adoption. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”

“You're protecting me now. That’s all that matters.” You whisper, “But,” your voice drops away as you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Ransom’s massive hand runs up and down your back, “What is it, honey?”

“My sister. My mom and my dad— the people that raised me. I love them.”

“We are not going to take you away from them,” Bucky answers quickly, “They’re a part of you. We understand that.”

“Can’t wait to meet that sister of yours,” Ransom adds, “She seems fun.”

You laugh through the fresh wave of tears that have wetted your face, “She is fun. She has a boyfriend named Peter, he loves you two,” you smile, gesturing towards Steve and Bucky, “He’s gonna shit his pants.”

You close your eyes again, your head starting to pound from all of the information that’s been placed at your feet. Your stomach churns and you shiver, causing Steve to tighten his grip, “Let’s lay you down, huh? That was a lot to take in.”

They all follow you and Steve back into the bedroom where you first woke up that morning. You’re stripped naked again, crowded in the middle of their hulky bodies. They let you cry. They let you talk aimlessly. They let you get angry, and then sad, and then content as you work through your sordid history. One by one, their lips are on yours again. Hands dig into your sides and grip your thighs. Languid thrusts, hot breaths, short whimpers, and long cries fill the room as they make love to you over and over.

Your bones are liquid. Your body, your cunt stretched and used— so sore you’re not even sure your limbs are connected anymore. You come, time and time again, from their mouths, their fingers, their wet, hard cocks. You take it all— two of them stuffing you full while a third occupies your mouth, the other two not-so-patiently waiting for their turn at you.

Sleep tugs at you from every angle after a while and you fade in and out as the day drags on. Women come to you in your dreams— the women of your family. They whisper to you, the great secrets of your long lineage. They smile and lay their hands on you, filling you with their spirits, their love.

You’re suddenly at a large body of water—  Bayou St. John. A woman perches by the bank, her hand swishing back and forth in the cool water. You traipse towards her through the tall grass, your feet sinking into the wet ground. You kneel next to her as she sings a native song. She’s wrapped in a red, white, and blue shawl, her eyes sparkling as she turns towards you. She cups your face, running her hand down your cheek and jaw before she reaches into the water and pulls out a large, multicolored fish.

You spring forward, gasping hard and deep as you wake from the vivid dream. You cover your face with your hands as a chill runs down your spine, your forehead covered in a cold sweat. Without thinking, you splay your hand over your stomach as your heart stills. There’s movement behind you— Steve slinks his hand around your middle, settling his hand over your much smaller one.

You peek over your shoulder and he’s staring at you, his lips parted slightly, his blue eyes wide and full of knowing. His words from earlier coming back to you. Your partner will be chosen for you. It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation. You lay back down, curling into him, tracing his nose and jaw, his chin and eyes with your fingers as he blinks back at you.

“Did you see her too?” You breathe. Great-great-great-great grandmother Marie Laveau.

He nods, “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers as Sam, Andy, Ransom, and Bucky all sprawl out around the two of you, “I promise.”

You nod, smiling slowly, “I know.”

You mean it. You know he will— that they all will.

[unsincerityig]

The Birds and the Bandits - I

bruh i just remembered i can fucking post my writing here holy shit-

Chapter 1 - Establishing Status Quo

AO3 link | 2726 words | based on the HermitCAT AU by Sarah and Stardustz

In most heist movies, the beginning sequence has the dashing phantom thief protagonist leaping across rooftops, his figure casting a dashing shadow along the city skylines as he is illuminated by countless police spotlights. Just maybe, the scene will then cut to an equally dashing detective chasing him down, barking orders with a determined gleam in his eyes. Then, just when the detective has the thief cornered, he smirks and unveils his last trick of the night, vanishing right before the detective's very eyes! The detective coughs out smoke from around him and bellows out-

“GET BACK HERE YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE OF AN ARSENE LUPIN COSPLAYER-!”

Alas, Scar‘s life isn’t like most heist movies. As the notorious phantom thief known as the Red Raider, (“Seriously? That’s what they’re calling you?” “I know! It’s so cool! Right, Joel?” “One heist in and they’re already bullying you. Should’ve known.”) instead of gallivanting through the rooftops as he’d like, he’s likely causing mass disturbance running across the back alleys of the Hermitville Industrial District.

As he barely clips yet another innocent pedestrian, (“Hey! I’m walkin here!” “Sorry, sir! Kinda running for my life here!”) Detective Wynncraft finally catches up, catching him by the cape and pulling, causing him to crash onto a table in front of a closed cafe.

“Owwwie-” Scar moaned, “How are you so fast with those tiny legs of yours?”

“Nowhere to run now, thie- wait what?!” Detective Wynncraft halted indignantly, holding both of Scar’s arms behind him and pinning him to the cafe table, “My legs are perfectly proportional to the rest of me, thank you very much!” Like the petty little bitch he is, Wynncraft presses him down harder onto the table, making Scar wheeze, “Maybe if you didn't insist on this ridiculous get up, you’d be much faster.”

“Wha- Hey!” Scar cried indignantly, although it was hard to hear with the exposed side of his face pressed down onto the table, “I’ll have you know I worked very hard on this outfit! And everyone says it looks very cool!”

He could feel the detective’s deadpan stare, “... Dude. You look like £30 Persona 5 cosplay that got mixed in the washer with the reds-” Scar had to hold back the most pathetic sounding whimper of his life at that, “-If the 1800s called and you picked up, they’d say ‘wrong number’”

“Please stop.”

“You look like-“ Wynncraft started, cutting himself off with a harsh laugh,“-you look like steampunk tried making a comeback- keyword being tried.”

“This is a low table- I am literally on my knees begging-”

“Alright alright, enough with the both of ya!” a new voice spoke.

Loosening his hold on Scar, Wynncraft looked up and greeted the newcomer, who had a whole host of police vehicles behind him.

“X! What took you so long” he asked impatiently

“With the crowd around for the festival, we had to take the long way round the superblocks,” Commissioner Xavier Void replied, “Since your little announcement about stealing the Gilded Cornucopia, the crowds are much bigger than usual,” he said, addressing Scar directly

Ah, yes. Why was he being held against his will in front of a tiny cafe on a chilly fall night you may ask? Well today was the peak of the Hermitville Autumnal Festival, where the famous Gilded Cornucopia would be unveiled and filled with the best crops of the season, a celebration to honor the contributions of the Agriculture District. It was held in a park just on its outskirts, bordering the Industrial District where Scar had ran to.

‘The plan was going so smoothly,’ he laments. He had sent of his calling card as per usual, common courtesy for a gentlemanly thief just like himself, and as promised had appeared in a brilliant shower of copper-tinted smoke just in front the Cornucopia after the customary handshake between District leader Ms. Stress and Mayor Solidarity.

“Good evening, Hermitville!” he boomed pleasantly.

As always, the crowd went ablaze. A cacophony of mixed voices; half calling for his head and a much larger half cheering for his arrival.

Stress had a beaming grin above her clasped hands, and beside her Mayor Solidarity exclaimed, “It’s the Red Raider!”

He let out a laugh, flaring his hands (and cape) widely, “the one and only!”

The crowd went wild once more as he looked towards the Mayor, deliberately turning his more masked side towards him, “Didn’t I promise I was gonna be here tonight?”

The mayor shrugged helplessly, “I mean, what would you steal a cornucopia for?" he gestured to the 1,4 feet wide, 4 feet long gold-encrusted monstrosity behind Scar, "Like how would you even lift that heavy thing off the stage?”

He let out another laugh and very dramatically shwished his cape to one side, showing the now cornucopia-less banquet table behind him.

Ignoring the mayor sputtering beside him and Stress clapping her hands, he turned back to the crowd, “well! It's been nice, ladies and gents, but I’ve gotta go-”

“To jail!”

Scar’s grin widened. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted and revealed none other than Detective Grian Wynncraft.

Despite his relatively humble career choice, Grian Wynncraft is a household name in Hermitville. The famed paragliding athlete-turned-detective would have been known as the modern day Sherlock Holmes if not for one thing:

His rather… explosive way of catching criminals.

And no, ‘explosive’ is not an exaggeration. Grian was the sole reason why so many of Scar’s heists turned from a fun smoke-and-mirrors magic show to a full-on demolition derby. It was well established that the young detective would stop at nothing to catch his target, and because of it he had been very, very loudly kicked out of the police force and handed over to the Falsewell Detective Agency, Commissioner Void having thought that False could knock some sense into the man. He did not think correctly.

Unlike before, a hush fell over the crowd. An outsider may think this is because of the detective’s bold claim or his spotty reputation but in truth-

“Well well if it isn’t my favorite little detective~!” Scar crooned

Grian sighed, “Red, stop harassing me and get down from there before anyone gets hurt.”

The thief nearly fell off the stage.

“Puh- bwuh- It wasn’t harrasme- It was a cute nickname, man, c’mon! Work with me here!”

“Red I am literally trying to put you in chains.”

“W-w- well now who’s making weird jokes!”

“Haha, funny innuendo. Now get down here!”

In truth it was because no one wanted to miss the banter between the two lunatics.

“Make me!” Scar yelled, he was about to deploy his elytra when he noticed the helicopters circling the airspace above him, having snuck in whilst he was distracted. From one of the helicopters, Officer Etho gave him a friendly wave.

‘How on earth did I miss that.” Scar thought to himself.

The crowd ooh and aah’d, clearly also having been too distracted to notice the giant, 100dB flying machines hovering above them. Grian crossed his arms and smirked. He’d played along with the thief’s poor attempt at banter, knowing his desire for theatrics would outweigh his common sense and stall him long enough for the men to surround him.

The crowd murmured, some with giddy smiles and some with reluctant respect. In the middle, illuminated by several helicopter spotlights (because even the cops were into this shit) was Grian with a shit-eating grin.

“Nowhere to run, Raider.” he boasted.

Scar merely smirked back, the gleam of white being the only thing visible beneath the shadow of his brimmed hat, “I think you mean nowhere to fly!”

Throwing a smokebomb, the trapdoor below him opened and Scar disappeared down below, only the surprised shouting of the crowd following him in.

“Exit stage right!” Bdubs yelled in his earpiece.

Scar darted out of the door below the stage itself which was somehow unattended for. Most of the cops guarding the perimeter were busy trying to move the crowd along, and he spotted an unguarded exit from the park grounds that led to the inner city.

Deploying his Mumbo-specialty Hovering Board (patent pending), he quickly made a beeline straight for it, faster than anyone could catch him.

“What the-” Grian sputtered, “AFTER HIM!” he yelled.

Equally fast, the detective ran for the mayor’s tiny Volkswaggon parked right near the stage which, conveniently, was unlocked.

(When relaying this to Joel back at their base, the man only scoffed.

“Trust Jimmy to forget to lock his bloody car.”)

Reaching into the sun visor, Grian quickly found the key and went barrelling towards the park exit, nearly hitting several pedestrians in the process.

The chase lasted well into the night, and would have gone for longer had it not been for Mumbo forgetting to refuel the hoverboard, making it jerk to a clumsy stop mid-air and causing Scar to crash butt-first into the sidewalk.

Scar groaned. Standing shakily, he barely got himself together before realizing that a car was about to barrel straight into him and, yelling for his life, he ducked into a tiny alleyway.

Grian tsk’d, seemingly displeased about failing to turn his least favorite celebrity thief into roadkill. Seeing that even the mayor’s tiny car wouldn't fit through the alleyway, he quickly jumped out, hot in pursuit.

Which leads them to now, and Scar about to be thrown in the slammer for what was probably going to be a solid six to fifty years.

“Uh, could you let me up, Detective?” he smiled sheepishly, “My back is cramping up a little.”

Grian rolled his eyes, “Oh poor Raider. Would you like a hot chocolate and a backrub as well?” he mocked.

“That would be nice, ye- oof!”

X sighed. “Grian, now what did we say about using violence on the criminals”

“Shoot first, questions later,” he said, voice deader than night.

“NO!” X cried, “What kind of police force would train their cops like that?!”

(All three of them stared directly into the camera)

Grian blinked, “... I’m pretty sure thievery is punishable by death in the Dream SMP,” he offered.

X put his head in his hands. Ignoring Etho snickering behind him, he barrelled on, “Just. Let the man up so we can cuff him.”

Feeling Grian’s hold loosen around him, Scar quickly slipped out of his suit jacket and slid below the table. Before anyone could react, he activated his Mumbo Jump Boots (patent pending) and Mumbo Sticky Gloves (patent also pending) and yeeted himself up the cafe wall and onto the roof.

“SEE YA SUCKERS!”

He cackled madly into the night, relishing in Grian’s angry screeches.

—-

“Aaaand that’s how he got away.” Grian moped, still face down on the table.

“Well that sounds terrible, G,” Scar replied, faking sympathy. He knew Grian was lying face down for dramatic effect, because that table couldn’t be particularly comfortable.

He’d know, he was held down on that very same table just last night.

Only Grian would find comedy in coming back to a place where he had failed to arrest his greatest rival. Scar would like to think that he’d find even more comedy in learning that said greatest rival was sitting a mere 3 feet across from him, but he knows that would likely lead to more pain than laughter.

For him.

Yes, that’s right! Scar was on what was ostensibly a platonic date with the man who’s near-sole life mission was to put him behind bars. (His other life mission, of course, is being a good dad for his cats).

What can he say? In case the whole ‘literally moonlighting as a gentleman thief’ thing didn’t clue you in, Scar very much enjoys living life on the dangerous side.

Also Grian likes buying him pastries when he’s mad.

Grian sighed, “The worst part is those stupid cops all followed the chase, so he got away with the Cornucopia as well.”

Scar raised an eyebrow, eyes wide, “what do you mean? Of course he got the Cornucopia, he ran away?”

Grian put his face in one hand, the other playing with his flan, “of course not, the Cornucopia was too big -not to mention too heavy -for him to carry away. He must’ve moved it down to the stage and had someone take it away while he ran.”

Once again, Scar thanked the heavens for Mumbo’s gadgets and Grian’s character-defining flaw of tunnel visioning. He actually did have Joel prepare a mechanism below the stage to partially open the trap door and lower the Cornucopia down while he monologued, using his cape and incredibly witty banter to distract onlookers. Having one of your assistants be close friends with the Mayor helps tremendously in conducting heists.

“If you knew he would do that, why didn’t you have anyone guard the stage?” Scar asked, sweating profusely.

Grian sighed angrily, “Bloody Joel made a ruckus about him getting away and riled up Jimmy as well. So he sent everyone there after him.” He stabbed his flan.

If he hadn’t owed Joel his life before, he definitely did now.

Scar coughed wetly, catching Grian’s attention. He looked at him worriedly, “you’ve been doing that a lot, did you catch a cold?”

Scar sniffled, “Yeah. Probably because of the weather changing or something,” he lied.

In truth, running through the rooftops in 8 degree Celcius temperatures drenched in sweat with nothing but a blouse and suit pants on was really bad for the health.

Grian waved a waitress over, “hot chamomile tea to go, please”

“Wha- Grian!” Scar protested.

“Shush, consider it a treat for going out with me while you're sick.” he grinned, mischievous but friendly, not at all like the predatory grin he gave at the heist.

Scar smiled fondly at him, but a pit of guilt stirred in his gut. While they had only become friends recently, he quickly grew fond of the little (he was actually built like a wall but we don’t talk about that) detective. Despite his harsh crime-fighting methods, he knew Grian was a big ‘ole softie deep, deep, deep, deeeeeeep down. Even now he knew that the real reason they were eating at this cafe was because Grian felt bad about the ruckus they caused last night.

He sighed internally. At first, he thought it would be funny to befriend the man so vehement on putting him behind bars (and occasionally, on turning him into sidewalk meat). And it was! Oh, the look on Joel’s face when he told him would forever be a core memory of his, even despite the brutal tongue-lashing and weeks of radio silence afterwards.

But despite all odds, he quickly became fond of the guy’s snarky humor and they way he had a kind action behind every mercilessly teasing jab. They shared a mutual passion for many things, including children’s entertainment and modern architecture, and Scar was quick to seek him out whenever Bdubs was busy hanging out with Etho, or whenever Joel had date night with Lizzie.

Scar knew he was walking a delicate line, one that even he was unsure he could cross safely, and he knew that the longer he kept this secret, the more it would hurt the both of them when (if, Scar, if not when-) -if Grian were to ever find out.

But hey! That just means that he’ll have to work his hardest to find what he was looking for and quit before Grian ever finds out, right?

Right?

“By the way,” Scar asked, desperately trying to ignore the building guilt in his stomach, “why are you so obsessed with catching this guy?”

It was a genuine question. One that hadn't come up in conversation before. Judging by his extremely accurate recreation of a no-kill GTA V run last night, Grian was no obedient servant of the law. So why was he so hell-bent on capturing him?

Grian looked at him, and Scar felt the hairs on his neck rise. And was the store playing boss music??

“It’s about principle, Scar.” He said, eyes manic, “If I can catch bloody Herobrine, then I sure as hell can catch an idiot thief who thinks red and maroon are the same color.”

.

.

.

Nevermind, he’ll have to talk to Joel about setting up the most annoying detective-trap in human history for his next heist.

[inconveniently-discorporated]

If I ever become a published author, I'm reasonably certain I would anonymously post meta on my own work.

Like. I wouldn't want to just come out as the author and be like "this is THE WAY to interpret what I said", but there's some things that I do on purpose and it's so hard to keep quiet.

I was rereading my Hope in Times Like These fic and rediscovering all of the little details that I get all excited about.

Anyway, it's not anonymous but I'm just going to put it out there because they make me happy, but I'm gonna do it under the cut. Here's the behind the scenes.

So like the whole thing is written to mirror the wall slam, but like, "what if it was done lovingly?"

There's a reference to Michael Sheen's appearance on David Tennant's podcast (these fragments I have shored against my ruins).

This made me smile when I thought of it. RE: I decided Aziraphale was no good with heights -- “Afraid of falling?” Crowley slipped a sly grin to the angel.

Crowley tells Aziraphale he could've called. It occurred to me phones weren't invented until after the Holy Water incident in the 1800s. However, I decided that it makes me happy to think that Aziraphale just ineffably knows Crowley's number and/or can just dial something and reach Crowley anywhere, any time.

Crowley asks if he wants him to stop, and besides a series of huffy noises, there's this:

In that moment, he could not answer the question because he could not help but gaze and admire these familiar lines and curves and edges that made up Crowley’s human form. He also could not give the answer he wanted to give, and yet he would not give the answer he was supposed to give.

And I worded that very specifically. Couldn't vs wouldn't.

He isn't saying "don't stop", because he can't. He wants to, but he can't. He isn't allowed.

He isn't saying "stop", because he won't. He is supposed to, but he is CHOOSING not to in that exact moment.

Also -- I absolutely love mirrors and parallels. If there's ever one in my writing it was probably put there on purpose. At first, Aziraphale won't say, "I missed you too" -- he's thinking it, but he says what he's supposed to say out loud (which is "I think we should stop"). Later, he is thinking that they should stop, but he says, "I missed you too."

Someone once pointed out that the way they sober up is like, hilarious, and it seems like not a lot of people really write to that. So now whenever I write drunk them (which really seems to be every fic does that make me an alcoholic) and they need to sober up I make sure to mention it in some fashion.

Reference to the fuck shit up jacket was definitely intended at the end.

Anyway. That's that. There's probably more but those made me particularly happy to share.

[afrival]

Hetalia Characters and Their Music Tastes

I’ve been in the hetalia fandom for like a year now and I stg thinking abt what these bitches listen to NEVER gets old

no warnings

will feature mostly modern day music, like 1950s-2010s

I don’t know a lot of artists that don’t sing in English so there’s probably A LOT that I’m missing on here, not even including shit from like the 1800s

The Allies

Alfred:

Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood, The Chain by Fleetwood Mac, Crazy In Love by Beyoncé

- Listens to basically everything, but particular fond of like 80s rock and early 2000s shit

- Likes country music bc ofc he does, a huge fan of Carrie Underwood, Sam Hunt, and The Band Perry

- Got his love of rock from England 💀 Especially during the like the 60s-80s when Queen, The Beatles, and Elton John really popular

- They really only bond over their love for this period of music lmao like they would absolutely go ape during karaoke

- He loves more mainstream artists like Beyoncé, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, all those iconic mfs

- Probably enjoys old wartime music just for nostalgias sake. Shit from the 40s and he listens to Civil War tunes (Union Dixie lmao)

- Definitely listens to musicals and forces Ivan to as well. His favorites are Hamilton, Hairspray, and Chess

- LOVES LOVES LOVES The Backstreet Bogs holy shit. This man had a whole phase where he dressed like they did. Don’t even dare play I Want It That Way because he WILL sing along

- Speaking of which he’s actually a really good singer, like he probably used to sing at clubs and shit back in the day

- It’s very specific but I imagine his voice to sound like Taron Egerton’s cover of “Crocodile Rock” by Elton John

Arthur:

Killer Queen by Queen, Set Fire to the Rain by Adele, Tiny Dancer by Elton John

- Old man who had a weird punk phase in the 90s. Definitely listens to The Beatles and Gorillaz

- Like I said, he and Alfred bond over Queen and Elton and Bon Jovi and FUCKING Michael Jackson

- Refuses to admit he really likes Elvis

- Oh boy. He had so much fun in like late 2000s and early 2010s— Panic at the Disco, MCR, Green Day, he absolutely got his ears pierced during this time

- Doesn’t listen to like current mainstream music that much he will sob to Adele and probably really likes the Cry Baby album by Melanie Martinez.

- Francis plays so much Lady Gaga in the car that at this point he really likes her music

- He likes Ed Sheeran I am so sorry </3 and he absolutely gets bullied for it

- He can sing too honestly? I know I just said he listens to Ed Sheeran but I honestly think he kinda sounds like him too just maybe a little deeper

- Listen to Galway Girl and you’ll get a basic idea of what I imagine he sounds like

Ivan:

Dance and Cry by Mother Mother, Baby One More Time by Britney Spears, смерти Больше нет by IC3PEAK

- THIS MANS MUSIC TASTE MAKES NO SENSE. It ranges from fucking Aerosmith to Ic3peak to Lady Gaga

- Literally has every Mother Mother album downloaded and probably on Vinyl bc he’s a fucking dweeb

- Also a huge musical stannie, loves Wicked and Hairspray

- He and Al will split the parts to sing along to in the car

- Alfred made him listen to Britney Spears ONCE in like the 90s and now he’s obsessed

- Speaking of the 90s he went absolutely fucking ape during this time. The USSR wasn’t very big on western music but when it fell there was a HUGE influx of it and suddenly like it was just his favorite thing ever

- Alfred also got him into Carrie Underwood, literally lost of his music taste comes from Alfred forcing him to listen to shit

- During the 70s/80s he got really into Fleetwood Mac and Aerosmith, maybe even a little bit of disco but not a lot

- Went to a club with Al a few times and he won’t ever forget dancing to Footloose by Kenny Loggins at like one in the morning and having the absolute time of his life, easily one of his favorite memories

- Like I get so soft thinking about him just letting loose and actually having fun, even though he was very stiff and shit during the 1900s

- He can’t sing LMAO but my friend and I said once that he could lowkey rap really well and now it’s all I think about

Francis:

From Eden by Hozier, La Vie En Rose by Edith Piaf, Primadona by Marina

- If you look up the gay agenda his playlist would just show up

- I mean seriously he has it all: Lana Del Rey, Taylor Swift, Beyoncé, Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, and Lorde

- HOWEVER she does really enjoy softer sounding music. Edith Piaf, Louis Armstrong, and Vera Lynn are favorites of his

- Listens to the Les Mis soundtrack like once a month

- REALLY REALLY loves Hozier, like a whole lot. He’s probably one of his favorite artists along with Sufjan Stevens

- Even more of his homo playlist includes Marina, Madonna and Troye Sivan

- Bullies Arthur for liking Ed Sheeran but he also really likes Ed Sheeran, just refuses to admit it

- Stromae ofc 🙄🤚 can’t just not include like the most popular French musician or whatever

- He can also sing but he sounds kinda raspy, it’s nice tho

Yao:

- I don’t think he listens to music LMAO, if he does it’s probably instrumental

The Axis

Ludwig:

Elastic Heart by Sia, From Now On from The Greatest Showman, Natural by Imagine Dragons

- Also doesn’t really listen to music but my friend said that when he does it ranges from classical to heavy metal

- For some reason I think he really likes Sia, he seems like a Sia kind of guy

- Doesn’t listen to Hozier but really loves Take Me to Church

- Most of his music listening comes from giving Feli the aux in the car

- The whore listens to Imagine Dragons like he fucking loves them

- When The Greatest Showman came out he had the soundtrack on repeat for a solid month, From Now Onis one of his favorite songs ever

- Cannot sing Jesus Christ do not let him near a mic

Feliciano:

Thank u, next by Ariana Grande, Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder, Bella Ciao by Manu Pillas

- Pop music! So much pop!

- Loves Ariana Grande and Conan Gray

- Probably listens to A LOT of classical because of his time with Austria

- His music taste is kinda all over the fucking place and it’s mostly happy and peppy shit

- Weirdly tho he listens to GRLwood? Like it’ll just shhow up on shuffle and suddenly he’s an entire different person

- Will listen to absolutely everything just to find something that Ludwig likes, was so proud of himself when Ludwig really ended up loving The Greatest Showman

- Doesn’t sing but plays like 5 instruments. Violin and piano are his faves

Kiku:

It’s Been So Long by The Living Tombstone, Faded by Alan Walker, Ophelia by The Lumineers

- LISTEN. LISTEN. HE LOVES VIDEO GAME MUSIC AND FUCKING THE LIVING TOMBSTONE

- The fnaf songs are his guilty fucking pleasures, he fucking loves them

- Loves loves loves the Undertake Soundtrack

- Listens to a lot of anime openings 💀 Me too tbh they’re so good at for what

- Big fan of TheFatRat

- In general he enjoys techno shit? Idk what the word is but it’s a lot of instrumental

- Listens to regular music as well (The Lumineers especially)

- Likes listening to Elvis because it makes him happy to see Alfred having fun

- Feli also introduces him to a lot of music but he can never fucking remember the names of the songs or artists

- He hums a lot rather than sings, and it’s really soft and gentle

If anybody wants any more characters lmk bc I love coming up with these, also I do have playlists for these bitches 😎✌️ Spotify is in my linktree (bio)