#twenty-first century entertainment

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:01」 — x.minghao

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➮ half-dragon!Minghao × fem!Reader wc: 7.3k summary: After inheriting an estate deep in the Bavarian Alps from his maternal grandfather, Minghao arrives to find the estate has survived the war unscathed and that deep underground is a vault full of historic and old art dating back to the 8th century. He decides to hire an appraiser to inspect the collection but becomes enamored with her. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller, historical; non idol au, monster idol au, historical au, post-ww2 au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, mentions of: food & alcohol consumption, supernatural & horror themes, post ww2 in Europe, allusions to the Nazi party; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglist! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this was a rough time to get started and i have to restart twice, once after completely redoing the plot. it was difficult but once i changed the plot, things flowed so much more naturally! but here we are baybee! kicking off Kinktober 2024 with dragon!Minghao in the 1940's post WW2! i did minimal research on this cause I'm a stickler for world building but I hope you all enjoy the first part of Kinktober. one day, 30 to go! as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), mirror sex, sex photos, unprotected sex (don’t do this lol), use of pet names (bao bei, beibei, sweetheart, etc.), oral (f receiving, m receiving), fingering (f receiving), and that should be all but let me know if I missed some! kinks: mirror sex + sex photos dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Don’t cover your mouth, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel. ❜❜

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Whether it was the scenery itselves or the dragon blood in him, Minghao loved the serenity and peace that seemed to accompany traveling through the mountains. This drive was a vaguely familiar one though he hadn’t been on this road since he was a young child.

He looked out the window as the car climbed higher, the trees on one side giving way to the view of the valley below. It was a picturesque scene, a beautiful lake at the base of the mountains surrounded by a forest of oranges, reds, yellows, and greens. He turned his gaze away as the car turned, following the curve of the road as the mountain flattened out.

The road was lined on either side with trees, providing cover from the cloudy, gray skies as the car drove along. Minghao caught a glimpse of the manor through the tunnel of trees, intrigued to see what state it was in since the hospitalization and death of his grandfather.

He hadn’t been to this estate since he was a young child, visiting with his mother until he threw a fit about going again. Since then, he had not stepped foot on the grounds, preferring to spend the holidays with his mother instead in their ancestral home.

Now he was in his late twenties and returning to the vacation home of his maternal line after being bequeathed the estate in his grandfather’s will. The car broke through the line of trees, taking a slight curve, forest on one side and a stone wall that dropped into a lower valley on the other.

The manor was just as he remembered, imposing and gray with gothic overtones and the facade made almost entirely out of stone. The angled roofs curved at the base and sharp spires at the ridges along the roofs. The majority of the stone was limestone, edged with a darker color of stone.

As the car pulled up, a light wind blew, the mix of orange gold, and brown leaves blowing across the stone, hitting the wall overlooking the valley. Minghao settled back in his seat, looking up at the imposing mansion, wondering the state of the interior. Outside, the place looked well kept but the inside could be an entirely different story.

The car pulled to a stop, the engine cutting and silence falling over the interior as the driver got out. He made to open the door himself but the driver beat him to it. Minghao got out, buttoning his coat as he looked up at the manor, thanking the driver. Up close, the estate looked almost immaculate. The windows had the curtains drawn, not allowing him to see inside the house.

The front door opened and a rather serious and proper looking man exited the house, followed by an equally serious and proper looking woman. They waited as Minghao turned to look at the driver unhooking the luggage from the back rack. Minghao walked over to greet the couple.

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, curtseying while the man bowed his head. “You must be Minghao,” the man asked to which Minghao nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. “You’ve grown quite a bit since we last saw you,” the woman spoke. “I used to attend to you when you were a child,” she continued. 

“Your bags will be brought into the red room,” the man interjected. “It’s the only renovated room.” Minghao nodded. “And you two are?” Minghao asked. “I’m Klaus,” the man introduced before gesturing to the woman. “And this is Renate.”

The woman nodded, giving Minghao a kind smile. “Please, come this way,” Renate said, gesturing to the house. They walked in silence to the house, up the steps and into the foyer. Minghao looked around, taking in his surroundings with an impressed air.

The foyer was small but spacious enough with a small coat room off to the left and to the right was the library, the door opened. “That library was your grandfather’s favorite place in the house,” Renate said, noticing Minghao’s wavering attention. “How many bedrooms does this place have?” Minghao asked, changing the subject.

“Ten,” Renate answered as the driver and one of the staff started bringing in his trunks. “Right, this way,” Klaus said, gesturing to them to follow him, leading them through the foyer and entrance hall and disappearing through an open doorway.

“Shall I give you the tour or would you like to rest?” Renate asked. Minghao looked around once more before turning to look at her. “I think a tour would be nice,” he said. “Will give me an idea of the condition and state of the house,” he continued, looking around once more. “Yes. I think a tour is in order.”

Renate took him around the house, showing him the different rooms. From what he could see, only a handful of the rooms were in need of renovations and a few could use upgrades but were not in dire need. The kitchen was functional and cozy with a large dining room attached.

Also off the kitchen and next to the dining room but not attached, was a decent sized sun room. On the opposite side of the house from these rooms was a guest suite where his things had been brought. “I had this room made up for you since it’s the only guest suite on the main floor,” Renate said as Minghao looked around. “It’s also the only one that has been renovated.”

Minghao stopped and turned to look at her. “It’s perfect,” he replied. “I think I’ll freshen up before dinner,” he continued, crossing the room to where she stood in the doorway. “If you could please produce a set of keys for me, I would appreciate it,” he added. Renate’s smile fell. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I’m the owner of the estate now,” Minghao answered. “I don’t want to have to seek you out to unlock doors in my own home.” Renate nodded, clearing her throat. “I shall see if I can’t locate the other keys. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere,” she replied. “Dinner will be in an hour.”

She left, closing the door behind her and allowing Minghao his much needed privacy. He moved over to his luggage and opened the top trunk, finding some of his clothes. He would unpack later, first he would explore the guest suite and see what he could find and if there were any secrets.

The guest suite was large, a massive four poster bed stood in the middle of the room, the headboard pushed against the outside wall. Thick, velvet drapes hung from the intricately carved wooden frame. Standing at the foot of the bed was an ornate bench carved, stained, and lacquered just like the rest of the furniture. Minghao walked over to a small seating area past two pocket doors that shut to close off the area from the bedroom.

On the opposite side of the bed from the sitting room was the entrance to a private ensuite bathroom with marble floors, two pedestal sinks sat under golden framed mirrors. A massive soaker tub with golden clawed feet stood opposite the sinks. A pipe protruded from the wall above the tub, curving downward and providing a shower head.

Minghao returned to the bedroom area and walked over to the bed, falling onto it and staring up at the drapes. Though he vaguely remembered this house from his childhood, nothing about it had seemed familiar since entering and he wondered how much had changed from when he was a child.

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thoughts and he sat up as the door opened, a young maid poking her head into the room. “Begging your pardon, sir,” she said softly. “I’ve come to unpack your luggage.” Minghao relaxed. “I see,” he said simply. He had assumed, incorrectly, that he might be allowed to unpack his own luggage but he was proven wrong again and again.

“Knock yourself out,” he replied, gesturing to the collection of trunks waiting at the end of his bed. The maid opened the door and Minghao realized it was not one but two maids. “We’ll work quickly and when we’re done, we can show you where everything is,” the first maid offered. Minghao nodded and got up as they started to get to work. “I’ll just get out of your way,” he said, walking towards the door and slinking out of the room.

He still had time before dinner would be ready so he decided to explore the first floor a bit more. As he walked past the foyer, he noticed a door with a round window and walked over, peering into the window only to see nothing but darkness. “The elevator,” a voice said, making Minghao jump. “Your grandfather lost a lot of mobility before he was hospitalized so he had this installed to make getting from the ground floor to the top floors easier.”

Minghao turned to look at the door once more. “Does it only go up?” he asked. “Sir?” Klaus asked. Minghao looked at him. “Does it go downstairs, too?” he asked. Klaus nodded, grimacing. “Indeed it does but there isn’t much down there except storage and cobwebs.” Minghao snorted and turned back to the elevator door. “Does this even work?” he asked, reaching for the door.

“Don’t!” Klaus snapped, making Minghao retract his hand quickly, almost as if he had been burned. “My apologies,” Klaus said, regaining his composure. “The elevator is turned off and very dangerous when not operated properly.” Minghao nodded, wide eyed. “Duly noted,” he said. “Is there another way downstairs then?” Minghao asked. Klaus gave him a surprised look.

“I’d like to see everything,” Minghao added. Klaus nodded. “I’m sure, sir,” he explained. “But you have more than a day to do so,” he continued. “How about you focus on relaxing today and tomorrow you can tackle the basement?” Minghao stared at Klaus but conceded. “I suppose the basement could wait,” he said softly. “Good. Dinner should be ready soon,” Klaus added, giving Minghao a nod and turning on his heel in the direction of the kitchens.

Dinner was a private affair as Minghao sat at the formal dining room alone. After eating, he returned to his room where the maids showed him exactly where they stored everything and even packed his luggage away. He thanked them and called it a night, getting ready for and settling down into the oversized bed.

Falling asleep in a new environment was always difficult no matter how comfortable things seemed and only after tossing and turning for hours did Minghao finally manage to drift into a dreamless slumber.

The following morning, he was woken by Renate. He cleaned up, dressed, and had dinner before he decided to explore the rest of the house, starting with the upper floors. He made a mental note of which rooms he wanted to renovate before finally being given a set of keys; a skeleton key for all the interior doors, a key for the exterior doors, a key to the storage sheds and garages, and a key for the attic which coincidentally also worked for the basement.

Minghao was more than pleased to be allowed to finally inspect the basement and Klaus had been right. It was a storage place for old furniture, all coated in a thick layer of dust, with cobwebs in every corner. As Minghao worked with some of the estate workers to shift the furniture aside he discovered something no one had mentioned to him. A massive vault door.

When asked, Klaus and Renate admitted they knew of the existence of the vault but that they didn’t know what was inside it. Neither also claimed to have knowledge of a combination. Minghao stood in front of the door for hours, trying to figure out the combination, trying several different ones but none of them seemed to work.

Days passed by and he grew more and more restless at not being able to open the vault. While inspecting the library for a book to occupy his time, he found a bright blue book, a copy of On Blue Water by Edmondo de Amicis. It was placed amongst a shelf of brown bindings and looked oddly out of place. Minghao walked over, inspecting the book and carefully removing it from the shelf.

He flipped through the pages, finding blue ink circling parts in the book. Starting from the first instance, he saw the number eighty-seven. The next was forty-two, followed by seven, ninety-nine, sixty-three, and finally four. He walked over to the desk, grabbing a pen from the stand and a blank piece of paper as he wrote the numbers down, taking into consideration the arrows drawn below each number.

When he was done, he returned the book to the shelf he found it and quickly made his way downstairs to the vault door. He followed the combination, hoping it would be correct and when he heard the click, he nearly cheered in relief. He lifted the handle, releasing the mechanism holding the door shut and pulled it open. Whatever he had been prepared to find beyond the metal door, it was not this.

Inside the vast vault was a collection unlike anything he’d seen. A collection of art. As he realized what he’d stumbled upon, he shut the door quickly and headed upstairs to seek out either Klaus or Renate. He needed to make a long distance call.

When you received the call from Germany, you could hardly believe it. A colleague of yours called to explain he had suggested your name to a potential client. Someone had just unearthed a rather large collection in an estate in the Bavarian Alps and needed an expert eye to evaluate and appraise the pieces. They were willing to pay handsomely as well as fund your trip from Portugal, where you currently called home.

You jumped at the chance to set your own price and also for travel to the remote location in Germany. The trip was long, arduous and by the end, you wanted nothing more than to never step foot on a train or ship again. You arrived in Innsbruck, Austria after taking train after train in Italy and that was only after taking a ship from Lisbon through the strait of Gibraltar into the mediterranean and to the Italian capital of Rome. You still had a drive from Innsbruck to the remote estate in the mountains but a car ride where you could sleep off your trip was more than welcome.

You woke up as the sun was setting, the car climbing into the mountains and you could see the valley below was bathed in shadow from the sun setting behind the crest of the mountains behind you as the car turned, following the curve in the road. A tunnel of trees lined the road, wind starting to whip violently as the car drove on and soon the forest opened up to show a massive mansion nestled in the mountains.

It was impressive with the dark storm clouds looming overhead, the light from the sun blocked by the mountain to your left yet golden rays of light hit the clouds behind the estate, making them look ever so darker as the car pulled up next to a blue Roadmaster.

You opened your door, refusing to wait any longer. A bed inside the estate was yours and you were ready to collapse into it and sleep off your travel. The driver unpacked your things, setting them down by the back of the car as the front door opened. A stern looking older woman greeted you, introducing herself as Renate. She had one of the young men from the garage carrying your things and welcomed you to the estate, guiding you inside.

The foyer was grand and dark with white tile flooring. The door to your right was open, displaying a few coats hanging up in what you surmised was the coat room. The door to your right was shut. As the door closed behind you with a loud click, you walked further into the house. “Your rooms have been drawn for you upstairs,” Renate said, guiding you towards the stairs.

You followed her up the sweeping staircase, looking overhead and taking in the details of the intricate and massive chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Once on the landing, you followed her down one of the halls to a door which she opened for you. “This will be your room for the duration of your stay,” Renate explained. “Your things will be brought up to your room and the maids will unpack your things,” she explained. “I will take you to meet the owner of the house now.”

You followed her back down the hall to the stairs as a door opened, revealing an elevator and the driver bringing your luggage upstairs. You continued down the steps to the ground floor and followed Renate through another hallway to a door where she knocked before opening it. “Sir, there’s a Miss Y/N here. She’s just arrived,” she announced, stepping aside and gesturing for you to enter.

Inside the room was a dark parlor decorated and furnished in the Victorian style. It was a cozy room, a massive fireplace with a roaring fire took up a great deal of wall space with built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. Sitting in front of the fireplace was a seating area, two couches facing one another with a low table between them. Perched on one of the couches was a young man.

He had reddish brown hair, a slender build and was currently immersed in a book he held. At the mention of your name, he looked up and your breath caught in your throat when his gaze met yours. His eyes were red and orange, like fire. The pupils in the middle were vertical slits. “Perfect,” he said, snapping the book shut and setting it down on the table.

Renate gave a curtsey before exiting the room and shutting the door, leaving you alone with the man who now stood before you. He had his hands tucked into his pockets. He wore a simple black turtleneck under a thicker sweater with a v-neck. His trousers were a medium brown and made of what looked to be tweed. He wore simple brown plain toe derby shoes to complete the look. 

“Based on Renate’s introduction, I can assume you are Y/F/N Y/L/N?” he asked, a neutral expression on his face. You nodded slowly. “And you are?” you asked, walking forward, intent on shaking his hand. “Minghao,” he answered as you held out your hand. Xu Minghao,” he added, taking your hand and shaking it briefly. “I assume you know why you’re here?” he asked and you nodded once more.

“For my expertise,” you answered. “I doubt you’d  invite me here based on my good looks,” you joked. Minghao let out a chuckle, returning his hand to his pocket. “So,” you said, looking around the room. “Where is this collection?” Minghao smiled again, gesturing for you to take a seat on the couch across from him. You did so as he sat back down.

“Before we get into the thick of it so to speak, I’d like to set your payment, something you agree is fair and we can sign off on,” he explained. You nodded, narrowing your eyes. “My usual rate is a twenty percent cut of the collection, were you to sell it,” you explained. “Only twenty?” Minghao asked, tilting his head. “The more priceless a collection, the more money I get,” you added.

“If your collection is only worth a million, I would get two-hundred thousand. That’s a pretty fair price for evaluating and appraising the pieces. Especially with the amount of research I end up doing,” you said as Minghao nodded along. “I understand that,” he explained, leaning back against the couch. “I think what you do is worth more,” he added. “I’m willing to go up to thirty percent.”

Your brows rose, eyes widening. “Thirty percent? Goodness, you’re generous,” you said, your lips pulling back into a smirk. Minghao mirrored your expression. “So we’re in agreement?” he asked. “Thirty percent?” You nodded in response. “Sounds reasonable to me,” you answered. “Good,” Minghao replied. “Dinner should be ready,” he added. “How about you get changed and join me?”

You returned to your room, changing out of your clothes and into something more appropriate for dinner. You returned downstairs to the foyer where you were greeted by a stern looking man you had yet to meet. “I’m Klaus,” he introduced himself with a small bow. “Dinner is being served and Mr. Xu has asked me to escort you to the dining room.”

You followed him through the halls until you reached a door which he then opened and gestured for you to enter. Inside was a large dining room with a table large enough to seat 12. Sitting at the head of the table was Minghao. When you entered, he stood up quickly as Klaus exited, shutting the door behind him. “Please,” Minghao said, gesturing to the seat adjacent to him.

You walked over, thanking him and moved to sit. Minghao was quick to pull the chair for you and move it again when you sat down before returning to his chair. You thanked him as the door behind you opened and a small service staff entered, setting a few platters down on the table in front of you and Minghao. “I asked them to make something new,” he explained as they removed the lids, showing a vast array of dishes that all looked amazing.

“Something with goat,” he added as he inspected the dishes. “Please,” he continued, gesturing to the food. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” You thanked him, digging into the food in front of you, not realizing that you were ravenous until the food was in front of you.

Silence fell over the room as you ate, no conversation was being had until Minghao spoke up. “So you traveled from Portugal?” he asked as he cut his meat. You nodded, wiping your mouth before speaking. “Yes,” you answered. “I had an apartment just outside Lisbon.” Minghao looked up at you.

“Had?” he asked, picking up on your use of past tense. “Yes,” you answered. “I travel for work and often only rent places for as long as I’m there,” you explained. “The job in Lisbon lasted for almost a year,” you continued. “The collection I was tasked with evaluating was massive and ended up being worth a whopping eighty-seven million pounds,” you added. Minghao’s eyes widened. “Eighty-seven million pounds? Good gracious,” he said softly. “And you got twenty percent of that?”

You smiled, picking up your glass of wine. “It’s not a bad business to be in,” you explained. “It certainly isn’t,” Minghao said with a chuckle as you took a sip of wine. “My father was an appraiser,” you said suddenly. But he never made it a lucrative business like I did. We struggled a lot and he would disappear for months on end, never so much as sending a letter or calling,” you continued.

“My mother, God rest her soul, worked 12 hour shifts at the local textile factory just to make sure we had food on the table.” Minghao kept his eyes on you as you spoke. “As soon as I was able, I started working. Mainly bookkeeping and typing,” you continued. “I was able to put myself through college with a combination of working and scholarships,” you said with a smile. “I immediately made a name for myself, assessing art collections left and right in America until my first overseas assignment in London.” 

Minghao couldn’t help but smile. It was clear you took great pride in your work. Your smile, nostalgic, slowly fell as a memory came into the forefront of your mind. “That’s where I was living when the war broke out,” you said, a bitter tone in your voice. 

Minghao couldn’t help but feel a similar anger and hatred towards the war. He’d been living in China at the time, deep in a remote area and away from the cities for protection. The war hadn’t hit him but you, living in London, he could only imagine how it affected you. The destruction and danger lurking around every corner.

“I worked as an air raid warden during the first few years but in the last couple, I was promoted to evacuation officer,” you explained. “It was stressful, being in the midst of all the bombings and trying to keep my cool and help direct evacuees,” you continued. “But I learned a lot about the world and myself in those years.” Minghao took a sip of his wine. “I can only imagine what you went through,” he said softly, making you look towards him.

“I was hidden away in China,” he continued. “We didn’t see much war where we were,” he added. You smiled sadly. “China is a pretty big place,” you replied. “I’m sure places like Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong saw most of the action,” you added. Minghao nodded. “I’m sure they did. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Especially so far from home.”

You shook your head. “Home is wherever I rest my head,” you replied. “My family is all gone now. It’s just me.” Minghao felt his heart sink slightly. He knew what it was like to be alone in a sense but he still had family that was alive, he was just estranged from them so it wasn’t entirely the same feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied but you smiled, dismissing his apology. “It’s all right now,” you answered.

“Less to worry about,” you added as you picked up your utensils. “Dinner is delicious by the way,” you added, changing the subject. Though you maintained this calm, unbothered air, Minghao could see right through it. One of his many talents as a draconian descendant.

He wouldn’t push it though. It wasn’t his place. If you wanted to talk about it, you would.

The next couple days, Minghao showed you the house so you could familiarize yourself with the layout. On the third day, he finally took you to the basement, opening the vault and showing you the contents. As you entered, carefully examining the works with gloves, you cataloged things slowly.

“So,” you said, returning to Minghao who was standing outside the vault. “I have good news,” you said softly, lowering your clipboard. “Everything is labeled and there is a box full of documents, which I can only assume are the auction and purchase records. Whoever owned this collection took great care in keeping records which makes my job much easier,” you said with a smile.

“Lunch is almost ready,” Minghao replied. “Shall we eat first and then you can go over the records after?” You nodded, smiling at him. “Sounds superb.”

After a quick lunch of soup and sandwiches, you returned to work, pulling out the record boxes and going through them, matching the papers to the items. “This is incredible,” you breathed, pouring over the records. “Not only are the dates of purchases listed but the prices are also listed. This is an incredibly well documented collection.” Minghao smiled as you flipped through page after page.

It took a few days but you finally had a partial appraisal for the ceramics. “Two hundred thousand?” Minghao asked when you showed him your numbers. “Two hundred and forty-three thousand, six-hundred and fifty-seven to be precise,” you answered. Minghao let out a laugh. “And that’s just the ceramics?” he asked to which you nodded. “I expect that to be the lowest number of this collection,” you answered.

Your assumption was proven to be correct when you came back with the values for the other categories.

Minghao stood, reading over your numbers as you sipped whiskey from a crystal glass. “Are these numbers accurate?” Minghao asked. You nodded. “I’m nothing if not accurate,” you replied. “Are they lower than your projection?” you asked, suddenly worried about his response.

During your time at the estate, you’d taken a liking to Minghao, something you normally never allowed to happen with clients. It was easy to like him. He was handsome, charming, well-spoken, intelligent, and incredibly witty. He was good company during your meals and late at night when you were working on your estimates. You’d become very close with him, especially after he told you about his parentage and his nature as a half dragon. You’d never met someone like him before.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re higher,” he added. “I expected a much lower number.” You smiled at him, setting your glass down and getting up to join him, taking the paper from him. “A great number of these items date back as far as the 8th century,” you explained. 

“Like this one,” you said, pointing to an item on the list. “A silk print from eighth century China,” you said. “Or this one. A nineteenth century watercolor. There’s only one of these in existence. And this thirteenth century oil painting? The art community thought this was lost forever.”

“A lot of these items are worth even more because of the war,” you continued, handing the paper back to him and picking up your glass, downing the rest of the amber liquid. “A lot of art was lost, destroyed by the Third Reich. The Nazi stole a lot of art and we’re still trying to recover it. Most of the stolen art may never be recovered,” you continued.

Minghao held the paper in his hands but his eyes were on you. “A lot goes into appraising,” you explained. “Condition, rarity, age, authenticity, subject matter, and size are a few of the things I look at when appraising art collections. Many of these items are unique and only a few versions of them exist,” you continued, moving to the bar cart to pour yourself another drink.

“And every single one of these artists or sculptors are dead,” you continued, popping the top off the decanter and pouring more liquid into your glass. “Which makes these even more valuable. They can never be replicated by the original artist.” You placed the lid back and turned to face Minghao, holding the glass in your hand. He was still staring at you, a look of something you couldn’t place in his eyes.

He set the paper down and stalked forward slowly to where you stood until he had you caged in against the bar cart. “You know,” he said softly, eyes dipping down to look at your lips. “You’re incredibly sexy when you talk about this,” he said, tilting his head to the side. You swallowed nervously. “When I talk about art?” you asked, feeling a heat settling in the pit of your stomach.

“No,” he replied, taking your glass and drinking it in one go before setting the empty glass on the cart. “When you talk about something you’re passionate about.” He leaned in closer, lips inches from yours. You felt a shiver run up your spine, desire mixing with the sexual tension that hung in the air.

“I’m passionate about a lot of things,” you said, one of your hands moving up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Oh?” Minghao asked. “Like what?” He was teasing you now, the smirk on his face gave it away. He wanted to see how far he could take this. How far he could push you before you gave into him.

“Art, cuisine, fashion,” you said softly. “Photography, travel… sex.” 

The next moment, Minhao closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours as his hands moved to your waist. You kissed him back with as much hunger, hand grabbing him desperately. Your lips parted, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss as you felt one of his hands move down, cupping your ass and squeezing. Minghao pulled back, looking into your eyes, breathless as he spoke. “Maybe we should—”

“Take this somewhere else?” you asked, hopefully finishing his sentence. He nodded, pulling you into another kiss. “Your room or mine?” you asked as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. “Mine’s closer,” he murmured, his long fingers swiftly undoing the tie at the top of your blouse..

“Lead the way,” you said, pushing him back playfully. Minghao’s fingers instead closed around your wrist, pulling you from the bar cart and dragging you from the parlor, across the foyer to a pair of double doors you’d seen and knew was probably his room. When he parted the doors, he quickly pulled you into the room before shutting the doors.

You only got a brief look around the room before he was on you, kissing you and pulling at the buckle of your skirt belt, quickly undoing it and unzipping the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. You stepped out of the mess of fabric, letting him pull your green blouse off and tossing it to the floor with your skirt leaving you in your lingerie.

You felt slightly self conscious under his gaze as his eyes wandered, taking in your figure. You slowly moved back, taking a seat on the edge of the bed still in your heels. Minghao moved over, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek, lips trailing down your neck to your chest. He glanced up, meeting your gaze before he started kissing his way down your stomach as he slowly knelt down.

He worked slowly, removing your shoes, one by one. You glanced up, eyes widening as you caught sight of your reflection in a massive mirror that stood across from where you sat. “My, that’s quite a mirror,” you said softly as Minghao continued to remove your shoes, humming in response.

Once your shoes were dealt with, Minghao’s hand slid up your legs, undoing the clips of your garter belt and then sliding your stockings down your legs, dropping both of them on the floor with your shoes before he got back up, climbing onto the bed over you as you scooted back. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, hands moving to slide your garter belt off along with your panties.

You let out a gasp as you felt two of his fingers spread your lips, finding your clit and muttering softly under his breath about how wet you felt. You tried to say something, to bite back, but your words failed you as he drew his finger in a languid circle around the sensitive nub.

You whined, hips bucking as he took his time, teasing you with long, drawn out massages. He chuckled, kissing down your chest and stomach again. He settled between your thighs, moving his fingers and pushing them into you slowly as his tongue descended onto your clit, tasting you with a groan.

Your thighs tried to close on his head but he pulled back, lightly smacking the inside of your thigh with his free hand. “Keep them open,” he growled before going right back into it. You moaned loudly, unrestrained, quickly reaching up to cover your mouth. Minghao reached up, grabbing your wrist and pulled your hand from your face.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want everyone to hear how good I make you feel.” You nodded slowly, moving your hand down to the sheets and gripping them as Minghao returned his attention to your clit, his fingers moving inside you. He pumped them at a steady pace, stopping to curl them up and making your back arch as you moaned again and again.

“That’s it,” he said softly, watching as your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. “Does it feel good?” he asked. You nodded with a whimper. “Yes,” you breathed. “F-feels so good!” Minghao smirked as he continued to curl his fingers, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. “You gonna be good and come for me, sweetheart?” he asked. Your thighs had started to tremble, the tension in your body ready to snap at any moment. You whined in response.

“I need to hear you say it, bao bei,” he murmured, drawing out his motions, making them as slow as possible. “Yes!” you cried. “M’gonna cum!” Minghao resumed the same quick pace, rubbing against your walls as he drove you over the edge and your orgasm crashed down on you. You gasped, spewing out a slew of curses mixed with his name as he helped you ride out your high.

“Good,” he said softly. “Good girl.” You attempted to push his hand away when it became too much and sensing what you were silently asking for, Minghao removed his fingers, giving you a break. He cleaned his fingers, getting up from the bed. You heard him move around the room but were too exhausted to open your eyes and see what he was doing.

He returned to the foot of the bed and when nothing else happened, you finally opened your eyes and saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He held something in his hands. “I’d like to ask your permission for something,” he started.

You looked at the item in his hands and noticed it was a camera. You looked up to meet his fiery gaze. “I’d like to photograph you,” he continued. “Like this,” he added, gesturing at your posture. You pushed yourself up. “You want to photograph me naked?” you asked, slightly amused. Minghao chuckled, lowering his gaze to his camera. “No,” he replied, shaking his head before looking back up.

“I want to photograph you in the middle of sex.”

To say you were surprised was an understatement but you weren’t entirely turned off the idea. “And these would be for your eyes only?” you asked softly. Minghao nodded as he prepared the camera. “I plan on turning one of the bedrooms into a dark room,” he explained, raising the camera to look through the viewfinder and pressing the shutter button, before lowering it and smiling at you.

You leaned back, spreading your legs. “How do you want me?” you asked playfully as he raised the camera again, snapping another picture. You laughed and sat up, moving to the edge of the bed and grabbing at his belt loops, pulling him closer to undo his pants, starting with his belt. You unzipped his pants, pulling them down enough to pull his cock free from the confines of his underwear.

You wasted no time in taking the head into your mouth, surprising him into letting out a groan, his head falling back, exposing his long neck. You took more of him in your mouth, keeping your tongue flat against the underside as you took him further. You heard the snap of the camera and pulled back until just the tip was in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head.

You heard another snap followed by the automatic wind of the camera and kept going, each time taking him further and further into your mouth as you drew him to his full length and hardness. “Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” you heard him groan, snapping another photo. You pulled back, moving your hand up and down the shaft and looked up at him.

“You gonna fuck me already?” you asked mischievously. Minghao tossed the camera onto the bed and pulled his sweater over his head, discarding it on the floor before pulling off his shirt and adding it to the growing pile. You scooted back to the middle of the bed, removing your bra and tossing it aside as he climbed onto the bed, trailing wet kisses up your stomach, stopping to nip at the skin under your breast. His tongue brushed over your nipple, swirling around it before he continued up your chest, running his tongue over your skin.

At the junction of your neck and shoulder, he sank his teeth into your skin, making you cry out and your body jerk suddenly. He used your movement against you, moving closer and taking his cock in his hand. He guided the head to your folds, rutting against your for a moment before pushing into you, letting out a growl as your warm walls enveloped him.

He grabbed the camera from its resting spot and sat back, holding it up to snap a photograph, aiming the lens at the place where your bodies met. “Oh fuck,” you gasped as he thrusted into you, bottoming out and his cock nestling against your cervix. He snapped another picture of your nude body before tossing the camera aside once more and grabbing your hips.

He neither eased you into it or warned you but started a rough, brutal pace immediately, hips snapping forward and burying his cock into your cunt repeatedly. You cried out in both shock and pleasure at the intensity at which he started right away. Your fingers curled into the sheets, thighs spreading more as he pounded into you. “You’ll cum if you go too fast,” you mused, eyes fluttering shut as you felt him throb inside you.

He chuckled, a breathy sound as his grip on you tightened. “I have more stamina than that, beibei,” he said softly. He gave you another harsh thrust, enjoying the way your breasts bounced with each snap of his hips. The room was full of the sound of skin against skin and your moans. It almost drowned out the sound of the rain outside. Almost. 

Minghao slowed his pace before pulling out of you. You protested but he simply grabbed your hand and pulled you up as he shifted behind you, pushing you on to your hands and knees as he re-entered you from behind. You moaned, head dropping as he grabbed your hips, resuming that same merciless pace only now he was hitting even deeper.

“Look up,” he murmured in your ear. You did as he said, raising your head until you met the gaze of your own reflection. “Oh shit,” you gasped, walls clenching around him. He grabbed your chin, pressing his chest against your back as he leaned over you. “I want you to watch me fuck you,” he growled into your ear. “Watch yourself cum.” You moaned but maintained eye contact with him through the mirror. In the darkness of the room, his eyes glowed and he seemed even more dragon-like than before.

You pushed back, meeting his hips and thrusts with as much force as you could muster but you were getting weaker with each snap of his hips against your ass. His cock seemed to swell inside you or maybe it was your walls clamping down and not wanting to let go but he filled you so deliciously and with each rut, you were pushed closer and closer to your climax.

“That’s it,” Minghao said, his breath hot against your skin. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let go.” His freehand moved from your hip to between your thighs, working your clit in time with his thrusts as he propelled you over the edge. You came with a scream as a loud clap of thunder shook the house and the very mountain it stood on.

Minghao fucked you through it, chasing his own high as he finally released inside you, painting your walls in his hot thick cum. There was more of it than you could initially comprehend, filling your walls and no doubt every crevice of your womb. Pregnancy was the last thing on your mind and you moaned, pushing back onto him, milking him for every bit of cum he had.

“Careful sweetheart,” Minghao purred into your ear, moving his hand to your throat and holding it firmly but not squeezing. “We have all night,” he continued.  “I’m not done with you just yet.

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[dearmyloveleys]

binghe: we have a problem

mbj:

binghe: they keep saying that they’re missing an alternate form of myself

mbj:

binghe: you’re not worried???

mbj: what did they say

binghe: they said “I miss the wang luo” “me too”

mbj (flipping though his notes) *google voice*: the wang luo is a great scholar of the twenty first century, providing much information and entertainment to those who seek it. it enrages thousands and enlightens millions

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Insufficient Pt. 3 | Azriel/Eris x Reader

Summary: Your journey to Autumn Court doesn’t go exactly as planned, but you do pick up some entertaining company along the way, who also happens to be useful in getting you where you need to go.

Word Count: ~ 3.5k

Warnings: horse getting a bit scratched up, big scary monsters, rock juggling, allusions to abuse, platonic!lucien & reader, sassy luci, knife, blood

A/N: y’all I’m so sorry this is so late…school just started and I’ve also just started writing for cod too since I’ve been obsessing over it, so here’s some food for you guys, eat up<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

As it turned out, traveling was a lot more difficult than you had originally thought.

It wasn’t just getting on a horse and riding until night, starting a fire, and all that. Sure, you’d been around for a decent amount of time for a Fae, nothing close to centuries, but you still didn’t have much knowledge on things like that.

Most of your life had simply been with your family in the family home, spent in a warm house with plenty of food and water to spare. Not many hardships, nothing.

The first night you’d gone out had been rough.

Riding a horse for nearly six hours straight had made your thighs ache more than ever before, feeling as if someone had just beaten them with a rolling pin. Not to mention the fact that you hadn’t been able to get a decent fire going, so you’d eaten some cold dried meat in your pack, and curled up in a small den that was deserted by whatever animal had made it.

You were only on your second night when things already began going wrong. The woods were thick from where you were skirting the borders, tangy magic thick in the air from the protections most High Lords kept over their courts after Amarantha’s reign of terror. Your horse was tiring, sweat coating her mane, and your beads of sweat gathered on your forehead despite the chill of the night.

You slowly pulled the reigns back, slowing her to a stop when you got to a small clearing, before throwing a leg over and slipping off. Your knees nearly buckled when your feet hit the ground, sparks of pain flitting through them before fading slowly. The horse huffed, following as you led her by the reigns over to a little wall of stone in a mountain, a little roof provided by an overlook above. It looked relatively untouched.

Unbuckling the clasps and setting the mare free, though she never wandered far, somehow knowing better, you put the bridle down close to you.

Too tired to eat, you scooted backward, sitting slowly down as you resisted a groan with how your legs ached. Your eyelids felt heavy, and your body and movements were sluggish. Before you could even get a single coherent thought through your brain, you slipped into a deep sleep.

What must’ve been hours later, or at least felt like it, you drowsily opened your eyes when you heard the nervous nicker of your horse. Dark, splotchy figures stood nearly twenty feet away, concealed barely by trees. Maybe three of them.

They whispered and muttered quietly amongst themselves, sometimes in a language you couldn’t understand, other little English words snagging your mind. Inhuman eyes, two of them each, shifted your direction, and your eyes shut immediately.

Playing dead.

They must’ve bought it since they went back to their hushed whispers. Your mind, now fully alert and panicking, tried making sense of it. Maybe they were other travelers, like you? But outside of any court? They had looked at least 8 feet tall, thin, and cloaked in black that only served to remind you of the very male you were running from.

You heard your mare nicker again before a hoarse cry came out of it, and a scuffling sound. Your eyes opened almost involuntarily, being given a front-row view of the creatures, whatever they were, and their bony hands as they reached towards the poor animal, trying to drag it towards them as their shadowy maws opened. Whispers turned more excited.

Your body was frozen between shock and terror as you watched one of them grab the horse’s front legs, then back legs, both in different hands and begin pulling.

The horse cried out.

The hands pulled.

A disgusting ripping sound, but not from the horse.

From your dagger, embedded in one of the thing’s shadowy hands that were somehow physical, ripping the skin and flesh.

It hissed, dropping the horse, but the wound you’d made on it closed immediately as it flicked your dagger away.

You were at the horse’s side in less than a second, for some reason in a defensive position, lip curling to bare canines at the things. As you looked at the largest one dead in its cold eyes, a realization dawned on you.

Skinwalkers.

These things were skinwalkers.

It should’ve been obvious to you from the start. The dark but physical body, the dead, shining eyes, the giant frame, and clawed hands. It was then that you had another realization.

Skinwalkers didn’t eat horses. In fact, according to an old mythology book your grandmother had owned, they only ate humans. Then why-?

“A fine catch we’ve gotten ourselves..”

It said, tone between a hiss and a purr at the same time, mingling in a sound that made every cell in your body want to run and never look back. If a direct stab hadn’t done anything to kill or even harm it, then what would it take to kill one, if not the three to four that were in the group?

“Not very clever,”

One hissed in a hushed tone, and another peered down at you, dead eyes hungry.

“I told you it would work. They’re always so attached to those little animals..”

Another whispered, poking the horse, now cowering against the stone, looking for an opening to run although there was none. It pawed at the ground, stomping and huffing as if it would help.

A trap. It had been a trap, and you’d been stupid enough to fall for it. Of course.

“Get on with it, I'm starving.”

The last of the group hissed, jabbing the largest one with a pointed finger. The largest one bared its perfectly midnight black teeth and stalked closer to you. Backing up, you spotted a flash of movement to the very left, behind the group of skinwalkers.

Too fast to be a human or animal. Too slow to be another skinwalker. Which meant either it was Fae, or another creature waiting its turn to eat you, and you were praying for the former.

Between a few trees, a small face came into view, along with golden orange hair, a scarred face, a mechanical eye, and dark clothing. You tried not to stare, so the creatures wouldn’t notice him.

“It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to smell their fear, let me have a moment-“

The biggest spat, and they then began bickering in their unearthly tones, creating a temporary way of distraction. The male in the trees jerked his head towards your right, and you gave a confused face, turning to your right. All it was was a pile of big rocks. He sighed silently, mouthing something to you.

You couldn’t lip-read for the life of you.

After asking “What?” silently three times in a row, you finally understood what he was saying.

“Distract them.” He mouthed, clearly agitated as he frowned, giving you a judgmental look. Sassy for a male, this one was.

The creatures seemed quite distracted amongst themselves at the moment, but you knew once that ended, everything would be over for you. You needed a distraction, and their hushed whispers were getting less frenzied, quieter, and slower. They agreed on something.

Your mind rushed to find something, anything and thought back to the pile of rocks the male had originally jerked his chin to.

You slowly moved towards it, eventually reaching it, before the creatures came to a final consensus.

“No, no, you don’t get to escape.” One hissed through its teeth as it grabbed the back of your shirt, dragging you back in front of the largest one, but instead of slaughtering you, they were left dumbfounded when you began throwing rocks up in the air, catching them, and throwing them again.

Juggling. You were juggling the rocks.

“What is it doing?”

The smallest asked the largest in a slightly concerned whisper, or as concerned as a skinwalker could be, and the giant shadowy figure only silently watched.

“Is it diseased?”

A second asked in a hushed whisper, poking at you with a finger, only for you to yelp and hop away on one foot, unable to regain your balance while continuing to juggle the rocks, meaning you were now constantly hopping on one foot.

Juggling was a trick you’d originally learned to impress some of your younger cousins and nephews and whatnot, and mostly forgotten, but it had somehow kicked back into you at the last moment.

Eventually, though, they continued poking at you, and you dropped a rock on one’s finger, before deciding to fully commit and hurling the two remaining ones at the shadowy beasts while falling flat on your ass.

They hissed, swatting them away, but only getting halfway through the motion before a giant blaze of flame consumed them, trapping them in a burst of golden light, and then they were just…gone.

Not even a pile of ashes, no bones, no remains, nothing.

However, the male from earlier was there, walking through the now-black grass, offering you a hand while giving you an odd look. You took it, and he sighed, offering his name. It sounded mildly familiar, probably because you’d heard snippets of the bond between him and Elain before, but it was a topic most people avoided in Night Court. His hair meant he was Autumn Court, no doubt.

“Lucien.”

He said simply, and you swallowed, immediately going to your horse’s side and checking her.

“Y/N.”

You replied, hands smoothing over your horse’s coat, trying to soothe the spooked animal as it nervously nickered and scraped its hooves against the ground, bringing up dirt.

“That was certainly one way of…distracting them.”

He said in a tone that barely held back that he thought you were insane, but also mildly entertaining.

“You looked at the rocks, didn’t you?”

You said, giving him a scowl, and he paused a moment, raising a brow, before shaking his head.

“I meant for you to go pull some out to unwedge the boulder up there to flatten them.”

He said, sass evident in his dry tone. You paused, glancing up at where you’d been trapped, and sure enough, there was a giant boulder above some of the rocks you’d used to juggle. Embarrassment heated your cheeks as you swallowed, eyes shifting back to your horse.

“Oh.”

He snorted at the reply, rather undignified for a pretty boy such as himself, shaking his head, before walking over to your horse as well and assisting in checking her.

“Only a few little nicks, nothing terrible.”

He said, and you gave him a look.

“A few nicks is terrible. Imagine if you were a horse and you had a few nicks.”

You replied, scowling once again at him, getting quite protective over the horse that technically wasn’t even yours. You’d only just stolen her a few days ago.

He gave you a flat gaze, before blinking.

“I do have a few nicks.”

A few seconds passed in silence, before he pursed his lips, sighed through his nostrils, and tapped the scar on his face with one finger.

“Ohh….. That is not what I meant.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“Shut up.”

“I just saved your life and this is how you’re thanking me?”

“I’m starting to wish you hadn’t.”

An exasperated sigh from him again, as those seemed to be his favorite form of expression.

“Why are you even out here?”

“Why are you out here?”

He gave you an annoyed look, something akin to almost a pout on his lips.

“I’m an emissary. It’s my job to travel between courts.”

You raised a brow, hand running over your horse’s dark coat.

“Why by foot when you can easily winnow? Going by foot outside of the court’s boundaries at that.”

More annoyance crossed his features before his hand went to rub the bridge of his nose.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“So are you.”

“Just answer this, where are you going?”

You took a moment of pause, trying to consider whether Lucien was a man to be trusted, looking him up and down. When he raised a brow, you considered it a sure.

“Autumn Court.”

A well-covered-up sour look crossed his face.

“Why there, of all places?”

“I have people there I want to see, and other people I don’t want seeing me. So I’m going to Autumn Court. Using this way.”

He looked at you like you were stupid. You were not stupid.

“And you’re still taking this way?”

“Yes.”

“After almost being devoured by skinwalkers?”

“Yes.”

He frowned, hand going to run through his russet locks as he looked to be thinking.

“I could take you there, I suppose. We’ll still have to travel by foot, seeing as I used all my magic saving you.”

A slightly dirty look in your direction for him having to have used all of his magic just to save your sorry ass. You only gave a little frown, and a reluctant sigh as if you’d accept the offer. And you would. It wasn’t like you had any other choice, but if he was going to be all snarky about it, you would match it.

“Guess we’ve got a new travel buddy.”

You muttered to your horse, patting it on the head.

~

Your new travel buddy was surprisingly useful, as it turns out. He’d taught you how to forage, what was poisonous and what wasn’t, and what mushrooms you could eat if cooking them well enough (you brought home deadly mushrooms 90% of the time but you looked so happy when he said “good job” that he pretended they were normal and exchanged them for edible ones when you weren’t looking).

You were not meant for hunting, your arm was too unsteady to hold a bow well, fingers kept slipping off the string, the arrow wouldn’t stay straight…it was a mess. Your knife usage wasn’t much better, but you at least got one rabbit over nearly four days.

He hadn’t shared much with you other than his name, but you’d gathered that he was a Vanserra, Emissary for Night Court, and he was always talking about some band of friends named Vassa and Jurian. When you asked, he wouldn’t elaborate. Something about a Band of Outcasts.

He helped make the fire with his magic, and passed out at night, going into a deep sleep to recover what he’d spent of his energy that day, leaving you with the first watch.

Not many incidents occurred after the skinwalker one, but more than once you’d heard twigs snapping when they shouldn’t be, or bushes and leaves rustling. That was usually when you started adding more logs and thatch to the fire, and the noises quickly stopped after that.

You shared the food and drink with him, and he gratefully took it, most of the time both of you eating and discussing childhood meals you’d had to pass the time.

“My mother used to make the spiciest chili I’ve ever had, I couldn’t get it down without crying.”

“Seriously? Isn’t she like, a High Lady, though?”

“She might be a High Lady, but she’s a mean cook, and has a concerning tolerance for spice.”

“Damn. My grandparents make dishes all the time. Potato or tomato soups…lots of soups, but sometimes they’ll make this delicious curry, too.”

“Is the potato soup not bland?”

“No, they like…sauté onions and add salts and peppers, all that. It’s delicious.”

“Maybe I’ll get potato soup someday, just to try it.”

You had given a crooked grin at that, one he couldn’t help but smile at. You reminded him a lot of his younger brothers when they’d still been mere teenagers, except you were older, but still seemingly just as carefree and young at heart.

Your horse was carefree as well, mainly in the manner she didn’t care about anything you told her to do.

“Just lift your foot, it’s not that hard.”

You seethed, trying to pull her hoof up to pick whatever dirt and rocks had gotten into it out, so she didn’t get any sort of infection or injuries from it. However, she huffed and refused to do so much as to bend her knees. Stubborn thing.

Lucien strolled over, dropping a pile of gathered wood before observing the scene before him. He took the sharpened stick you were trying to use as a hoof-pick right out of your hands, and with the most feline ease you'd ever seen before, easily got the mare to lift her hoof, and he cleaned it out.

You stared, blinking, internally furious. He smirked lazily as he glanced over at you. The horse huffed again, this time more relaxed, and he looked a bit more curious then.

“What’s her name?”

Your mind blanked on that, you standing there silently like an idiot, before replying.

“I never really named her, considering I’m immortal and she’s going to die someday. Thought it would be better not to get attached.”

A lie. Not a full lie, but you’d really just forgotten to name her, and accidentally gotten attached along the way. Lucien raised a brow.

“You seemed awful attached when you attacked an eight-foot-tall-“

“Hush.”

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed, moving on to another hoof to clean.

“You should name her. Might make her listen to you better?”

He suggested, and you sighed.

“I don’t even know what to name her. I’m not great with naming things. One of the many reasons I’m never having kids.”

His lips twitched into a small smile at that, but quickly faded into a more thoughtful, deep expression, as if thinking hard about something.

A silence passed over you both as he worked, and you idly watched, toying with your hair, not sure and also not very willing to do anything else. He eventually spoke up when he finished cleaning out her hooves, looking the horse over. Her little nicks had been patched up by you and him days ago.

“Jesmind.”

“What?”

“Name her Jesmind.”

“Okay…any particular reason why?”

He shook his head at that, as if not going to talk about it any further.

“She just…reminds me of someone, is all.”

You raised a brow but didn’t push. Not when he went to go walk out into the woods, and you walked over to your dark mare, brushing your hand over her muzzle and looking into her defiant eyes.

“Jesmind, huh?”

You mused, testing how the name sounded on your tongue.

“Blink twice if you think it should be your name.”

The horse just watched, blinking once slowly, and when you made a flicking motion with your fingers, it blinked again, looking annoyed.

“Yeah, it’s perfect. Confirmed by the horse herself.”

You said, grinning to nobody in particular as you began walking away, trying to find Lucien, only to almost fall face first off of a cliff edge. One hand grabbed the back of the jacket you were now wearing, pulling you back up.

“We’re here.”

He spoke grimly. This place, Autumn Court, didn’t hold fond memories for him. You could tell. And from what you’d seen and heard of his family and court…you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d done awful things to him. There was a reason he’d run from here so many years ago, after all.

“How am I going to get down there?”

You asked, looking down the large cliff. It was too steep for Jesmind to go down, even trying to go on the sides of it wouldn’t work.

“I’ll winnow you both,”

He said all too casually. You blinked slowly, turning to him.

“I thought you couldn’t winnow, that you needed to regenerate your magic.”

He gave you an amused smile.

“I had more than enough magic to winnow you and your mare the first time we met.”

Your fury slowly began to rise as you gaped at this male in front of you.

“Then why-“

“I was bored, and you seemed like entertaining company.”

Before you could even muster a reply, he gave you a pat on the back, walking back to camp and returning with your horse in one hand and your things in another. He handed you your bag, which you slung around your shoulder, and you took the reigns of Jesmind.

“Will I see you again?”

You asked, and he gave a lazy, but genuine smile this time.

“I’ll never stop annoying you, don’t worry.”

You huffed a bit of laughter.

“That’s a relief.”

His hand went to your shoulder again, and the tangy iron scent of magic hit you once again like it had in the very beginning days of the journey.

“A word of warning,”

He then said, voice now serious.

“Stay out of trouble, and stay away from my brothers. The High Fae of Autumn are not people you want to get caught up with.”

You gave a nod, and in a flash of golden light and fire like a rising sun, you were then in the bustling streets of a city, no Lucien in sight, looking more than a little ghetto.

A horse in one hand, bag hanging from the other, wearing clothes that were best described as hunting clothes rather than the proper clothing most wore, you began walking, the sun so bright and heavy that you could barely see.

Jesmind nickered, pulling to the side of the street.

Just quick enough for you to walk straight into the chest of none other than Eris Vanserra.

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[dem-obscure-imagines]

You're So Timeless | Vol. 2

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year. 

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. This is PART 2. Part 1 is linked HERE.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female 

The Recovery Period

When you woke up, Steve was there sitting in the infirmary, sleeping. His head was leaning back against the wall, snores deep and quiet. It was dark. You weren’t sure how long it had been. You blinked a few times and took a breath, your chest protesting when you did.

The monitor you were hooked to started beeping loudly and Steve awoke, meeting your eyes. He called for Bruce and stood from his chair, approaching the side of your bed. You reached for his hand and he gave it to you immediately, fingers latching onto yours, as though to prove you were awake, that you were alive.

Bruce arrived and gave you the rundown, the grenade, which you remembered, the fact that you had a cracked rib and quite a bit of bruising, but that you had gotten very lucky otherwise. He prescribed you some pain meds and six weeks of rest with a brace before he’d reevaluate.

And at first, it wasn’t bad. Sam played a lot of Fortnite with you. You were pretty good at it, surprisingly. Tony had a pretty extensive collection of movies and you had every snack you could ever dream of. You got some reading done, you picked up crochet, and everyone spent a lot of time entertaining you.

Bucky introduced himself. Steve had talked about him a bit before you met him, but the man standing in front of you was a lot quieter than you’d expected, more timid. You figured he’d open up more once he was convinced none of you were scared of him. And you weren’t. The dangerous part of him was the Winter Soldier, something Wanda had been working with him to unwind from the depths of his mind.

After a few days, when your pain had toned down a bit, Natasha sat you on a stool in the kitchen and gave your hair a trim, getting rid of the singed ends. Wanda got into the undercover stash in one of the bathrooms and found a few bottles of hair bleach and some blue dye. Steve found the three of you in there with hair shears, and a bowl of mixed blue dye that Wanda was painting onto your freshly bleached ends.

He had no complaints. After all, blue was your color. It was quite a bit shorter, too, but he thought it suited you. He thought everything suited you, to be honest.

You did some online shopping in those first few weeks. Your Avengers allowance was no joke and you had barely touched any of it yet, which meant a new reading chair was well within the budget, a cool round one than you could hang from the ceiling. It was Steve that found you pushing the giant box down the hall when it arrived.

“Hey! Woah, are you supposed to be pushing that?”

You froze, turning to face him. “Maaaaybe.”

“Alright, move.” He chuckled, rolling up his sleeves and taking over, pushing it down the hall to your room. “What is this anyway?”

“New reading chair. It’s really cool, it hangs from the ceiling.”

“And you were going to do that part, too?”

“I was gonna figure it out. Maybe use my powers for that part.”

“Ah, right. Forgot about those.”

“Me too, honestly. Haven’t used them much lately.”

“For good reason.” He straightened out, the box now sitting in the middle of your room. “How are you feeling, better?”

“A lot better. Still a little sore, but my bruises are starting to clear up.” You motioned to the brace you had to wear around your middle. “Might be out of this thing before six weeks if I can help it.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see what Bruce says.”

“Of course.” You nodded, using a pair of scissors to slice the tape along the top of the box.

Steve opened it up and started taking parts out. You reached for the instructions and sat down next to him on the floor, familiarizing yourself with the process. It didn’t look too difficult and it was only a few pieces of hardware.

“I’m gonna go grab some of Tony’s tools.” He told you, walking towards Tony’s workroom. He returned a few minutes later with a drill and a screwdriver. “Alright, where are we starting?”

“Okay, so we attach the chair part to the support chains, and then those get screwed into the ceiling. Like this.” You showed him the diagram.

“I’m no handyman, but I think we can figure it out.” He grinned, scooting a little closer to you.

“Oh I’m sure we can.”

It didn’t take long. Less than an hour. The two of you talked, joked, laughed. Eventually, you used your powers to hold the thing in place so Steve could screw it into the ceiling. He got off the stepladder and sat in the chair, testing the strength of the chair himself before deciding it was good enough for you. With a smile, he got up and motioned for you to give it a try.

You put the cushions on the chair and sat down, smiling. “I’ve always wanted a chair like this.”

“Well I’m glad I could help that dream come true.” He chuckled. He handed you the book sitting on your desk. “Here, give it a real test.”

“Oh good idea.” You chuckled, positioning the book in your hands, curling your legs into your desired reading position. Yep, it worked. And it was pretty comfortable. “Now all I need is a little lamp over here.”

“Let me know when that comes in.” Steve chuckled, thumbs tucked into his pockets. “I’ll be here.”

Steve watched you with a soft smile, how happy you were. Maybe someday, he would build other things for you, in a house you shared. A nice little place in the suburbs, or on a farm somewhere, like Clint had made for his wife, Laura. He’d build you a million reading chairs. Hell, he’d build you a whole library if it’d put that smile on your face.

“You ever built Legos before?” you asked.

“I don’t even know what those are.”

“Alright, we’ll fix that. There’s a really easy fix to that, actually.” You pulled out your phone, clicked a few links, and then looked back up at him with a smile. “It’s on its way.”

“What’s that look for?”

“You will find out in two to three business days.”

***

By the time your Millennuim Falcon Lego set came in, Steve had been sent on another mission. And while he was gone, the Compound got an unexpected visitor in the form of Scott Lang, who Sam found on the roof and promptly got his ass kicked by while you were sitting at the monitors, one of the only things that you could do with your current injury.

“Don’t tell Steve.”

“Oh I won’t.” You spun out of your office chair, made a portal to the warehouse, and stepped through it, using your augmented goggles to find the guy, trapping him in a tiny forcefield. Sam came into the warehouse shortly after, looking at the bubble you’d made with interest.

“Got him. Ow!” Something nipped at your ankle and you looked down to find hundreds of ants. “Oh FUCK no.” You dropped him and kicked off the ants, making a platform of energy to stand on so they couldn’t crawl on you.

“Hey man, she’s injured!” Sam called into the room, looking around for wherever he had gone.

“Sorry!” The attacker replied.

And that was the last you saw or heard from him until Sam tracked him down, offering him membership on the team, if he so wanted it. Someone who shrunk could be a great asset on the team. Which is why when he told the rest of you about Hope, someone who did the same but with wings, obviously, she was invited, too.

The team was growing, and as it did, the Compound felt less empty, which was nice, especially when the team was split off doing their own things.

Steve came back shortly after, looking tired. It hadn’t been anything too bad, from what you’d heard, but he, Natasha, Clint, and Tony had been gone for a week. Still, the moment he was back, he popped his head into your room.

“Hey.”

“When did you guys get back?” You asked, looking up from your book, curled up in your reading chair.

“Just now. Um, I’m gonna take a shower, and then…Legos?” He asked, eyes earnest. You could tell he had been thinking about it the whole time he’d been gone.

“Oh absolutely. I’ve got ‘em ready to go.”

“Excellent. See you in twenty.” He saluted, walking down the hall to his room. You got the massive box of Legos out of your closet and brought it out to the table in the lounge, waiting patiently for Steve, who got out of the shower not that long after, dressed in sweats and a tank-top, still a bit damp from the water.

“Tadaaaa~” you said, pushing the box across the table. 

His eyes lit up as soon as he realized what it was. “Where did you get this?”

“Amazon.”

“It comes with Han Solo?” Steve asked, looking at the pictures of the minifigures on the box.

“Yeah, of course it does. Comes with Leia, too.” You grinned, opening the box and dealing out instruction manuals, sorting the bags into neat little piles.

“This is great.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You shrugged. “I owe you one for building my reading chair. Now pay attention; This little orange thing is a Lego separator. It’ll help if you get them stuck together and can’t get them apart. Oh, and do not step on them. It will hurt so bad.”

He chuckled. “Thanks for the heads-up. So where do we start?”

Catch Me Now

Finally, after what felt like the longest recovery period ever, you were cleared once more for missions and training. However, you didn’t have any at the moment. Missions, that was. You were back to training with the others three times a week. Steve had you back on a workout regimen, but he was treating you different, like at any moment your rib might randomly re-crack.

Wanda and Vision got sent off on a mission with Clint, a recruitment mission. Apparently, there was another archer on his radar. A good one. It was his hope that with another archer on the team, he could take a bit of a step back, still be involved when he was needed, but hopefully, he’d be able to spend some more time with his family.

This meant, however, that you didn’t have anyone to go to the local theater’s Hunger Games marathon with. You asked Natasha first, but she was busy looking through some files, working out the details of the coming missions.

“I think Steve is here today. You could ask him if he wants to go.”

You could, you supposed. You felt a lot closer to him, lately. You had been spending a lot of time with him, between the extra training and the Legos. He had custody of the Millennium Falcon set, but he’d given you the Leia minifigure. She was sitting on your desk in your room.

So, with a shrug, you agreed, walking down the hall to Steve’s room and knocking on the door. He and Bucky were in there, talking hushedly about something, but they quieted at the sound of your knuckles against the wood.

The door opened and Bucky looked down at you, smiling when he realized who it was. “Oh, hey, (Y/N).” He welcomed you in, shooting Steve a look.

“Hey, (Y/N). What’s going on?”

“If you’re busy, I can come back later.”

“Oh, no, we’re just…catching up.” Steve said.

“Gotcha. So um…Wanda was supposed to go to a movie marathon with me at the mall today, but she forgot she had to go on that mission, so I was wondering if you wanted to come with? I already bought the tickets.”

“Oh, sure. What movies?”

“The Hunger Games.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Steve nodded. “Just let me get changed.”

“You can come too, if you want, Bucky. I’m sure they’re not sold out.”

“Oh, that is alright, (Y/N). Thank you, though. I’ve gotta work myself up to public outings.” He looked between the two of you, a weird sparkle in his eye. “You two have fun.”

“Will do.” Steve replied, chuckling as his friend left.

You left after, getting changed into the outfit you’d picked out. It was pretty simple: a bleach-dyed Hunger Games shirt, some comfy joggers for the long day ahead, and a pair of slip-on shoes. You grabbed your purse and walked back out to the living room, where Steve was waiting, dressed in his civilian disguise, a baseball cap and glasses. No one would ever recognize him in glasses.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” You nodded, plucking your keys off of the hook by the door.

“Oh, I can drive.” Steve offered.

“Okay.” You agreed, putting your keys back.

He picked up his instead, from the hook next to yours. You walked out and got in Steve’s car, hopping in the passenger seat. The mall was about an hour out. Steve took the backroads, the scenic route. But you didn’t have to give him directions. He knew where he was going. After all, it was the same mall where he had met you.

You gazed out the window, watching the trees go by, looking for deer. Steve gazed over at you every so often, thinking about how someday, when you were driving places, he’d be able to reach over and take your hand, bring it to his lips. His heart ached just thinking about it. The next four and a half months couldn’t pass quickly enough.

“So what are these movies about? I keep hearing about them.” He asked, desperate to hear your voice.

“Are you familiar with the dystopian genre?”

“Yeah, kinda. Like weird, bad future kinda stuff.”

“Exactly. So this one is in a world called Panem, which is supposed to be North America hundreds of years from now. There’s twelve districts and a Capitol that rules over them all. Because of a rebellion about seventy-four years earlier, every year, two kids are chosen from each district to battle to the death in an arena.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah it’s kind of a lot. It’s really good, though. Lots of commentary on the United States government. No offense.”

He chuckled. “None taken. The America I stood for back then…I’m learning it was a different America from the one we live in now. But it’s hard to shake a name that’s been stuck with you for the better part of a century.”

“What would you choose?”

“What name?”

“Yeah, if you got to choose again, now, what codename would you choose?”

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Something cool. I’d need help workshopping. And you? If you got to choose again?”

“I’m good with Waypoint. For a while, at least.” You shrugged. “It’s kinda fitting, all things considered.”

“It is. Suits you.”

“Thanks.” You chuckled. “So how is everything? How is Bucky doing?”

“Good. They’re um, scheduling a day to test out his…what’re they called, his trigger words? To see if Wanda’s tinkering in his head has been working.”

“Oh wow. That sounds like a lot.”

“It is. He’s nervous, but he knows it has to be done.” Steve sighed and gave a shrug. “And whatever happens, he’s got us to catch him, figure out what comes next.”

“Absolutely.” You nodded.

Steve pulled into the mall parking lot, following the signs to find the doors closest to the theater. You handed him his ticket, which was printed on shimmery, gold paper, the Mockingjay symbol stamped on in black ink. You reached into your pocket and handed him a length of string with beads on it.

“I made it for Wanda, so it might not fit.” You warned.

He read the words, spaced between orange and black and gold beads. “District 12?”

“It’ll make more sense in a bit.” You chuckled and held out your wrist, where the matching one was. “Gotta represent.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” He slipped the bracelet on, the beads spaced out and stretched around his wide wrist. “See, fits fine.”

“Uh-huh, sure does.” You laughed. “Look, it fits perfectly. You can almost read it.”

“Just about.” He grinned, reaching for the door handle.

“So, what’s our cover?”

“What?”

“Our cover. We can’t be Avengers here.”

“Right, um…” Steve thought for a moment. “You work at the library. I’m your boyfriend and you dragged me here, but I’m very supportive.”

“The most supportive.” You agreed. “Alright, I’ll play. Let’s go.”

Steve locked up the car, the horn honking as the two of you walked towards the entrance of the mall. You led him upstairs to the movie theater entrance. You checked in with your tickets and the girls at the table gave you your commemorative popcorn tins and cups. Steve went to get the popcorn filled. You stood over by the soda fountains. He returned with a huge grin and a bucket of popcorn.

“Look at this! They’re so big now.”

You laughed. “How big were they before?”

“Little paper bag.” He chuckled and turned towards the Cocacola Freestyle machine, looking at the buttons with wonder. “Alright what is this?”

“The future of beverage technology.” You told him, putting ice in your cup and tapping one of the beverage options, opening up all the extra flavors before choosing yours.

Steve poked the Coke button and read over all the options before settling on Cherry Vanilla Coke. He snapped the lid on and put a straw in it, taking a cursory sip. He smiled. “Takes me back.”

“Got that vintage taste?” You asked.

He nodded. “At the risk of sounding like a commercial, yeah, it does.”

You led Steve to the theater where you’d be spending the entire rest of the day. You walked him through the schedule. First was Hunger Games from noon until 2:22. There’d be a ten minute break, then Catching Fire from 2:32 to 4:58. There was a forty-five minute break for dinner. Then Mockingjay Parts 1 and 2 until just after ten. Every movie, they punched a hole in your ticket, and if you got all four, they were handing out little prizes, supposedly. You weren’t sure what yet, but you were excited to find out.

“Got a long day ahead of us.”

“I better not catch you nodding off.” You teased, kicking back the recliner.

“I don’t snore that loud.” He said, following your lead and pressing the same button to lift his. God, theaters had changed. He set the popcorn tin between the two of you. He couldn’t count on two hands how many pointless dates he’d gone on with Bucky before he met you for the first time, how many pretty dames he’d offered popcorn, only for them to completely blow him off. But when he’d taken you to the movies back then, you’d shared gladly. And today was no different. You scooted closer, your hand brushing his every so often.

The movie started and Steve watched, enamored. It was different than the movies he was used to, sure. Maybe Star Wars had warmed him up, or maybe it was the fact that you were sitting there beside him, but he loved every second.

Between movies, the two of you went back out to the lobby to get your tickets punched for Catching Fire, stretch your legs and get refills. Steve noticed a handout for the flashback movies that were coming up. His eyes landed on the Wizard of Oz and his gaze softened.

“They still show this?” Steve asked, pointing to the poster.

“Yeah, every handful of years. It’s a classic.” You smiled. “I think I was Dorothy for Halloween one year.”

“Would you go see it with me?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

Sure, things were different between you and Steve than he thought it would be. He knew it would be a while before you’d know. You’d told him you’d been friends for about a year before visiting him, but it felt so much longer, living through every day, scared to even take your hand without sending the wrong message.

You saved him the trouble, though, reaching out for his free hand. He took it without hesitation, giving it a squeeze. God, he’d do anything to kiss you, but he knew that would be stepping clear over that line. Holding hands was friendly enough. Hell, you held Wanda’s hand all the time and that didn’t mean anything. He was pretty sure, anyway.

“Where’d you go just now?” You asked, your hand his anchor in the moment, keeping him from drifting back off into the past again.

“Nowhere, I just…this is nice. Thanks for taking me out.”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

You went back into the theater, hand in hand, carrying your refills. This time, you’d gotten a slushee, and he had decided to do the same. You settled back into your seats, assuming your spots with the people you had been sitting near before. If anything, there were even more people in the theater for Catching Fire.

Steve took a sip of the slushee, looking over at you. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, it’s ice.” You laughed. “Do you like it?”

He scrunched his face. “Ooh, brainfreeze.”

“You’ve gotta go slow.”

“Lesson learned.”

The lights dimmed and you grinned, looking back at the screen, missing the longing look in Steve’s eyes, admiring the way your face was lit by the glow. And in those seats, once again, he was that little guy from Brooklyn, watching a movie with his soulmate.

***

Two and a half hours later, the theater lights went up and you had forty-five minutes to kill until the next one started. You wandered down to the food court to get something to eat. 

“So what did he mean there’s no District 12?” Steve asked when you settled down at one of the tables. Shoppers walked all around, laden with paper bags full of goods. It was a kind of busy day, actually, but it was fine. You liked to peoplewatch.

“When the books came out, I had to wait a whole year to get the answer. I think you can handle the next forty minutes.”

“There are books?”

“I have them. You can borrow them. And they are even better than the movies, if you can believe that.”

“They must be pretty damn good, then.” He chuckled. “You want to shop around a bit? We’ve still got some time.”

“Oh absolutely. There’s a Lego store here.”

Steve grinned. “They have a whole store for those?”

The two of you finished eating, threw out your trash, and then walked down the hallway to the Lego Store. Steve browsed some of the boxes. There were a lot of cool things. Buildings he recognized, landmarks, things from movies he hadn’t gotten to watch yet. There were also flowers. Lots of flowers, and Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He could see himself building any number of them with you.

You were over by the minifigure bags, squishing them to feel which character was inside. Steve chuckled, but didn’t question your process. Instead, he wandered over to a rotating display of minifigure keychains. A few caught his eye, but more than anything, you did. That was, a keychain of you, in your suit, that eight-pointed star on your chest. Right next to it was him, shield and all. He chuckled and then grabbed one of each, heading towards the checkout.

By the time you caught up with him, he had already paid.

“What did you get?” you asked through your giggles.

“It’s a surprise.” He smiled, voice soft, eyes softer.

“Alright. Keep your secrets.” You chuckled.

Steve took your hand, walking back towards the theater. You got one last refill for the last two movies, got your cards punched, and headed back inside to finish off the saga.

***

At the end of the night, all the people who had been there for all four movies got a t-shirt, a Mockingjay pin, and a mini poster. Along with the tin and cups they’d given you, you’d say it was definitely worth the ticket price. You and Steve walked out to the car together and sat in the seats for a while before either of you spoke.

“Thanks for coming today, Steve.”

“Oh, any time, (Y/N). We should do it again sometime.”

“I’ll let you know if I catch wind of a Star Wars marathon.”

He grinned. “Oh please do. I’d love to see those on the big screen.”

He pulled out of the parking spot and drove off the lot. By the time you got back, almost everyone was asleep. Almost. Bucky was on the couch, watching something, volume on low. He looked up when the two of you came in the door.

“Fun time?” He asked.

“Oh, very.” You laughed kicking off your boots and setting them in your slot on the shoe shelf.

Steve plucked your keys off of your hook and, very efficiently, added his top secret Lego purchase to yours, the keychain of himself. 

“Oh my God.” You giggled, looking at it. “This is great.”

“We match.” He said, holding up his own keys, which already had the keychain of you on them.

Your heart just about melted. “We sure do. God, you’re giving my soulmate some awfully big shoes to fill, Steve.”

“Well,” he smiled, and suddenly, he was that little guy from Brooklyn again, at your height, in awe of the woman the universe had plopped directly onto his front porch. “I’m sure he’ll grow into them.”

Mr. Perfectly Fine

You had training early, almost all hands on deck. Tony was on a business trip, Thor was on Asgard. But otherwise, everyone was accounted for. Clint’s new recruit, Kate, seemed nice. She was twenty-three, fresh out of college, and really did have quite a shot. She might shape up to be a pretty good Hawkeye after all.

Scott and Hope were there as well. Hope was extremely skilled. You could tell she’d practiced for a while, knew her suit and the Pym Particles inside and out. And Scott was also there. He was nice, there was no question about that, but you could tell he still had a lot to learn about the crazy world he’d stepped into. Still, it was nice to have them around regardless.

Tony hadn’t officially inducted them to the team, and there had been no party announcing such a thing. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting for someone. One more member, perhaps, before making it official.

You had been in…something of a mood since your little outing with Steve. It had been a blast, sure, but it had also been a reminder: Steve had a soulmate, in the past tense. There was a name on his wrist. And your bare wrist meant that it wasn’t you. You had a soulmate out there somewhere, human or super, whether you wanted them or not.

Steve was perfect for you. But you couldn’t have him.

And god, did it hurt.

You trained hard, hitting the punching bag that occupied what was usually Steve’s corner. He was there a lot, blowing off steam. Now you got it; it felt good to hit something. You spun, kicking the bag.

“You’re unbalanced.” Bucky piped up, walking over.

You looked up at him, watching his movements, but he didn’t mean any harm. Obviously he didn’t. He’d passed his mind-control test with flying colors. He was a free man now, and he was a lot lighter because of it.

“Am I?”

“You’ve gotta shift your weight a little, really plant that other leg.” He instructed, adjusting your body, hands gentle but firm. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you from across the room, but he didn’t come over. “Otherwise they’re gonna push you right over.”

“Well thanks. I appreciate it.” You said, giving the tip a try. “I haven’t done enough hand-to-hand.”

“We’ll get ya there. I’m surprised Steve hasn’t been working on it with you.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Things have been weird since the Hunger Games.”

“I noticed.” Bucky chuckled. “I’ll talk to him. See what’s going on in that head of his.”

“It’s not his fault. I’ve been the weird one.”

“Oh. Need to talk about it?”

“No, I just…I need to work through some stuff.”

Working through stuff meant that after training, you went straight to your room, closed the door, and started listening to your angst playlist, spread like a starfish across your king-sized mattress. And that was how Nat found you almost an hour later.

“Knock-knock, I’m coming in.” She said, opening the door. “Hey. Why are you listening to Songs for Sad Bitches in here?”

“What? How’d you—?”

“Your playlist name is on the screen out here when you play stuff on the built-in speakers.”

“Embarrassing.”

“Happens to the best of us.” She shrugged, closing the door behind her and sitting on the bed. “So, why are we sad bitches today?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“You can’t talk about it, or you can’t talk about it here?”

“The second of those options, yeah.”

She dangled your keys from her hand, the little tiny Captain America taunting you. “Thought so. Let’s get out of here. Kate hasn’t been to the mall yet and she needs to buy some more clothes.”

“Alright. I could go for some mall pretzels.”

So, for the second time in a week, you piled into a car and headed off towards the mall. This time, however, you were with your friends, Wanda, Nat, and Kate, not your unattainable work crush.

Wanda loved the mall. Seeing her that happy almost made your heartache go away. The four of you shopped around. You picked out a few new tops, some accessories, a cute bag, and it was a nice distraction until you passed the Lego Store. You got some pretzel bites and hunkered down in the food court with the others.

“Alright. Spill.” Nat urged.

Wanda offered a sad little smile and Kate looked up, waiting to see where this was heading. She was new to the team, which meant she was new to the drama, too.

“I don’t know, just…going out with Steve…”

“What, you don’t like him?” Nat asked, prodding.

“The opposite.”

“Then why are you all torn up about it?”

“Because I can’t have him.” You said, pushing a pretzel bite around in the cup of cheese. “He has a soulmate.”

“Had. In the forties.”

“Right, but…I turn twenty-five in what, like four months now? And then I get whoever and…I need to let him go before I get hurt, but I can’t.” You sighed. “Or before I hurt him, leading him on just to run off into the sunset with someone else…I just feel like shit about the whole situation.”

Natasha sat there with the perfect poker face, giving a sly little smile. “It’s gonna be fine. I promise. And if not, you’ve got us here to catch you.”

“What she said.” Kate agreed.

“It will be fine, (Y/N).” Wanda promised, patting your hand. “My birthday is first. Let me be the stressed one.” She let out an incredulous laugh. “I have a crush on an android.”

“Hey, if any robot has a soul, it’s gotta be Vision.” You said, eyes soft. “Obviously, he doesn’t have a mark, but, if your wrist has his name…”

“That would be enough for both of us.” Wanda agreed, nodding. “It’s weird. I know…I know he’s the one but I still have to wait. I wish if you figured it out early, the universe would just let you have it.”

Natasha looked to the rest of you, soaking in silence for a moment before taking off the cuff she wore around her wrist. “Alright, it’s been a secret long enough.”

“Woah, Nat…” You gave her a moment to back out, but she held up her wrist, letting the rest of you read the name on her wrist. Bucky. Her soulmate was Bucky. It…made a lot of sense, actually. The way he looked at her during training, the way she kept herself so guarded around him. “Does he know?”

“Unclear.” Natasha shrugged. “I, uh…Steve said he wasn’t sure. And Bucky’s memories are a little fuzzy. The Red Room tried to get rid of our marks. Said they made us liabilities. When I got out, they hadn’t found a way to do it yet. It showed up a few years after that.”

“Is that like…still around?” Kate asked. “The Red Room?”

“Unfortunately.”

The word sat on the table for a few long moments before you said, “What if we took it down?”

Something sparked in Natasha’s eyes and she met your gaze. “Elaborate.”

“I’m serious. The four of us,” you thought for a moment and then it clicked, “Hope.”

“Maria.” Natasha said, putting the pieces together herself. “I mean, that’s really all we’d need. Plus a location and a plan.”

“Oh my god, are we going on a mission?” Kate asked, lighting up at the prospect of her very first real mission.

Nat grinned. “Yeah, I think we are.”

I Can See You

Steve caught wind of Operation: Red Room before you’d so much as suited up. Of course he didn’t think it was a good idea. After your accident, he still saw you as fragile. You were fine. Your ribs were fine. They’d healed better than even Bruce had expected them to. Still, that look in his eyes said otherwise.

“I’m just not sure this is something you should be doing on your own.”

“We can’t bring you. We can’t bring Bucky. It’d be handing them two supersoldiers on a silver platter.”

“So you’re just gonna waltz in there instead?”

“Yep.” You replied, lighting a little forcefield around your fist and holding it up as evidence. “I can handle myself, remember?”

His eyes softened. “I know that.”

“Then why are you still fighting me on this? Do you seriously think Natasha would let anything happen to me? Do you think Wanda would?”

“What if they have something that disables your powers? Both of your powers.”

“If they did, they’d have used it already.”

He sighed, muscled arms crossed, pink lips pressed into a pout. “(Y/N)...”

“You’re not talking me out of this.” Not even with those pretty blues, you sneaky bastard. “Besides, it was my idea. I’m not leaving the girls hanging.”

His eyes widened. “It was your idea?”

“Well, it was a group effort, but I’m the one that put it into words, yeah.” You shrugged. “If you didn’t think I could handle being an Avenger, why did you recruit me?”

“I never said that.” His jaw clenched and he shook his head. “I just…I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then trust me to do this.” You told him, resting a hand on his chest. “And trust me to come back to you.”

He met your eyes, melting at your touch before relenting, “Okay. But be careful, alright? Promise me.”

“I promise. I always am. You guys should be here to hold down the fort anyway, in case they retaliate.”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright. I’ll be here.”

You walked down to the locker rooms and suited up, making sure everything was tugged tight, belt equipped with both real guns and stun guns. Natasha had told the rest of you there was brainwashing afoot with the Widows that were still in the Red Room. If you could help it, the goal was to get them out without hurting them. That was where Wanda came in. Her specialty.

You all loaded up into the jet, Maria Hill joining you as your getaway pilot. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work with her yet, so you were excited to. You rehashed the plan on the way. The Red Room was housed in a floating base, which was why it was so untraceable; it was always moving. 

You, Kate, and Wanda were on Widow duty. Wanda would dispel their brainwashing, and you and Kate would deal with the physical cells and deal with any guards standing in your way. Once the brainwashing was handled, Wanda would go with Nat to kill Dreykov himself, the man in charge who had escaped countless assassination attempts. This time, she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Hope was going to shrink down and destroy the place from the inside, and once everyone was out and safe, Maria would fly you all to safety.

Ideally, anyway.

Steve saw you off, standing in the driveway as you flew off.

“Natasha wasn’t kidding. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.” Maria chuckled.

“You could say that.”

At the moment, the Red Room was hovering over a suburb in Maine, nearing the Canadian border. Any closer and it would become an international incident. It had to be now. Maria cloaked the jet as it approached, hiding it from onlookers, obviously, but also, hopefully, from the Red Room itself. Though, their sensors were very advanced so there was no way of knowing until you got closer. That put you on edge.

So, instead, you turned to Kate. “First mission today. You ready?”

“Oh hell yeah. I’ve been waiting for this.” Kate nodded. She slung her quiver over her shoulder. “What was yours?”

“The local county fair.” You chuckled. “Though, I guess if you count my first encounter with a bad guy, it was at the mall, guy with a flamethrower and a dream. He is in jail now.”

“That is typically what happens when you dream of arson.” Natasha said, grinning. “Thank you all. For this. For coming.”

“We’ve got you, Nat. They did some pretty awful shit to you. Time to make them pay for it.”

“Speaking of, ready up, ladies. We are two minutes out.”

Power crackled in your fingertips. You were ready to go. Well, as ready as you could be.

Maria pulled up to the docking bay and the five of you got out. Hope lowered her helmet visor, saluted, and then shrunk, flying off into the vents. The other four set off in a linear path, up the winding hallways towards where they kept the Widows.

The hall was bathed in red light, dim. It set you on edge. Natasha led the way, motioning the rest of you on. You noticed as you approached each camera, it flicked off, the heads of them tilting down.

Oh right, Hope. Awesome.

You approached a series of rooms, doors all identical. They slid open when you approached, and sure enough, two dozen women came charging at you all at once, dressed in identical athleisure. Wanda waved her hands, red mist cascading down the hall, their eyes filling. It took a moment, but they all stopped, looking around at each other for some idea of what was going on.

“Natasha?” One of the voices in the crowd said, a blonde girl with wide eyes. “You came?”

Natasha nodded, smiling. “Of course I did.”

“You’re the Avengers.” The girl said, looking at the rest of you. “You’re really here.”

“Some of us. Come on, we’ve got a ship waiting.” You told her.

The girl looked at you and then back at Natasha.

“Go with her.” Natasha instructed. “I’ll be back in like five minutes. Tops.”

“What’s your name?” Kate asked, starting to lead the others back to the ship.

“I’m Yelena. Natasha’s sister.”

As you led them back down the hall, armored guards rounded the corner. You made forcefields at their feet, tripping them up. Kate shot arrows down the barrels of their weapons, causing a few small explosions. The Widows fought with you, taking out anyone that approached. Soon enough, you got to the docking bay, which exploded as soon as you approached.

You put up a shield between the rest of you and the explosion, blocking the girls from the flying debris. Okay, that put a wrench in things a little bit.

“What are we gonna do?” Kate asked, looking to you, the reflection of the flames shimmering against her skin.

“I’ve got an idea.” You said, approaching the opening carefully, wind whipping all around. Maria was still piloting the jet, doing her best to get close to the massive hole.

You made a platform with your power, curving it up at the edges, like a giant spoon. Slowly, you slid it across the gap to the jet. Maria got the hint, turning it around and opening the ramp. You made another platform and two of the Widows hopped in without hesitation. Slowly, you started the process of feeding them all across, two by two until everyone was in the jet. Everyone except you.

“Hey.” Hope said, landing and returning to full size, out of breath. “What did I miss?”

“Not too much.”

“Want a lift?”

“Why not?” You shrugged. Hope took your hand, flying you across the gap and into the ship. That just left Wanda and Nat unaccounted for.

You watched anxiously, waiting, waiting, waiting. Nothing.

“Hope, how long before this thing blows?”

“A few minutes.”

“Fuck.” You shook your head. You pressed a finger to your earpiece. “Nat, Wanda, do you copy?”

Radio silence.

“(Y/N), there they are.” Kate pointed. She really did have eagle eyes.

“I’ll get them.” Hope offered until an enemy ship opened fire.

“I’ve got it.” You said, channeling something deeper. Instead of making a bubble, you formed a tunnel of shimmering blue energy from the platform they were standing on to the back of the jet. “Hold her steady, Maria!”

“As steady as I can.”

A few explosions started at the back of the base, setting off a chain reaction. The two of them ran through the tunnel, its energy shielding them from the fire, the debris, and the rain of bullets. Wanda sped them along, until they were safe and sound, in the jet again.

Maria closed up the door as more explosions went off. You lowered your hands, letting the energy dispel. She flew off to a safe distance. The rest of you watched in awe as the Red Room fell, crumbling to bits, to ashes and ruin.

Yelena hugged Natasha, thanking her. Natasha apologized for not coming sooner. And the rest of the Widows were able to rest, breathing free for the first time in years.

***

The first stop on the docket was a SHIELD base in New York to drop off the majority of the Widows. SHIELD had a plan in place to get them back into society, integrated, rehabilitated, whatever they needed.

The second stop, of course, was Taco Bell, for refreshments.

The third stop was home, where Steve was waiting at the dinner table, chin resting against his folded hands, Bucky sitting across from him. He whipped around at the sound of the door opening. You, Kate, Wanda, Natasha, Hope, and Yelena were talking and laughing, laden with bags of fast food.

His eyes fell on yours first and it was like time stopped.

“How did it go?”

“Good. I got you a Baja Blast.” You said, setting the large cup of the teal drink in front of him.

He stared at it for a long moment before looking back up at you. “You…”

“I’m alright, Steve. We all are. And, uh, we have a new teammate.”

He finally spotted Yelena in the mix. “Oh?”

“Natasha has a sister.” You shrugged, sitting down and unpacking your order. “Apparently.”

Speaking of whom, Natasha walked up to Bucky, looked him in the eye, and said, “Barnes. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, following her into another room.

“Wonder what that’s about.” Steve murmured, sticking a straw into the drink he kept staring at like it was a potion you’d plucked from a fantasy realm. You supposed teal was kind of an odd color for a drink…

You smirked. “I have some idea.”

“She told you?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It makes a lot of sense. The way he looks at her…”

He nodded. “Like something out of a movie.”

“Yeah, exactly.” You sighed and then shook out of it, motioning to the drink. “Alright, let me know what you think.”

He took a first sip, holding it in his mouth for a second before swallowing. The smile on his face grew. “It’s sweet.”

“Too sweet?”

“A little.” He chuckled, going in for another sip. “No, maybe…maybe I do like it.”

“Uh-huh. Think about it.” You laughed.

Yelena sat down next to you. “Is this seat taken? I’m starving.”

“Have at it.”

“Alright, well, you girls have fun. I’m headed to bed.” He held up his cup. “Thanks for the drink. Glad you’re home safe.”

“Night, Steve.”

Yelena looked at you, wonder in her eyes. As soon as he was out of earshot, she said, “Oooh, tell me everything.”

You chuckled. “Where do I even start?”

Champagne Problems

Two weeks later, you got dressed for Wanda’s twenty-fifth birthday outing. It would be just the girls, headed to a club nearby. Wanda would turn twenty-five just after midnight and she didn’t want to be in the same building with Vision if she was going to get her heart broken. It wasn’t a bad plan, all things considered.

You were wearing a black dress, knee-length, form-fitting, paired with a dark red lip, and of course, the star necklace Steve had gotten for you all those months ago. You let your fingers linger on it in your reflection before throwing on your heels and walking out to the living room to wait for the others.

Steve was on the couch, watching the Muppets Movie.

“See? I wasn’t lying about Gonzo.”

“You weren’t.” He laughed.  He opened his mouth to make a quip, but it died on his tongue when he got a good look at you, eyes softening. “You got a date tonight? You’re all dolled up.”

“Huh? No.” You laughed. “It’s girls’ night.”

“Didn’t you just have girls’ night? I believe it involved several explosives.”

“Right, well, Wanda turns twenty-five just after midnight, so we’re going out again. This time hopefully with less explosions.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, ya look great.”

You blushed. “Thanks.”

“You hear about Nat and Buck?”

“It’s official.” You grinned. “I’m happy for them.”

“Me too. They’ve both been through so much. They deserve to be happy.”

“So do you, Steve.”

He tilted his head, giving you that sad smile. “I am. Promise.”

The other girls came into the living room before you had the chance to respond. Nat was hand-in-hand with Bucky, who kissed her on the cheek before releasing her and joining Steve on the couch, grinning like he’d won the lottery. In a way, he had.

“Let’s get a move on, birthday girl.” Natasha said, slinging an arm around Wanda’s shoulders. “The night is young.”

She looked back longingly where Vision was hovering in the corner of the room. “Be back soon.”

“Text me when you find out.” He said.

“I will.” She promised, eyes brimming with tears.

You took her hand in yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. She squeezed it back, meeting your eyes and offering a smile.

The five of you piled into the car. Hope wasn’t coming because she was in San Francisco for the weekend, but Yelena was. She seemed determined to experience all the life she’d missed out on thus far. You couldn’t blame her in the slightest.

The club was lively, music pulsing loudly. There were lots of birthdays being celebrated, it turned out, announced by party hats, birthday crowns and sashes, and the periodic cheers of groups of people, yelling out in excitement when their friends learned who their lives were promised to. It was kind of magical.

You ordered a drink, downing it quickly and surrendering to the fuzzy feeling at the edges of your mind. You were pretty sure the last time you’d been drunk was your induction to the team. You remembered that night with Steve, how he looked at you, how it felt. And then you ordered a second drink, dancing to the music with the girls, trying to forget your worries, even if only for the night.

A guy approached you, a look in his eye. He eyed up your bare wrist. “No soulmate?”

“Not yet. A few months too early for that.”

“Then would you mind if I swept you off your feet for the night?”

“Sorry, I…I’m here for my friend. It’s her twenty-fifth.”

He scoffed, looking you up and down before stalking off towards his next victim. “Alright. Your loss.”

“Asshole.” Yelena rolled her eyes, taking your hands and spinning you around on the dance floor. You let her, dancing along. “I do not blame you, (Y/N). If I were you, I wouldn’t settle either. Not for that.”

You laughed. “Yeah, not my thing.”

“You’ve never…?”

“Well, a little. In high school, we used to have parties where we ‘practiced’ for our soulmates. It never got any further than a little spin the bottle, though.” You confessed.

“Ah, see, I’ve had practice. But it never meant anything. Red Room, bleh.” Yelena shrugged. “I am ready for something real.”

“How long you got left?”

“Another year.”

“I’ve got three and a half months.”

“So I’ve heard. I bet you are excited, being so close to it.”

“Excited, nervous.” You laughed, shrugging. “I kinda just want to rip the Band-Aid off, get it over with.”

“I’m sure.” She motioned Kate over and she joined the two of you, dancing to the beat. “Kate Bishop, how long do you have left?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Ah, well, then you have lots of time to party.” Yelena grinned, spinning her around. “We should really do this more often.”

You chuckled. Yelena had only been part of your little family for a few weeks, but already you could tell she was going to be a handful in the best way.

Eventually, you wandered back over to Wanda, who was standing in the corner of the room, nursing a single glass of Vodka Cran.

“Hey, birthday girl. You doing okay?” You asked.

She nodded, irises ringed with red, as they often were when she was stressed. She blinked a few times, forcing them back to hazel. “Doing great.”

“Wanda, whoever they are, they’re so lucky to have someone like you.” You took her hand. “Now let’s go dance and forget about it for the next hour.”

She smiled. “Lead the way.”

***

In what seemed like no time at all, midnight came. Natasha ordered a bottle of champagne and each of you got a glass. Wanda sat on a barstool, staring at her wrist. From right next to her, you had a pretty good view, watching with a racing heart as a string of letters appeared, darkening into existence.

The Vision.

She burst into tears, hitting the call button on her phone. He picked up on the first ring.

“It’s you, Vis! I knew it was you!”

The rest of you gathered your things, eager to reunite them as soon as you could. Your thoughts were racing, though. You’d never really thought of it before, but…your soulmate could be someone you already knew. Someone you were already in love with.

Someone who was already in love with you.

Maybe there was some hope after all…

The Origin

Only weeks after your night in the club, you found yourself in yet another bar. This time, it wasn’t for fun, though. You, Sam, Nat, Bucky, and Steve were undercover in a quaint little tavern in Alaska. A quaint little tavern that happened to be a front for Hydra, as it were. But that didn’t mean that everyone there was Hydra, just definitely the bar tender and the security guards that kept eyeing you up. Probably a handful of the patrons, too.

In addition to that, so were the flannel-clad guys at the bar.

“Hey, little lady.” One wandered up to you, bumping your elbows. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m all set with this one, thanks.” You said, taking a long sip from your drink.

“Aww, come on, just one more?” The guy on your other side egged on. “Pretty girl like you deserves to have a little fun.”

The guys around them started getting riled up, trying to convince you to have another drink. Never had you been so glad to hear Steve’s voice.

“Sorry fellas, she’s taken. Come on, sweetheart.” You felt his hand on your shoulder and let him pull you away from the fray, back to his little corner. He had been growing out a bit of a beard for this. God, did it suit him. He rested his hands on your waist, face approaching your own, nose nestled beside your cheek. “You see anything?”

“Bartender has a gun under the counter. Intense code-protected lock on the door in the backroom.” You told him, masking your words with a smile, nuzzling your nose against his.

“I’ll get to work on the door.” Bucky said over the coms. “Whatever you’re doing is working. Those guys have lost all interest.”

“Perfect.” You chuckled. “Thanks for defending my honor.”

Steve smiled and it was breathtaking, the way his eyes sparkled in the warm light. “Anytime.”

You really couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol; there hadn’t even been any. It was a virgin drink. Your arm wound around his neck, pulling him in so you could kiss his cheek. His arms wrapped tight around you and he buried his face in your neck to hide his rosy cheeks, laughing.

Once again, that line between your cover and your feelings began to blur.

“Alright, I’m in.” Bucky said. “Feel free to join us whenever.”

“Coming.” Steve murmured, a hand moving the hair out of your eyes. He pressed a long kiss to your forehead, sending your heart into a frenzy before taking your hand and leading you to the backroom, where Bucky and the others were waiting.

“You were born for undercover work, (Y/N).” Natasha said, giving you a smirk and a friendly nudge.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You laughed. “It’s kind of fun, though.”

The five of you walked down the tunnel. When you finally reached the main room, it was kind of dark. You lit your fist with blue energy, using it to find a lightswitch. There were several computers that flashed to life, a wall of weapons, and also, a wall of screens. There was a little electrified cell, but it was empty. No captives, as far as you could see.

You started looking around while Natasha backed up files to a hard drive. Bucky watched the entrances. Sam looked over the weapons, taking notes of the ones that were out of the ordinary. Steve stared at the screens, mesmerized by…something.

“Um, (Y/N)?” He asked, motioning you over.

You looked up at the images. They were all of you. Pictures of you in the field, diagrams of your anatomy, hospital records, your birth certificate. There were illustrations of you, and a few fields marked as unfulfilled: blood sample, soulmate information, DNA.

Beneath it was written Planet of Origin: Illustria

“What the actual fuck.” You said, voice flat, staring at the word. You’d never heard it before. Not even with the recent discoveries about space and the wider universe. Thor, your only connection to space, had never mentioned it. Yet, for some reason, Hydra had reason to believe you were connected to it.

“Company.” Bucky announced, readying his gun as a group of Hydra agents stormed down the tunnel. 

A section of the wall slid open and a scientist-looking man stepped into the space. Steve threw his shield, bouncing it off of three surfaces before it came back to him. The man made a run for it, but you lit your fists and ran after him. Steve followed after.

Once you were both through, the wall slid shut. On the other side, you could still hear the sounds of the fight. They needed you. But you needed answers. It was an impossible choice, made easier when he started talking.

“Ah, the Girl from Space and the Man Out of Time. How nice to have you both here in one place.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You said, fists clenched, eyes glazed over with raw power, glowing like Wanda’s did.

He laughed. “You didn’t know? Your commerades didn’t tell you? Surely they must have seen the suppressor in your neck when they were running all those tests.”

Your world came crashing down. “The what?”

“Your parents paid us to put it there. Paid SHIELD, at least, but, we’ve been one in the same for a long time. Didn’t know how to handle their little alien girl, especially at her full power, on a planet that wasn’t their own. They should have known you’d outgrow it eventually.” He tsked. “Of course, I could always take it out for you.”

“You touch her, you die.” Steve said, voice as smooth as steel. It sent a chill down your spine. “I’m warning you.”

It made sense. It was like a switch had been flipped when you were in college, your powers coming from seemingly nowhere. They’d been suppressed all your life, but finally, the suppressor stopped working. You hadn’t even known it was there. Maybe that was why you’d been stopped at so many airports.

“Not to worry Captain, I was on my way out of here anyway.” He raised his hands and started walking towards an exit tunnel.

You raised yours, making a cuff of energy around his wrist, holding him in place.

“No, you get to answer to SHIELD.” You told him. “And then you get to answer to me.”

Steve used his shield to knock the guy out with one quick, precise throw. The door behind the two of you slid open, Natasha pushing it open. There were downed Hydra agents all over the floor behind her.

“Having a party without us?”

“Something like that.” You mumbled, heart still racing.

“I got the files, (Y/N).” She said, playful demeanor falling immediately. “We’ll figure it out.”

Steve lugged the scientist over his shoulders, handing him off to the SHIELD agents who had come to help, one of whom happened to be one of the guys who was hitting on you at the bar. Go figure. Bucky and Sam joined the three of you. Sam put a hand on your shoulder and offered a supportive smile.

You still felt numb.

***

You got back to the safehouse and the snow outside doubled, coming down in droves, thick snowflakes and heavy winds. It was safe to say you would not be making it back to the Compound tonight.

You changed out of your bulletproof gear and into a tank top and sweats, running a hand through your hair. You met your eyes in the reflection, noticing how they flickered blue. In the other room, you could hear the video call finally go through with Tony and Bruce, who were back home.

“Oh don’t give me that look, Rogers.”

“Well, can you blame me?”

“What, like you’ve never kept a secret ever in your life, give me a break!”

“About her life, Tony!”

“I’ll get her.” You heard Natasha tell him, and then heard her footsteps approaching the bathroom door. She knocked. “Hey, they’re on. I made you some cocoa.”

You opened the door, letting out a sigh and nodding. “Thanks, Nat.”

She smiled, patting your shoulder and leading you out to the couch. Tony and Bruce were sitting in the living room on the screen. Steve had been pacing, obviously, given his stance and the fact that he was still standing.

You sat down, making eye contact with each of them, lips pressed into a flat line. Your heart raced, chest aching, stomach on fire from the adrenaline of it all. “So?”

Tony sighed. “You’re an alien.”

“Half.” Bruce amended. “On your mother’s side. She’s from a planet called Illustria.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. I got that part. How long have you known?”

Bruce looked at Tony, hoping he’d deliver that part of the news. He did. “I’ve known since you were recruited. Fury did a background check. You were already on the files.”

“What about the suppressor?”

“We didn’t know what it was. We didn’t know what taking it out would do to you.” Bruce admitted. “We thought you knew it was there.”

“I want it out.” You said with certainty. “I want it out as soon as we get home.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. I want to know who I am. That starts with knowing what I’m actually capable of.” You sighed. “And call Thor. I have questions I need answered. His alien friends might know.”

“Anything else?” Tony asked.

“Who else knew.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Just me and Fury,” he said, but you couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

“And Hydra.” You snapped. “What, are you afraid of me? Had to keep a lid on my powers because you’re so fucking obsessed with control?”

Tony scoffed. Clearly, you’d struck a nerve. “That’s not it.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how you would take it.”

“Okay well, I think I would have been okay hearing it from a friend, in a place I felt safe. I had to hear about it from Hydra. They had a fucking cell with my name on it.” You said, trembling as you remembered it, tucked away in the corner there. That was the only explanation for it, really. And then something else clicked, too. “That…that day when Steve got tranq’ed. They weren’t trying to hit him, they were trying to hit me. He jumped in the way. They’ve…been trying to take me this entire time.”

“Oh my god, Tony…” Natasha said, voice quiet.

“Get those files to me, Nat. I’ll take a look. See if they have anything on the suppressor so I can take it out when you get back.” Bruce said, eyes soft. “And I’m sorry, for the record.”

“It’s not you I’m mad at.”

“Kid, please don’t—”

You cut Tony off with a click of the remote, hanging up the call. You let out a shaking sigh, setting the remote down. Your fingers were trembling. You took a few breaths, lungs heaving. You wanted to scream. You needed to let it out.

Everyone else on the team knew why they were there. Every other person in your life knew what made them special. Wanda’s power came from the Mind Stone, Steve’s came from the Serum, Tony’s came from his massive fucking ego. They all got the privilege of their origin story.

All of them except for you.

You needed to call your parents, if you even could. They’d told you they were moving to Florida. Now you wondered if they’d moved off the planet.

“You gonna be okay?” Sam asked, eyes trailing you as you paced through the room towards the door.

“Nope.” You walked out to the other den, burying your face in your arms, sobbing for a few minutes until you got it all out, or most of it anyway. Eight months. Eight fucking months he’d known you and didn’t think to tell you.

The chip in your shoulder burned.

You began to seriously wonder if anyone else had known. Bruce had run all those tests, surely he had seen something. He’d told you there were abnormalities, but he’d assumed they were from your powers, not the cause of them.

Steve crossed your mind briefly, but you shot that down pretty quick. He, of all people, would never keep a secret like that from you. You knew him well enough to know that.

Aside from that, the only real suspect you had was Vision. He had been JARVIS once, surely he still had some of that database in his mind. You’d give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“Hey.” Even before you looked up, you could tell Steve would be leaning in the doorway, that lovelorn look on his face. You were right, obviously.

Tears welled in your eyes. “Steve.”

He crossed the room, collecting you in his arms, hands rubbing comforting circles on your back. You surrendered to him, crying into the fabric of his crewneck, face tucked into the crook of his neck. One of his hands cradled your head, smoothing over your hair comfortingly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He rumbled, voice deep and soothing. “I would have told you.”

“I know you would.” You sniffled, gripping him like a lifeline, your anchor in the storm. You pulled away to meet his eyes. “I feel so stupid for crying about it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not stupid. I would, too.”

“Like it’s fine. Aliens are cool. T-Thor is cool.” You sniffled again, more tears running down your cheeks. “I’m fine with being one, I just…”

“You’re still (Y/N).” He asserted, a gentle thumb wiping your tears away. “You’ve always been able to do these amazing, beautiful things. Now we know why. And maybe there’ll be even more things you can do with that thing out of your neck.”

“Yeah…” You nodded. You took a deep breath. “I’m really glad you’re here, Steve. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t.”

He pulled you back into his arms to hide the look on his face. “I’ve got you. Always. We’ll figure it out.”

***

Hours later, you were curled up on the couch, asleep. Despite the fireplace raging with fresh-chopped wood, you were still shivering, pulling the blankets around yourself as tight as you could.

Steve watched you from the dining table, forlorn. Natasha nudged him, motioning towards you. He shook his head. He couldn’t. Right? What, take advantage of you in your vulnerable state?

Bucky seemed to agree with Nat, grinning into his mug of coffee. Of course they agreed. They were soulmates, after all. Just like you and Steve. 

The mark on his wrist seemed to thrum when he thought about it.

Relenting, Steve got up off of his seat, walked towards the fireplace and adjusted the logs, adding another small one for good measure. He looked back at the others, who were silently, but aggressively, encouraging him to go over to you. Sighing, he did.

He knelt down in front of you, clearing his throat, which caused you to jolt awake.

“Is everything okay? Are we under attack?”

Steve chuckled. “No, uh, we’re all good. Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

“Kind of, yeah.” You admitted. “I’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve always been kind of cold. Must be an alien thing…”

“Do you…want some company?” He asked, unsure of how to word it. “I…run warm.”

“Do you mind?” You asked, sitting up a little and raising the blankets you were under.

His heart raced. “Here, um…” He wiggled in underneath you, letting you lead as the two of you settled.

“God, you do run warm.” You hummed, all but collapsing against him, a hand flat against his chest while you adjusted.

“I didn’t always.” He said, voice sincere. “Buck and I used to have to share a bed in the winter. It was brutal.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Yeah, he snores.” Steve joked, earning a laugh.

“Oh I know. I can hear him three doors down back home.”

“And I can hear you from the other room!” Bucky called, sending you and Steve into a fit of giggles, like kids at a sleepover. “It’s a small cabin!”

You heard him and Sam devolve into a bickering match about the truth of whether or not Bucky actually snored that loud.

You looked up at Steve, asking “is it okay if I put my arm here?” while carefully draping an arm across him.

“Yeah, of course. Get comfortable.” He nodded, leaning against the pillows and pulling the blanket up around your shoulders.

You rested your head on his firm chest, listening to the way his heart was racing. Cute.

“We could, uh, put on some music if you want.” Steve suggested. “I’ve still got that playlist on my phone.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” You asked, voice soft, curious.

“Timeless.”

“I thought it would be.” You smiled, meeting his eyes, which sparkled in the light of the fire. “You’re so timeless, Steve Rogers.”

He grinned. “You think so? You don’t think I’m a fossil like everyone else?” he said, quoting Natasha and Tony and many others who equated him to some dinosaur because of his accident.

“Not even close.” You shook your head and sighed. “This might be the wrong thing to say, but…I’m really glad you’re here. Your life could have looked a lot different, but I’m really glad you ended up in mine.”

It took every ounce of his being to hold in his tears when you said it. If he could have confessed then and there, he would have. He would have kissed you square on the lips, told you he loved you, that he always had, that you weren’t some accident, you were his destiny. Always had been.

Instead, he had to settle for, “I’m getting used to it, but I am, too. I’m really glad I found you that day, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You smiled, readjusting your cheek against his chest, letting out a long breath. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night.”

His warmth lulled you to sleep after a long, emotional day. Never had you felt so safe and protected. It was easy to feel that way in the arms of a supersoldier, you supposed, thoughts meandering until there weren’t any left. You were asleep in minutes, breaths slow and long and even.

Once he was absolutely sure you were out, Steve pressed the gentlest kiss to your forehead, grateful beyond words to have you in his arms again, grateful you were safe, grateful you were his.

Even if you didn’t know it yet.

***

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the sliver of a gap in the curtains, right into your eyes. You blinked a few times, trying to figure out why the mattress was moving. And then you remembered. Steve.

The supersoldier was still asleep, breaths long and slow, those thick, gorgeous eyelashes resting against his sharp cheekbones, lips impossibly pink. His muscled arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other settled on the couch.

Your eyes wandered to the band on his wrist. It was out of place slightly, the edge almost crooked enough to read the letters etched onto his skin. Almost.

There was a part of you that was tempted to look. To nudge it aside the tiniest bit, say it was an accident, and finally know who it was that had been holding his heart in their hands for the last seventy or so years.

But you couldn’t do that to him. He trusted you enough to hold you while he slept, while he was the most vulnerable. You respected him too much to do that. So instead, you adjusted slightly, closing your eyes again.

“(Y/N).” Natasha said from the doorway of the kitchen.

“Hmm?” You replied, eyes opening again.

She eyed up the two of you, grinning. “Cute.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Got those files sent to Bruce. He doesn’t think it’ll be a problem getting that thing out of you. Won’t even have to put you under.”

“Cool.” You nodded. “Is it…like right between my neck and my shoulder? On the right side?”

“That’s where it is on the diagrams, yeah.”

“Okay. Thought so. I get pain there sometimes.”

“During training?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think it was anything serious. Thought it was like a pulled muscle or a pinched nerve or something.”

“You never said anything.” Steve murmured, blinking awake. “You were in pain that whole time?”

“No. It comes and goes. Mostly when I try out new stuff.” You said, still planted on his chest, looking up at him.

He smiled. “Morning.”

“Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Really well, actually. How did you sleep?”

“Like a fucking rock.” You grinned. “You weren’t kidding about running warm. Thanks for sharing.”

“Anytime.”

“Let’s get a move on, team.” Sam said, walking out from the bedrooms down the hall, Bucky not far behind him, looking tired.

You reluctantly left the warmth of your shared cocoon, sitting up and stretching, brushing your fingers through your tangled hair. “Alright, let’s go get this thing out of me.”

Show Yourself

“Alright, so, this might hurt a bit. Are you ready?” Bruce warned. You were laid out on a table on your stomach, a curled pillow beneath your head. It was a bit like a massage, except Bruce had made an incision at the base of your neck where your suppressor was implanted. He’d given you some numbing gel and pain meds, though, so you didn’t feel much.

On the other side of the observation window, Steve was standing with Natasha, his arms crossed, eyes focused. Tony wasn’t allowed even in there, which pissed him off. He’d tried to get on your good side when you’d gotten home and you blew him off completely, which, Steve had to admit, was amusing.

And Tony definitely deserved it.

“I’m good. Go for it.”

Carefully, Bruce used his tools to wiggle it free from your flesh, setting off a chain reaction in your body. The wave of relief you felt was almost enough to put you to sleep, a refreshing, cool sensation rushing from your head to your toes. Power crackled between your fingers, and you could feel your eyes glowing for a moment, despite the fact that you couldn’t see your reflection.

Bruce moved to stitch you up, but your body did the work for him, mending back together on its own before his very eyes. He adjusted his glasses, sure he was seeing things. But no, the wound was healed, just leaving a little dried blood on your skin, which he wiped off with a wet piece of gauze.

“Woahhh.” You murmured, coming out of the trance. You blinked a few times and it felt like waking up from a college nap, the kind you don’t set an alarm for and then come out of in a stupor.

“You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great.” You nodded. “Are you done? Did you stitch it up?”

“I…didn’t have to.” He murmured, still staring at the spot. He handed you the shirt you’d brought in and you tugged it over your head, staring at your arms, your hands. You didn’t look any different, but it was like every atom in your body was electrified.

It felt right.

Bruce opened the door and Steve and Natasha walked in, watching your every move.

“Wow.” Natasha said, grinning. “You look…”

“The same, but…more you.” Steve met your eyes, offering you his hand. 

You took it, letting him help you stand. Even his touch felt different now. Better. You settled, adjusting. It felt different, like even the gravity itself had changed. It would take some getting used to.

“I need to hit the training room.” You said with an excited grin. “You two are welcome to join me.”

“Can I watch? I want to take notes.” Bruce said. “From the observation booth, of course.”

“Oh yeah, by all means.” You nodded, leading the others down the hallway. A few others tagged along, Yelena, Kate, Wanda, who were all curious to see what you were capable of now, and just how much Tony’s lies had been holding you back. Sam and Bucky were already there and smiled when they saw you coming, Steve and the others in tow.

They cleared out some room, letting you have the space you needed. You stretched and then got to work.

First, you made a few forcefields. They still had that shimmer, like sunlight in a swimming pool, but they were twice as thick as they had been before. Steve couldn’t break them with his super-strength anymore.

You had more control over your waypoints and your portals, which, the more you used them, were becoming two different things. The waypoints, your stars, were a quick zip from point A to point B. Your portals, however, were more like a window that you could open and close, and took on more of a circular shape.

You were stronger, too. Nowhere near as strong as Bucky or Steve, but twice as strong as you’d been before, faster.

And then came the other thing. If you focused hard enough, and focused on the floaty, tingly feeling in your chest, your body started to glow around the edges, and at long last, your feet rose from the floor.

“Oh my god…” You murmured, lifting yourself from the tile ground. At first, it was hard to control, but you quickly figured out how to get from point to point, and how to hover in the middle.

Steve stared up at you as you hovered, fists lit with power, hair floating in the breeze you’d created. It was like watching the birth of a star, powerful and beautiful and otherworldly.

For the first time since 1943, he knew in his soul that he had to paint you, exactly like this. He memorized the moment in his mind, every detail from the streak of sunlight on your chest to the misplaced strand of hair on your forehead, the exact hue of your glowing irises.

“A picture might last longer.” Natasha teased under her breath, watching as you touched down.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Steve replied, already picking out a color palette in his head.

“Holy shit…” You breathed, the glow dissipating as you returned to normal. “What a rush.”

“Welcome to the fly club, kid.” Sam said, patting you on the back.

“Thanks.” You grinned. “You’ll have to give me some pointers sometime.”

“Oh, anytime.” Sam walked over to Steve with you. “You see her up there? She’s like Superman.”

“I saw.” Steve agreed, arms crossed. “I think this calls for celebration, huh?”

“What did you have in mind, Cap?” You asked.

“Baja Blast?” He suggested, earning a laugh and a friendly shove.

“So you did like it?”

“It’s growin’ on me.” Steve admitted, that sly smile spreading. “Come on, my treat.”

“Oh I’m in.” You agreed. “Let me just take these monitors off.”

You turned in Bruce’s software, all of the vital-measuring instruments, cuffs and little sensors hooked to your arms and legs and chest.

“So, give it to me straight, doc. Am I stable?”

“Yeah, everything looks great. Vitals are great, heartrate is fine, if not a little elevated, but I’d assume that’s just from the adrenaline.” Bruce noted, looking at the numbers and charts on the screen in front of him. “If you feel weird, let me know and I can check things over, do some scans, but otherwise, it seems…you’re doing better than you were before, actually.”

“Alright, good to know.” You said, trying not to let his words hurt you. 

It was good news, it really was, but you could have felt this way for eight months, not two hours. You were thinking faster, processing things at better speeds. Hell, it even felt like you were breathing easier. Whatever that thing was that had been inside you, it had been sapping your health for your entire life. And now, you finally knew what it was like to be at a hundred percent instead of eighty.

Fuck Tony.

***

Steve drove the two of you through the nearest Taco Bell drive-thru to get snacks for yourselves and the rest of the team.

You ordered your regular, your Baja Blast, and everything the others had requested, running it on one of the team cards Tony had given you all. On the drive back, Steve had a question you didn’t really expect.

“Where do people shop for art supplies these days?”

“Jo Ann’s or Michael’s. They have a little bit of everything. Fabric, yarn, paint, beads, basically everything you could need. Why, you got a DIY project planned?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He grinned. “I don’t do much shopping, so I didn’t know where to start.”

“We should go sometime. I was running low on yarn.” You said, taking a sip of your Baja Blast.

“Make anything cool lately?”

“I’m working on a sunflower cardigan for Wanda.”

“Oh she’ll love that.”

“Yeah, she’s the one who sent me the pattern.” You chuckled. “It’s gonna look really cute on her.”

The two of you got back a few minutes later, a drove of hungry superheroes descending upon the paper bags you were carrying almost instantly. It was a welcome sight, a full table of laughing people. Your family. You felt a little different now, but nothing had changed. Not really. They still liked you, still smiled at you, joked with you, laughed with you.

So then why had Tony felt the need to hide it for so long?

***

Days later, Steve walked down the paint aisle of the craft store, picking out some brushes, some canvas, paints. He found the perfect one for your eyes, another hue for your forcefields. The amount of time he spent looking at you made it easy.

He smiled to himself. The little guy from Brooklyn would be proud of him, getting back into art beyond the sketches he did from time to time. It reminded him, though, that he needed to swing back to that antique shop and finally pick up the painting that had been waiting for him for so long.

Surely, he could keep it hidden until your big day.

Happiest Place on Earth

Being an Avenger often brought along unexpected adventures and opportunities. Today, that adventure was a theme park. Apparently, Disneyland was putting in a whole section in homage to the Avengers and Tony wanted you all to be there.

And though the two of you weren’t on the best terms at the moment, who were you to fight a free vacation?

You and Wanda helped pick out each others’ outfits for your day off following the grand opening. But today, you were wandering the park in uniform, side by side with Captain America himself, as you walked side by side down the street in the parade.

They’d tried to teach you all to do a little dance as you walked. The only one even attempting it was Scott, who was absolutely thrilled to be there. Supposedly, his daughter Cassie would be there to see him, too. You hadn’t met her yet, but Scott loved her to the moon and back. With him as a dad, she’d have to turn out pretty cool.

“Waypoint,” Steve said, motioning you over to see a little girl dressed not as a princess, but as you, your star shining proudly on her chest.

“Hey there, superstar.” You smiled, giving her a high-five. “You look great!”

“I want to be a hero just like you someday!” She said, her voice impossibly small. Impossibly innocent. It was a cute moment, but you couldn’t help but hope she’d never have to be. That someday, you and the rest of the team would get the world to a place where superheroes weren’t needed, where there was just peace. Where people with powers could simply be like everyone else.

“You already are, hon.” You told her, posing for a picture as her mom held up her phone.

You continued along the parade route and saw a couple. The guy was wearing a Captain America hoodie, the girl was wearing a Waypoint shirt. You wondered if Steve noticed, but didn’t have to ask when you saw his eyes lingering there, his mask all but hiding the faint blush on his cheeks.

A few teenage girls stopped you and you signed their autograph books, throwing something together. Despite your time on the team, there had never really been a time you’d been stopped for them. It was an odd feeling, being famous for something like this.

Steve signed with confidence, though. Sometimes you forgot that before he actually got to go out in the field and make a difference, he’d done a stint as a celebrity, touring the country to sell war bonds.

Someday, you’d bribe him enough to show you the videos, if he hadn’t already burnt all of them first.

“Are you excited for your birthday?” One asked. “I heard your twenty-fifth is coming up.”

“Oh! Yeah! I mean, I guess I’m more anxious than anything. It’s the big one.”

“You’re going to have every twenty-four year old in the country on the edge of their seat waiting to find out if they’re the one.” Another joked. 

You laughed along. “Yeah, I guess it’s coming whether I want it to or not.”

You were near the end of the route, so it wasn’t long after that you were off the hook to walk around a bit, get something to eat.

Steve turned to you, trying to sound casual when he asked, “You don’t want your birthday to come?”

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged. “I’m not entirely set on the idea of pledging myself to some stranger for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not always a stranger.” Steve said. “Maybe you already know them.”

“That’s true. That would be…I mean, it would be better, sure, but…I’m pretty sure the only person I want it to be already has someone else.” You couldn’t meet his eyes when you said it, afraid of the answer, one way or the other, whether he finally said it outright, or if those pretty blue eyes said it for him.

You couldn’t handle the heartbreak.

“Wait—”

“(Y/N), we have time to hop on Pirates of the Caribbean.” Wanda said, swooping in to save you. She was really good at that. She took your hand and the two of you ran off in the direction of the ride.

Natasha walked up behind Steve, hand in hand with Bucky, who was nibbling on a churro. Obviously, they had heard the exchange.

“Fuck.” Steve muttered, shaking his head. “Well, great.”

“What’s going on, soldier?” Natasha asked.

“She’s gonna be so pissed when she finds out it’s me.” Steve said, voice small, as he watched you walk away. He waited for you to glance back at him. You didn’t.

“What are you talking about? Steve, she’s liked you for months. She listened to Songs for Sad Bitches when she thought she couldn’t have you.” Natasha reasoned. “Feelings like that don’t just go away.”

Bucky chimed, “Are we forgetting the night at the cabin?”

“That was three months ago.” Steve said, staring at his shoes. “I…I’ve been keeping it from her this entire time, hiding it from her, letting her feel like shit and stress herself out over it. I shouldn’t have gotten so close in the first place, but…I just can’t keep myself away from her. She looks at me with those eyes and I just…crumble.”

“I hear ya, pal.” Bucky said, patting his arm. “But you remember the look in her eyes at the bar that night? You remember the things she said to you? That (Y/N) is still a month away. She still has feelings for you. She still loves you, and she’s…she’s even excited to see the little guy.”

“She loved the little guy.” Steve agreed, smiling softly, remembering the look on your face when he’d found you, laying on his porch, the tenderness with which you’d whispered his name. In a world that constantly looked down on him, figuratively and literally, you were the first person aside from Bucky that made him feel loved, like he had something waiting for him.

Steve let out a long breath, nodding. Bucky was right. Back in the forties, he’d been the level-headed voice of reason, getting Steve out of the trouble his big mouth got him into. Even in the twenty-first century, he was still doing his damage control. In a way, he had missed it.

“Alright, now I know I missed some chapters.” Sam was on Steve’s other side, holding an ice cream sandwich, eyes wide. “When exactly were you going to tell me your soulmate is on the team?”

Steve chuckled. “Surprise?”

“Welcome to the inner circle, Sam. We’ve been waiting for you.” Natasha joked, wearing a grin.

“I mean, it explains a hell of a lot. Here I was thinking she was like…the grandkid of one of your old war buddies or something.”

“That’s what I thought!” Natasha agreed. She and Bucky finally filled Sam in on everything he’d missed over the past several months.

Steve’s eyes wandered back to that couple, dressed as him and you. They were holding hands, walking down the pathway, laughing, talking. They stopped for a selfie together in front of the Avengers Campus sign, which inevitably devolved into a kiss.

And in his head, he replaced them with him and you, carefree and in love in the happiest place on earth.

You’re On Your Own, Kid

Maybe, if you lied very still, you could convince the universe no time was passing at all. You were staring at the ceiling, flat on your back, the weight of the world resting flat against your entire body. No, against your soul, weighing you down.

Tomorrow was your birthday and you were not ready. Not in the slightest.

You let out a loud groan, forcing yourself to get up, to get dressed. You chucked your pajamas in your hamper, throwing on some joggers and a t-shirt, the old Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. It was a simple one, black with stars scattered across the fabric, the yellow logo emblazoned across the front.

There was a knock on your door.

“It’s open.” You called, not turning around to see who it was. You put on your star necklace, the one Steve had given you almost an entire year before. You tucked it under the fabric of the shirt.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Steve asked, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes searching.

“Not well.” You sighed, turning to look at him.

“I didn’t either when mine was coming. I swear I didn’t get any sleep for a week.” He said, eyes soft. “I, um, got breakfast. It’s in the kitchen. Those breakfast sandwiches you like.”

Your lips curled into a tired smile. “Thanks. That’s really sweet.”

“Of course. Whatever you want today, just say the word.”

You crossed the room, walking right up to him and straight into his arms. He held you to him, read resting against yours. For a moment, he questioned if it had already happened, if he’d gotten the days mixed up.

If you already knew.

“I just need you to hold me.” You whispered, holding in tears. You should have been excited. It should have felt like Christmas Eve. You should have been absolutely buzzing with excitement for the day to come.

But you weren’t ready to let him go, for everything about your relationship to change. You needed more time.

“I can do that.” He said softly, thumbs etching circles into your shoulders. “As long as you need me to. I’ve got you. Always.”

“Okay.” You whispered, voice breaking. The tears finally slipping down your cheeks. It was all you could say to keep yourself from saying ‘I love you.’

You ate breakfast with the others. Natasha could tell you had been crying, so after, she took you, Wanda, Kate, and Yelena out of the house. It was a welcome distraction. The mall was the perfect spot. It always was. 

“What about this one?” Wanda held another dress against you, imagining you in it for your birthday party the following night. Steve had taken it upon himself to be the entire planning committee, which was why he was back at the Compound with the boys, getting things in order. The only thing he wanted to have to worry about tomorrow was the party itself.

“Does it come in blue?” You asked, eyeing up the rack she’d pulled it off of.

“It does.” She smiled, putting the red one back in exchange for blue. It was sparkling, form-fitting, a little less formal than the one you’d worn to your Avengers induction, but it had the same vibe, just shorter and with a deeper neckline.

“Perfect.” You said, turning towards the dressing room. You handed Wanda your purse and slipped into it. It fit perfectly in all the right places. You did a little turn in the mirror, satisfied, and then walked out into the store again, where Natasha was nodding in approval.

“Alright, dress acquired, where to next?” Kate asked, checking the list she was keeping on her phone.

“I heard there is a Lego store here.” Yelena said absentmindedly, glancing out the door. “We should go.”

“Is that where you got Steve’s Millennium Falcon?” Natasha asked.

“Steve has a Millennium Falcon???” Yelena asked, eyes wide. “I want one.”

“I got it online. It was on sale.”

“I didn’t know Steve liked Star Wars.” Kate noted as you walked back into the dressing room to change back into your Star Wars shirt, ironically enough.

“Loves it. He’s a big nerd. Bucky, too. Buck’s more of a fantasy nerd, though. He’s super into Lord of the Rings.” You could hear the grin in Natasha’s voice when she said it.

“Steve said it was the first thing he watched out of the ice. Star Wars, that is. I don’t know if he’s seen Lord of the Rings yet.” You added. “And he’s talked about going to the Stark Expo back in the day. Vintage nerd.”

“Nice.”

Once you’d paid for the dress, you moved on to the Lego Store, where Yelena just about ran to the Millennium Falcon set to see it for herself.

“Lego typewriter.” Natasha noted, pointed at it. “Speaking of vintage nerd.”

“Oh I’m sure he’d get a kick out of that.” You laughed. Depending on how things settled after your soulmate bomb dropped, maybe you’d come back and get it for him. At the very least, you were pretty sure you’d still be friends after it all. And friends built Lego sets together.

“Hey, wait, there are Legos of us?” Kate asked, eyeing up the display where Steve had, you assumed, gotten your matching keychains. “This is news to me.”

“Let me see.” Yelena walked over and gasped, eyes falling on her Lego self.

Wanda smiled softly, head tilting as she looked at you. She rested her hand on your shoulder.

“It will be fine. To quote someone I care about very deeply: whoever they are, they are lucky to have you. Now, let’s forget about it for a bit.”

“Alright.” You agreed, letting her lead you over to the Build-a-Figure station, where you started mixing and matching the pieces. It was hard, but you let your worries melt away, at least for a little while.

***

Meanwhile, Steve was walking around the Compound with a clipboard, making sure everything was ready for the next day. Scott and the ants were helping put up the decorations. He’d sent Sam and Bucky to pick up the cake, and Tony had taken it upon himself to take care of the catering. A peace offering of sorts.

Steve was putting together the playlist for the party himself, hand-picking songs you liked, recommendations from Nat and Wanda, songs from Taylor Swift’s discography, and then, finally, a special song he’d been saving. 

Steve liked to listen to his records in the privacy of his room, away from the ears of members of the team who would tease him for it. They were forties jazz mostly, made the place feel a little more like home, especially when you weren’t around. But there was a song that he would soon share with you, as soon as tomorrow came. He hesitated to add it, but eventually, he pressed his thumb to the song, adding it to the playlist.

He closed his eyes, remembering that moment. The last song of the night before Val’s closed. It was one of the last times he had gone there.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…” The singer’s voice had floated across the room, words striking him to his core. He got chills, opening his eyes again. God, he couldn’t wait for you to know. Sure, he was a supersoldier, but he was pretty sure the weight of his secret was finally crushing him.

***

You retreated to your room when you and the girls got home. It was kind of late. You’d decided to catch a movie while you were out. You didn’t mind. You were beyond ready to go to sleep and just…get it over with.

Off with the Band-Aid.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Steve asked, finding Natasha and Kate in the dining room.

“She went to her room for the night.” Kate replied innocently.

“Alright.” He nodded. “How was she doing?”

“Not great.” Yelena said, already into the box of the Lego set she’d settled on. “I mean, she’s like fine. Just…kinda sad.”

“Quiet.” Wanda agreed. Vision had his arm around her.

“Okay, well…” Steve put his hands on his hips, thinking. What was the harm in telling them now? Warning the rest of them what they’d be waking up to tomorrow. “Vision, can you round up the others?”

“Of course.” Vision nodded. “To be clear, I am to leave out (Y/N)?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everyone but (Y/N).” Steve confirmed, leading the others upstairs to one of the lounges. He sat on the couch, mouth resting against his hands, elbows on his knees. Tony sauntered in, followed by Bruce. The rest of the team filed in one by one, finding seats, staring at Steve, waiting for answers.

“So, um, thanks for coming everyone.” Steve said, meeting their eyes.

“Uh, Cap, we’re missing (Y/N).” Clint said, looking around.

“That’s the idea.” Natasha replied.

“Is this a party planning meeting? Do the decorations look okay? I really thought the ants did a good job.” Scott said.

“They did a great job.” Steve reassured him, taking a moment to collect his words. “So, as you all know, tomorrow is (Y/N)’s twenty-fifth birthday. And…I need to finally come clean. I’m her soulmate.”

“Okay, now that I did not know.” Tony said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Your long lost love is one of our housemates?”

“Tony.” Nat shot him a look.

“No, I’m serious. I’m just…I’m relieved is all.” Tony admitted with a sigh. “I…the reason I didn’t tell her is because I didn’t know if Illustrians…I didn’t know if she’d have one. I figured…” He shook his head, staring at the floor. “I didn’t want to bring her down when it was so close.”

Steve took off the cuff on his wrist, finally finally showing him the mark that had been there since his twenty-fifth birthday in 1943. Your name, written in your neat, careful handwriting, first, middle, and last.

“Why not tell her, then?” Kate asked. “Why haven’t you told her?”

“That’s a little more complicated.” Steve thought. “When I turned twenty-five…she was there. In a few hours, when she goes to sleep, she’s headed to the forties to see…well, me, before the serum. I don’t know how or why, but…when she got there, she didn’t know. I didn’t want to risk changing anything. Butterfly effect and all that.”

“Time travel?” Bruce asked, eyes bugging out of his head. “You are just casually telling us that time travel exists.”

“I guess so.”

“Woah. Bruce. We’ve got some tests to run.” Tony said.

“Oh I am already taking notes in my head.”

The meeting ended shortly after that. The rest of the team gave him supportive words and smiles, but Tony’s were the most poignant. 

“I don’t know what you’re still doing here, Rogers. Go see her off.”

“Right. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good luck, Steve.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

***

You closed the door after Steve left, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall, steady and even. You let another tear roll down your cheek. All of the crying was exhausting. You just wanted to be done with it.

You sat on the bed, taking off your bra and chucking it across the room, laying back to relax and, hopefully, get some sleep.

The exhaustion must have been helping, because as soon as you closed your eyes, you felt the drifting start. It was strong and immediate, pulling you down through the mattress. You felt like you were floating and falling at the same time, limbs tingling. Your eyes shot open when you realized what was happening, but it was already too late.

And then everything went white.

Right Where You Left Me

In 1943, you walked hand in hand with your soulmate down the sidewalk, through Steve’s favorite park. It happened to be a shortcut between his favorite diner and the local theater. He liked to sit there sometimes, sketch couples walking by. Never had he imagined he’d be one of the couples someday.

For the past week, he’d about worried himself sick. He’d barely slept, he’d had no appetite, he’d had the worst art block of his life. Every time he fell asleep, he had dreams of finding his soulmate, only for them to be some pretty but shallow girl who didn’t want anything to do with him. He had nightmares of a grayed out mark like Bucky’s, or worse, no mark at all. Which is why when he’d run out that morning to get the mail, he hadn’t even checked yet.

Part of him didn’t want to.

And then he’d found you out there, laying under the mailbox.

And now, he was holding your hand. 

You caught his eyes, grinning. He smiled back, heart racing. Gosh, maybe he needed to sit down.

“Hey, could we sit for a minute?” He asked, motioning to the bench beside the path and trying his best not to sound out of breath.

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, following him and sitting down beside him, hand still clasped tight in yours. “Do you have an inhaler?”

“What’s an inhaler?”

“Shit, right, they probably haven’t been invented yet…” You murmured, pulling your lip between your teeth. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“You…know about the asthma.” He realized.

You nodded. “I know about all of it, Steve.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And you’re still looking at me with those eyes?”

“What eyes?” You tilted your head, innocent. “There’s no one else I’d rather be looking at, Steve. Just you.”

“Okay, now I know you’re not real.”

“Am I gonna have to spend all day convincing you I am?”

“You just might.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a reddish mark there. “Oops. Sorry, let me—”

Steve grabbed your hand, stopping you from wiping it away. “Leave it. Bucky comes home covered in ‘em all the time. I’ve never gotten one before.”

“I am going to cover you in lipstick marks by the end of today.”

He grinned, finally standing up to keep moving. “Is that a promise?”

***

It was nearing the end of the night. Steve could feel his time with you was nearly spent. So he led you by the hand to the stairs at the back of the bar, the ones that led up to the roof. He’d found himself up there alone on quite a few nights, when the double dates Bucky set up inevitably crumbled.

It was a beautiful night, clear. The stars were out in force, dotting the sky in perfect constellations. In the distance, fireworks boomed. It was one thing he’d always loved about his birthday.

“Wow, this is great.” You murmured, looking out at the city. It was like you were living in a photograph, the old buildings looming in the skyline, vintage cars driving down the street.

“My favorite spot.” He explained, walking over to the railing.

“I can see why.” You let out a sigh, gripping his hand tighter, fingers laced with his. You turned towards him, looking at the smattering of kiss marks on his cheeks. You’d kept true to your word.

Steve twirled you around, pulling you closer, a soft, romantic smile on his face. “God, you are so beautiful.”

“Let me show you something.” You told him, drawing his eyes to your hand where you made a tiny, gentle forcefield, its blue light shining across his features.

“What…is that?” He asked, staring at the orb. “Is that how you got here? Where were you keeping it?”

You curled your fingers, letting the bubble fizzle away. “It’s not a thing. It’s part of me. Something I’ve been able to do since college. There are a lot of people like me where I’m from, people with gifts. Steve…after I leave, your life is about to get a lot weirder than time travel and forcefields. I can’t tell you how or why, but…”

“I appreciate the heads-up.” He assured you, smiling. “And I love you, too. I didn’t say it down there, and I know I just met you this morning, but…I…I love you so much, doll. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

“You, Steve Rogers, are going to do amazing things.” You whispered, taking his hand again.

“Says the girl with superpowers.”

“I’m serious.” You told him. “I grew up hearing stories about you. I wanted to be just like you. Brave beyond words, fiercely loyal. I guess it only makes sense that we share a soul.”

Steve grabbed your face with both hands, kissing you deeply, lips dancing against your own, heart racing, knees wobbling like Jell-O. He rested his nose against yours, breathing shallow.

“Careful, there. Don’t let me take your breath away.”

He shook his head, kissing you one last time before murmuring, “Oh doll, I could do this all day.” He glanced back towards the door, music from downstairs faint. He took your hand. “Let’s go back downstairs. I think they’re playing the last song.”

You smirked, following him. “I thought you had two left feet.”

He shrugged. “I’m a quick learner.”

***

After you’d disappeared, Steve felt hollow, walking slowly back into the house. Bucky was sitting at the kitchen table, absently reading the paper. He met Steve’s eyes when he heard his trudging footsteps.

“She left you something.” Bucky chucked the bundle of fabric at him and Steve caught it, holding it out in front of him.

Your Star Wars shirt. Shit. He hoped you didn’t need it for anything. “Uh oh.”

“Might fit you.” Bucky chuckled. “Obviously you can’t wear it out, but…”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, eyes sparkling with tears. He held it to his face, inhaling the scent of your perfume like it was oxygen. “God, I miss her.”

“I know, pal. It’ll be alright. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it will be.” Bucky’s eyes fell to the grayed out mark on his own wrist, so faint it was barely legible. “You just gotta take it one day at the time.”

Don’t Know Where, Don’t Know When

Your veins were on fire. The blinding white shimmered, giving way to…your ceiling. You were laying on your bed again, sunlight streaming through the window.

You blinked a few times, feeling flowing back into your limbs slowly. Your heart raced. You sat up, staring at your hands. Soon enough, your eyes found your wrist. The letters were still there, spelling out the name of your soulmate.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“Oh my god.” You looked up and met your reflection’s eyes, your hair still set in elegant 40s waves. Your pajamas were gone, replaced with the blue dress. Your lips were a deep shade of red, the same shade you’d left all over Steve’s face last night. A different Steve in a different time.

You let out a breath, standing up and walking towards the door, your new-vintage forties heels clicking with every step. You marched straight out to the kitchen, where Steve was sitting at the table, fiddling with his cuff. He was sitting across the table from Bucky and Natasha, whose eyes tried to warn Steve that you were approaching behind him.

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N). Um, how’d you sleep?” He asked, eyes widening when he saw the way you were dressed. His first love, in the flesh, just the way he remembered her.

“I didn’t.” You replied, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the room, snatching up the folding footstool leaned on the end counter as you passed.

“Good luck, pal.” Bucky laughed.

You just about kicked open the door of the conference room, skirt swishing as you did. You closed the door behind you, locking it with a click.

“(Y/N), listen, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but—”

You unfolded the stool, getting up on top of it and pushing him against the wall. You crushed your lips against his, hands grasping the fabric of his shirt. He moaned into your mouth, frozen for a moment until the rest of him got the hint. His eyes fluttered shut, strong arms wrapped around your waist, head tilting as he deepened the kiss.

Your grip on his shirt weakened, arms looping behind his neck, holding him close as his lips left yours. He rested his forehead against yours, breaths ragged. He laughed, tucking his face into the crook of your neck to hide the tint of his cheeks.

“Not quite where I thought this conversation was gonna go.” He murmured against you, pressing kisses up your neck.

You reached for his left hand, fingers lingering against the strip of leather that was still hiding your name.

“You can take it off.” He told you, eyes sparkling. “It’s about time.”

Carefully, you undid the metal bit holding it in place and peeled it back, revealing your name etched there onto his skin, your handwriting unmistakable. You choked on a sob, tears slipping down your face.

“The whole time?” You asked, grabbing onto his hand with both of yours. “You knew the whole time?”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, eyes falling to the hand you were holding. “I…You didn’t know when I met you. I didn’t want to risk…changing anything.” I didn’t want to risk losing you.

“I can’t believe…Here I thought I was your rebound.” You laughed, sniffling through your tears of relief. “I thought you were falling in love with me and I would be the asshole for getting a soulmate and breaking your heart. And it was me the whole time.”

“That’s why you were worried we wouldn’t be friends?” He asked softly.

You nodded, more tears falling when you remembered the way you’d felt day before.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He shook his head, wiping your tears away. “Honestly…I’m really glad we got to be friends first. Most soulmates don’t get that. It made me appreciate every moment with you even more. It was weird and hard, but…loving you was easy. Always has been. It was not telling you that was crushing me.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner…” You said, shaking your head. “All of those little moments…the reading chair, the Hunger Games marathon, the cabin…” Your heart ached remembering the night in the cabin. 

You remembered him sleeping against the wall in the infirmary after you’d been knocked unconscious, unwilling and unable to leave you alone when you were hurt. You remembered the bewildered look in his eyes when he thought you were dressed up for a date instead of Wanda’s birthday outing. The argument about whether or not you should go on the Red Room mission, when he was more worried about your safety than anything else, broken over the idea of something happening to you when he wasn’t there to help. The Lego set you’d spent hours building together, his hands so careful, fingers brushing against yours every so often. The mission in the Amazon, when the only thing he could think about while pseudo-drunk was you.

It was always you. It had always been you. 

“Steve…”

“Are we gonna be okay?” He asked quietly, watching you, searching your eyes for some flicker of disappointment. “It’s okay if you need time. I’d understand. It’s…well, it’s a lot to process.”

“I just…” You sighed, squeezing his hand. “I can’t believe I get to have you. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Believe it.” He said. He raised your hand, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. “I love you, (Y/N) (L/N). I always have.”

“I love you too.” You confessed, earning that handsome smile he was so famous for. You couldn’t help but admire him, your supersoldier, the man that time had saved specifically for you. “I don’t need time. I just need you.”

You looked down at your new dress, realizing for the first time what it meant that you were still wearing it. You’d left your other clothes behind.

“Right. Before I forget.” Steve said, presenting a tattered, faded wad of fabric that had once been a shirt. “You left this at my place.”

You unfurled the fabric to find your missing Star Wars shirt, or what was left of it. You stared at it, dumbfounded. “You’ve had this the whole time?!”

“Took it everywhere with me.” He admitted. “Storming Hydra bases in Europe, Battle of New York, Sokovia, everywhere. I used to wear it, back when I was…you know, but it didn’t fit after my growth spurt. Sorry I couldn’t get it to you in better shape.”

“This is why you like Star Wars.” You realized, staring at it and looking back up at him.

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.” You laughed, shaking your head. You handed it back to him. “I think you need this more than I do, Steve. You can hold onto it for me if you want.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course. I know it’s safe in your hands.”

Your shirt wasn’t the only thing that was safe in his hands. You were pretty sure, finally, that your heart was, too.

You stepped down from your footstool. Steve watched with an amused smile, chuckling.

“We had less of a height difference last night.” You reminded him, folding up the stool.

“I remember.” He reached for your hand and you gave it to him. He brought it to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles with care. “God, I missed this. I missed you so much, doll. Which is silly because you’ve been here, but…”

“I get it.” You reassured him, dropping his hands and wrapping your arms around him instead. 

He hugged you to his chest, resting his head against yours and letting out a long breath. You could tell he’d been holding it in for a long, long time.

***

Before you changed out of your forties look, Wanda insisted on a little photoshoot, which you were grateful for. Looking back, it would be fun to have pictures, even just as more proof that it had actually happened. Steve obviously sat in on some of the photos.

You asked some questions, of course, such as “who all knew?” The answer was everyone, but not until the night before when he’d finally come clean to the team. Before that, it had just been Bucky and Nat, and more recently, Sam.

Wanda claimed she had felt something, but never pried. Anyone could see it, though. Anyone with eyeballs. The way he looked at you had always been with love.

You changed into your dress for the party, necklace on display between your collarbones. You touched up your makeup a little bit, but left it. Bucky’s vintage lady friend had done a good job.

Tony showed up about an hour before the party was supposed to start, instructing the caterers. He stopped in his tracks, meeting your eyes with an apologetic smile. “Rogers tell you my side of the story?”

“He did.” You nodded. “And I appreciate you looking out for me. Kind of. In your own way.”

“And I am sorry, for the record. Maybe there would have been a way to bring it up without…you know.” Tony shrugged. “Happy birthday, kid. I’m glad it all worked out for you and the old-timer.”

You chuckled. “Thanks.”

“Got in touch with your parents. You were right. They’re off-planet. But I have their contact info if you want to…”

“Yeah, I’d really like that. Thank you, Tony.”

“Of course. I’ll get that all squared away.”

Steve walked up to you as Tony walked away, eyes landing on the necklace there. You realized, as he stared at it, that you’d been wearing it the night before. You hadn’t taken it off before bed.

“Is that what you meant when you said you had help picking it out?” You realized, putting the pieces together. “I thought you meant Natasha or something.”

“No, I uh…” He grinned, nodding. “I got a good look at it that night. You never said who gave it to you, but I figured it may as well be me.”

Steve was wearing a blue button-up, his nice black slacks that did everything for his legs. He’d shaved, combed his hair all neat. His hand settled on the small of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You stood on your toes, hooking an arm around his neck and tugging him down for a kiss, lips melting against his. You felt his warm hand settle on your jaw, tilting your head just so. He smelled good, like his woodsy mahogany cologne. His breath was fresh, spearmint. And his lips were soft, confident but gentle.

His nose nuzzled yours, breath warm as it fanned across your cheeks. He met your eyes for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling you against him again. Now that he could touch you freely, he just couldn’t get enough.

“Bout time.” Bucky chuckled, walking into the room, Natasha’s hand in his. She looked great, wearing a nice red dress. “How are you two doing?”

“Great, Buck.” Steve replied, still not letting you go as he swayed. “I’m doin’ great. How are you, birthday girl?”

“It’s the best one I’ve had so far.” You said, echoing his words when you’d asked him the same question. You kissed him again, lips finding his easily.

He smiled, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Same here.” You told him. “I’ve had a crush on you since middle school. Imagine how I feel.”

“Middle school???” He asked, laughing.

“Yeah, why do you think I was crying at Air and Space Museum?”

“I was still in the ice!”

“Middle school girl crushes know no bounds, Captain Rogers.” Kate said, her and Yelena walking into the room next, more or less matching in their black dresses and purple and red accents. “I had plenty of crushes on old dead guys when I was in middle school. No offense.”

He laughed. “None taken.”

The party guests arrived in waves. The remainder of the team came, along with the extended family: Maria Hill, Jane Foster and her intern Darcy. A handful of your college friends came, buzzing about the prospect of being at the Avengers Compound, as well as the fact that you were an Avenger now, since most of them hadn’t seen you since that change had occurred.

You greeted them all as they came in, smiling and laughing and joking around like you did during the good old days. You introduced them to your new friends, your team. The playlist Steve had agonized over set the perfect tone. Some songs were upbeat and danceable, some were chill and slow, giving the couples in the room the chance to pair off and dance together.

During one of such songs, Steve offered his hand.

“Come on, let’s dance.”

“Like old times…” You murmured, hand sliding into his as he led you out onto the makeshift dancefloor.

Steve faced you, strong hand settling on your waist, the other still wrapped around yours. There was only one song it could be, of course. His favorite of the songs you had shown him thus far. He spun you around, face hovering just behind your ear, where he pressed a tender kiss before spinning you back around to face him.

“Even if we’d met on a crowded street in 1944, and you were headed off to fight in the war…”

“You still would have been mine, we would have been timeless…” You sang softly, meeting his eyes, the smile on your face matching his own. It was like Taylor had plucked the lyrics from your very heart.

“I think we kind of are.” He said, head nuzzled to yours, still swaying along to the song.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You replied.

When the song was over, Steve leaned in and asked, “Can I give you your presents now?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded.

He led you out of the room and down the hall to one of the conference rooms, where he’d stashed them earlier. There were four things waiting there. A medium box, a tiny box, and two easels covered with sheets.

He turned a chair around and motioned for you to sit, so you did. He handed you the bigger box first, and the infamous clinking sound gave it away before you could even get the wrapping paper off.

“Oh I think I know what this is.”

“I thought you might say that.” He chuckled. “I didn’t know if you had this one or not. I kept the receipt just in case…”

You tore the paper off to reveal a Lego set. It was Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “I don’t have this one yet. And I cannot wait to build it with you.”

“That makes two of us, doll.” He kissed your cheek, handing you the next present, the smaller one.

You tore the paper off to reveal a small velvet box. You gently lifted the lid and inside, there was a set of star earrings and a simple silver band. An eternity band, if you weren’t mistaken. Not an engagement ring, but it was a common gift for soulmates to give once they found each other, especially after they’d spent some time together.

“Oh, Steve…” You murmured, tears in your eyes. “They’re beautiful.”

“Can I?” He asked, kneeling down beside you and reaching for the ring.

“Yeah, of course.” You held out your hand and let him slide the band onto your finger. How he’d gotten your size, you didn’t know, but it fit perfectly.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this since 1943.” He confessed, hands lingering around your own.

“It’s still so crazy to me.” You sighed, shaking your head. You met his eyes. “You were in love with me before I even existed, before my parents were even born.”

“I know.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek, another to the corner of your lips. “When I woke up after the ice, I…I was lonely for a while. I spent a lot of days alone, learning, trying to figure out the new world I’d found myself in. I was kind of bitter. I didn’t know why it had happened to me…until I found you in the mall that day. And then I knew it wasn’t some accident. What happened to me was fate. You’re my destiny. Everything that happened led me straight to you and it was all worth it.”

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” You sighed, fingers intertwining with his.

“Doing what?”

You leaned your forehead against his, whispering, “Making me fall more in love with you.”

“No promises.” He laughed, kissing your lips and pulling you to your feet. “On my twenty-fifth, you said you didn’t know I was an artist and I promised I’d show you sometime.”

He pulled the sheet off of the first painting. It was you, glowing a brilliant blue, streaks of energy emanating from you like you were a star. Your eyes glowed, hair blew in the breeze. Behind you was a bright waypoint and zipping through the air was his shield, all of it captured in breathtaking oil painting. You wondered how long it had taken.

“This is so beautiful, Steve.” You rested your head against him, arm wrapped around his waist. “You made me look like a freaking goddess.”

“Well now you know how I see you.” He reached for the sheet covering the second painting, a little more careful with this one due to the age of it alone. “You might recognize this one.”

It was the painting from the antique shop, the soulmates dancing in Val’s. Now, with your new knowledge, you recognized them immediately. It was you and Steve. Always had been. Tears slipped down your cheeks and your hand covered your mouth, muffling your sobs. There was a time when you were afraid no one would ever love you as much as the blond-haired man loved the girl he was dancing with and it had been you all along.

But that little blond guy had painted it for you, not knowing whether or not you would ever get to see it.

You turned to Steve, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders, head resting against his strong frame as you cried.

“I never stopped looking. Never.” Steve said, voice getting emotional. “Every base I went to, I met every nurse. At every coffee shop, I studied every college student in case you were there doing homework. Every time I went to the theater, I was scanning faces for yours. It became habit, looking for you. I…”

“You found me.” You said, pulling away to see his face. You brushed his tears away with a gentle thumb. “You found me, Steve.”

He surged forward, kissing you deeply, with a century of passion behind his lips. Your hand wandered into his soft blond hair, the other settling against his firm chest. His hands caressed your body, memorizing every curve and dip, lips chasing yours through every slight movement. And after, he pressed a dozen kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. You giggled, finally catching his lips again.

Your breaths were heavy when he finally pulled away; his, too. You straightened out the fabric of his dress shirt, pulling him back down for one last kiss. Then another. Then, really, one last one.

“I love you, Steve Rogers. Now, then, and always.”

“Now, then, and always.” He murmured, kissing you again.

The two of you cleaned yourselves up before returning to the rest of the party. You blew out your candles and made your wish, for an eternity side by side with him, that wherever life took the two of you, it took you there together.

You had a slice of cake and some ice cream, sitting on the couch next to Steve, legs draped over his. He used his thumb to dab a little frosting onto the tip of your nose. You smeared frosting across his cheek with yours, which made him laugh.

After, there was one last song before most of the guests would be headed home for the night. As soon as the instrumental kicked in, you got emotional. It had been your last song with Steve the night before, a song that had been written about those going off to war, their futures as uncertain as the stars were numerous.

For Steve, it held a different meaning. He’d known then that his time with you was running out. He had no idea when he’d see you again, just that it would be a long time and that the version of you he met wouldn’t even know him yet, that it might be years before he got to kiss you again.

And so, the two of you danced as you had the night before, on Steve’s twenty-fifth and on yours, your face tucked against his, his arms wrapped tight around you as you swayed gently to the music.

“We’ll meet again. Don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…”

Tags: @cap-lu20

[storm-angel989]

Could I request a vox one-shot where his teenage daughter is alot like alastor (into vintage things, not big on technology, anti  capitalism) ?

Hi friend,

I have to say I really struggled with this one, but I think I wrote something mildly entertaining! I hope you enjoy!

<3 Mandy

Vox tried his hardest to get her into the twenty-first century. 

He gifted her a phone at five. Gave her access to her VoxTech watch at six. A VoxTech table at the age of seven. So when he found her curled up in bed with a paperback book and a lamp to read by, he felt his frustration level rise. 

“Babygirl, look,” he said as he opened up the reading app. “Look, you can download any book you want to read right here.”

“I know Daddy, but I like the paper pictures,” she told him. “I don’t like the tablet.”

And so, Vox resigned himself. He couldn’t force her to read on a tablet, and even if he could he wouldn’t. As the years passed, he found her using her devices less and less. Now at sixteen, she used her computer only when necessary- otherwise, she took notes by hand, wrote essays by hand, and scrawled her ideas in blank notebooks that crammed into the bookshelves. 

When she came home with a typewriter, he thought his head would explode. 

“Reader, I don’t see why you would want that thing,” he told her when she carried it inside. “It’s heavy, it's inky, dirty, and really, your computer does the same thing but so much better.” He paused and looked it over, “where did it come from anyway?”

“I found it at a little store on mainstreet, right next to your store,” she replied as she turned down the hallway. “And what does it matter? I like it. I’m going to keep it.”

Vox sighed and watched her vanish into her bedroom. A prickling feeling lingered in her absence, the even faint similarities to his archenemy bothered him in a way words couldn’t express. 

“What does it matter, Vox?” Velvette asked as she looked up from her phone. “As long as she’s happy.”

“That’s the only thing that matters, right Voxxy?” Valentino cooed. “That our little girl is happy?”

“I suppose,” Vox replied with a sigh, “at the end of the day it isn’t really a big deal.”

[peterm4rker]

ten. the girl in the green beetle (written)

🕸🕷✮⋆˙ wc. 1.5k w. curse words! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

as you walked towards the place you and spiderman had agreed to meat for your first ever interview, you wondered how the fuck you ended up there. 

just a couple days ago you had been struggling to think about something to write about, your mind too occupied with thoughts of a certain biochem major that was too hot and nice for your well being. but now you were on your way to meet with a literal superhero because he had been nice enough to be your new source of entertainment for the school body, and even more importantly, the newspaper editor.

to say you had changed your outfit five times was the understatement of the century. you wanted to look cute, but also professional. not too professional to make you look stupid, but not too cute to make you look superficial, in chanhee’s words. it is unneeded to clarify he had not been of any help in the choosing of the outfit.

you got to the park where you had agreed to meet, finding your way behind the giant statue where no one ever went and setting down the cloth you had brought for the occasion. you got your computer started and your phone ready to record in case you missed anything, and waited.

★🕸️⋆｡ °⋆

mark hadn’t slept all night knowing that he was going to have to spend time with you without giving away his identity.

he kicked himself over and over for even thinking it was a good idea to accept your interview, much less offer to have multiple of them. of course, he knew that he could retract at any minute and you would understand and send him off with a smile, because you were that type of person. considerate, understanding, nice, beautiful… he could keep going with that list forever. but he wasn’t the type of person to simply back away from things he got himself into, he wouldn’t break a deal that hadn’t even started, not when it came to you.

with that conclusion settling in his brain, he was finally able to rest. but the world was unfair, and someone out there (most likely jeno) was praying for his downfall, which caused him to be in his current debacle. he swung around the city like he was being chased by a monstrous, villainized version of the flash, trying to get to the arranged location before you got too tired of waiting and left there, storyless and disappointed. he sort of wished he was being chased by a monster, that would be a better excuse for his tardy than “i fell asleep and woke up about half an hour ago.”

with his mastered speed and guilt fueling every movement he made, he got to the park twenty minutes after the time you two had arranged. he looked for you frantically until he spotted you, sitting on a blanket behind the statue, eyes focused on your screen. you didn’t look mad or annoyed, and he really hoped you weren’t. he approached you slowly and carefully, taking advantage of the fact that you hadn’t seen him to take his time to admire you. your hair laid perfectly on your shoulders, the clothes you wore highlighting every beautiful feature. and mark was breathless, utterly entranced by your beauty when your eyes lifted to meet his, making him thank the gods above that you couldn’t see his blushing face through the mask.

“you’re here” you spoke, surprise coating your voice as you looked up to his standing form.

“i’m so sorry im late” he began, trying to find a way not to sound completely pathetic as he looked for an excuse.

“don’t worry about it, i’m sure you have better things to do than be interviewed by a college reporter” you chuckled lightly and mark’s heart pounded on his chest.

“not at the moment, i just fell asleep” he spoke before he even realized, eliciting a laugh to escape past your lips.

“that’s okay, you deserve to rest” you smiled reassuringly “and i also had time to finish up an assignment, so it worked out for the both of us”

mark smiled and took a seat in front of you, having to remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to act the way he normally did around you. you weren’t there for him, you were there for spiderman, so he would give you spiderman.

“what were you thinking for the article?” he asked as he ripped some grass off the ground, playing with the leaves to keep his hands busy and attempt to hide his embarrassment from you.

“well, obviously i won’t ask for any of your personal information. so i thought that we could do kind of a series of stories that you would like to tell, like your battles through your eyes, what you think, feel, things like that.” you spoke, a slight smile on your lips as you noticed the nervous habit.

“that sounds really fun, i normally don’t get to share my perspective of fights” he nodded, remembering that you couldn’t see the way he was smiling at you.

“let’s start off by telling me your favorite one of your stories” you said as you opened a fresh document on your computer, ready to listen to whatever he said “i’ll start the recording now, if that’s okay”

mark nodded and took a few seconds to think of what story he could share with you, mind scanning through the hundreds of silly stories he could tell for one that would entertain you.

“okay, i got one” he spoke once he had it, looking at how you started the recording “this was not so long ago, actually. this guy decided it was a good idea to attack in the middle of the day, when everyone is outside and extremely conscious of what is going on around them…”

and he continued to speak, telling you about the guy with the weird laugh and the awful plans. he had a way of telling stories that made them a million times more entertaining than when they were talked about in newscasts. his expressions and body language had you audibly laughing, getting an inside scoop into the superhero’s very unserious mind and what went through it in times of battle.

“and so i’m chasing him through the bridge and cars are stopping everywhere, everyone is honking and this man is sliding around with whatever goo was oozing from his body, which i had the pleasure to touch later by the way, not a very pleasant experience” he shuddered exaggeratedly at the memory, making a chuckle fall from your lips “and out of nowhere this random girl opened her car door and he slammed right into it. she got off and started yelling at him in very angry sounding spanish and the man looked terrified, like i’m sure he was way more scared of her than he could have ever been of me. she stalled him enough for me to get to him and take him away, though, so that was nice… i remember it so well because every time i see a green beetle i know it's her and it makes me laugh every time because i can just tell that she’s one hell of an entertaining person to be around” he finished as he settled down on his seat again.

if there was one thing you had noticed throughout the exchange it was that he could not stand still for the life of him. he was always moving, fidgeting with something, bouncing his leg, something. and it made you think of mark without even realizing.

you had spiderman right in front of you and you still managed to think of mark.

“no way…” you laughed softly, typing some things in your computer as you laughed at the end of his story. “so in reality you’re not even the hero of this story, the girl on the green beetle is” you teased.

“oh, yeah, a hundred percent” he laughed as he watched your pretty smile decorate your face, and just then he realized that he hadn’t been tracking the time he had been there “sorry, what time is it?” “oh, its 11:37” you spoke after checking the time.

shit. he had a report due at one and he wasn’t nowhere near finished.

“i’m so sorry to cut this short, but i need to get going, you know, super hero stuff” he muttered a bit nervously, feeling guilty that he had to leave you just like that.

“its okay… i’ll see you here at the same time next month?” you asked, and he noticed how unsure your voice sounded. he liked this side of you, the shy side that mark didn’t get to normally see.

“of course, i’ll be here on time next time” he smiled as he watched you smile, nodding your head. you waved at him and he waved back before taking the first web to a lamppost, that way swinging away from you.

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© peterm4rker, 2024

[thou-babbling-brook]

Maria Thorpe Character Analysis

Well, I simply can’t disappoint the people – aka, the five of you that will read this, lmfao. I’m so serious about this that I’m actually drafting this on a Google doc before I post this rather than just typing random thoughts on my phone. This is going to be a HUGE ramble that probably won’t make a ton of sense, but I hope it’s entertaining regardless. 

Maria Thorpe – a character that Ubisoft probably spent MAYBE thirty minutes thinking about, but that I have not stopped thinking about for like, five years. What a gal. So glad I was not in this fandom in 2012 to witness how HEINOUS people were about her for simply being a woman “in the way” of a M|M relationship. I hope by the end of this ramble, you, too, will see her for the baddie she truly is. 

In this essay, I will delve into Maria’s character to explore why she is so fascinating to me, the implications of her story, and why Ubisoft can actually catch these hands for dumbing her down in AC Revelations. (I'm putting a cut here because it's so fucking long I'm sorry gang)

First off, to understand Maria Thorpe as a character, you have to understand her background. I’m not going to copy and paste her Wiki or anything, but I am going to outline her life (stated and implied) before we meet her.

For those that don’t know, Maria was born an English noblewoman in 1161 – four years before Altaïr was born (okay cougar). Because she was a tomboy and defied many of the social norms for women in the 12th century, she was ostracized by both her parents and her peers. She mentions in The Secret Crusade that her parents tried to force her to conform, which culminated in her first marriage at the age of 18 to Lord Peter Hallaton. She mentions that he was a decent husband, but he didn’t exactly appreciate her more boisterous nature. After all, in 12th century England (especially among nobility), women were to be seen, not heard. She also failed his expectations as a chatelaine and a wife, as she bore him no children. The Bishop of Leicester granted them an annulment to avoid embarrassment to both Peter and Maria’s family. When she returned, she was “persona non grata” to her family and the whole of Leicestershire, especially when her father had already spent her dowry. With no other options, Maria ran away to join the Third Crusade, where she eventually met Robert de Salbé.

You may notice that we don’t actually know a lot about Maria and her life before AC1, which is probably intentional. To me, though, that’s what makes her backstory fascinating – the implications of her environment and what we can reasonably deduce she went through based on historical context. I think anyone who’s taken a seventh-grade social studies class could tell you women had, like, zero rights in 12th-century England – even more so, noblewomen. Maria was raised to be a glorified broodmare – say nothing, have children (two boys and a girl, as she jokes), and run her husband’s household. Clearly, she was the exact opposite of all of these things. Something interesting about Maria’s first marriage is the fact that while it was an annulment, she specifically mentions in The Secret Crusade it was an annulment to save her family further embarrassment – which implies that the marriage was consummated, but all parties wanted it done with. I don’t think I need to elaborate on how common and horrific an experience like that could be, but I think it fuels Maria’s relationship later on with motherhood, especially since she mentions that she was completely uninterested in childrearing and birth (this is a key point I’ll touch on later).

So what? Why does her background matter? It matters because of how historical and cultural context tie in to help form who she is by the time she leaves for the Third Crusade – a desperate, twenty-two-year-old woman, divorced, ostracized from the only family and society she has ever known, having no other choice than to ditch England and head for the Holy Land unless she wants to become a nun. For many men and women alike in the 12th century, this was their only opportunity to become something more than what they were born as, whether it be a serf, a blacksmith, or a noblewoman. Many who left for the Third Crusade left to “take back the Holy Land,” but also to escape or improve their current standings. To me, Maria falls in the second category, and it is this desperation to escape her life that forms her most notable (and later, tragic) characteristic: her undying loyalty.

As a side note, it is also interesting to me that Maria chose to be a soldier rather than a nurse. This is more so my characterization of her, but I think that’s because a) she’s too damn proud and loud to be a nurse, and b) because if she was a nurse, she would more than likely live and be treated the same way she was at home. Truly, if she wants to escape the patriarchy, the only way a woman like Maria could at the time was to join it by blending in. Girly get some therapy.

We’re now at AC1 in the timeline. Hooray! We don’t know when exactly Maria joined the Templars or when she first met Robert, but we can probably assume it was not long after she joined the crusade. As we know from AC1, AC Bloodlines, and The Secret Crusade, Maria disguised herself as a man (more than likely a young boy since she’s got a voice that would fit right into Alvin and the Chipmunks) and was able to keep up the rouse long enough to rise in the ranks and show promise to people like Robert. For Maria, when Robert finds out she is a woman and yet elevates her further, it is the first time in her life that someone has appreciated her for her masculine qualities. It is why she develops an intense loyalty for Robert to the point of being willing to be his decoy, despite the fact she fully anticipated dying. For Maria, it would be her ideal end – fighting to the death for a cause she truly believed in. Not even really a cause, as we figure out later, but more so for a man she truly believed in – Robert. It would not be through the pain and subjugation of childbirth like most women of her standing, but a brutal fight like any other man.

And yet – she doesn’t. When Altaïr meets her, he’s undergone a whole development arc, whereas Maria (at this point 30, which is SO funny to imagine her fistfighting this 26-year-old frat boy) is at the start of hers. And it starts with Altaïr sparing her – the worst possible fate that could become her at this point in her life. Think about it: the only person who has given her an OUNCE of respect has asked her to essentially die for him by acting as his decoy. As Maria mentions in AC Bloodlines, by this point, she is also a step away from becoming a knight – and at this point, she’s also known as a woman among the Templars. And yet, she believes they have become her family, and she is willing to die for their cause and for Robert. When Altaïr spares her and kills Robert, he’s sentencing her to the life she ran away from and feared – being nothing more than a woman who is looked down upon with condescending snarls and disgust for who she is.

This is why when we meet Maria in AC Bloodlines, she is rightfully PISSED. We literally see her realize that any ounce of respect and power she had is completely gone because Altaïr spared her. She is so pissed, in fact, that she tries to kill Altaïr again. This is even funnier when you remember how much of a BITCH it was to fight her in AC1, but I digress. Altaïr has destroyed everything she has built in her life for the last eight years. He has taken her home, her mentors, her family, and her honor. And bro doesn’t have a clue in the fucking world.

It’s at this point that I’ll also analyze more about Maria’s relationship with the Templars. At first glance, yes, she was a Templar and believed in their cause. Really, though, it goes far deeper than that. It’s not necessarily that Maria believes in their cause – otherwise, it would’ve taken a lot more for Altaïr to sway her to the Assassins – but that she believes in the people. Again, from Maria’s perspective, the Templars (especially Robert) were the ONLY people in her entire life to treat her with dignity, and she is willing to die for them. She is willing to throw her honor to the ground and beg for forgiveness in front of Bouchard because, without the Templars, she is nothing. She is back to square one as a silly little girl trying to run from a life that would only subjugate her. It’s that recurring characteristic of undying loyalty to those who have given her the life she has always wanted.

And for Maria, it is immediately spat back in her face.

When Bouchard takes over in AC Bloodlines, he is a strict Templar Grandmaster. No consorting with women, periodt. And he flaunts this over Maria, taunting her. He is tearing the last ounce of respect she’d ever received and throwing it away. Every sacrifice she made for the Templars for the last eight years meant nothing, and it is crushing to her. She continues to be pissed off at Altaïr, who mentions that she’s more pissed at the Templars than at him. Once again, she is nothing more than a woman – an imprisoned one at that.

This is where one of my favorite Maria scenes (not that there’s many) comes into play. When she and Altaïr are sitting on the ship to Cyprus or wherever it doesn’t matter, Altaïr does something that no person has done for her before: he treats her with unconditional respect. As funny as his autistic ramble about Empedocles and philosophy is, there are so many assumptions that go into Altaïr’s conversation that I think help sway Maria to his side. When he talks to Maria, he speaks to her as an equal. He talks to her about philosophy because of course she would know about philosophy in his mind – to him, she is a soldier and a person first, and a woman second (shut the fuck about The Secret Crusade and him thinking about her as a lioness shut up shut up I low key hate it even though it’s funny). He is the first person in her life to speak to her as an equal and with respect with no strings attached. In fact, when Maria taunts him for leaving her cuffed even as he talks about free will, he lets her go. She may not like him at this point, but after this scene, you can certainly see that she respects him in how she speaks to him. BONUS: she’s not trying to outright kill him anymore! Hooray!

You can see the impact Altaïr and his conversation had on Maria when she confronts Shahar in her courtesan fit. There’s so many layers to Maria willingly dressing in such an exposing, vulnerable, and feminine way (keep in mind this bitch is Catholic, I know her guilt was going crazy), but what I’m going to focus on is her conversation with Shahar. When he speaks to her, he is gross and all but catcalling her, calling her a “little fox” and using a sultry tone. Maria is having NONE of it, and one can only assume this is a tone she has dealt with a thousand times over. This is also where we see the gears turning in Maria’s head. I’ve seen people criticize Maria for how quickly she flip-flopped, but I think that’s overlooking the reason that she WAS a Templar – they were the only people who provided her a home when she had none. If you’re desperate for anyone to treat you with an iota of respect, you’d do whatever they ask. After she talks to Altaïr though, and especially after realizing Robert was simply manipulating her, she is questioning the Templars’ ideologies and realizing this is not what she wants. It low key is like Alicent in House of the Dragons right now – she’s shocked that fighting against women fucked herself over. Maria is similar in that sense – she thought that by being what the Templars wanted and fighting for what they believed, it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. But it did. She’s a woman before she’s a Templar, and the ideology of the Templars would see her subjugated just as she was before. It isn’t until after Altaïr’s spiel about free will and the challenges it brings that she realizes she has other options.

And that’s ultimately what brings Maria to the side of the Assassins – realizing her errors in thinking and wanting a way to redeem herself. The Assassins are her second chance, which is ironic given how many stories after hers would follow this same format of second chances. But it isn’t just the ideology change, either. It’s Altaïr. No, she does not have undying loyalty by the end of AC Bloodlines, but he’s certainly earned her trust and respect. He’s treated her like any other person without ever holding power or loyalty over her head. He does not manipulate her or exploit her – he respects her, and he earnestly tells her of the creed’s ideologies not to lure her in, but because he genuinely believes in the idea of dispelling the illusions of the world and wants to share it with her, whether she becomes an Assassin or not. That is what turns Maria into an Assassin at the end of the day: his respect for her and his understanding of the creed. And despite their issues, Maria chooses to follow him to the ends of the earth.

Now we’re at a really funny part of Maria’s story: we know basically NOTHING about what happens in between AC Bloodlines and AC Reflections. We know that sometime after traveling to Masyaf, Maria and Altaïr became a couple. We know they married in 1195 and gave birth to Darim the same year. Two years later, they would traumatize Desmond Miles by fucking on top of a castle, which is so fucking funny and only supports my characterization of Maria as a gremlin, because who the fuck else would make their husband climb up a giant ass tower for sex? We know she officially became an Assassin and would beg Altaïr to stop looking into the Apple. We know she would join Altaïr and Darim to Mongolia to kill Genghis Khan. And that is all we know for an approximately 30-YEAR PERIOD.

While there’s a lot I could talk about in that gap, like Maria’s relationship with other Assassins, I’m going to focus on her relationship with motherhood. As we established earlier, Maria had ZERO interest in being a mother or giving birth. This is a personal headcanon but I do not care because it’s MY analysis and I can do as I please, but I feel like she would’ve dreaded childbirth, especially given how English nobility acted about it (e.g., how people treated it like a scandal or disease) and how it was the leading cause of death for women until the 20th century. Yet, despite this, she had not one, but TWO children. She was like one away from the goal, and even then Sef had two daughters so really she fulfilled it. But why? What changed that she would be willing to do the very thing she left England to avoid?

I think it goes back to the reason she was disinterested in it in the first place. Like Maria says in The Secret Crusade, she didn’t want to just be a mother or a wife. Her ideal husband would treat her like any other man, taking her hunting or whatever else bullshit medieval stuff they’d do instead of scrolling through TikTok. She never said she didn’t want to be a mother. I think her hesitance stems from the fact that she didn’t want to SOLELY be defined as a mother or a wife. With Altaïr, however, that fear is pretty much gone. Since the moment she met him, Altaïr has always treated her with respect and admired the things she was once shamed for. Her strength is valuable as an Assassin. Her bluntness keeps him in check. Her ideas are admired rather than ridiculed. To Altaïr, Maria is not just a woman or even just an Assassin. She’s a person with her own experiences and ideas and fears and strengths and dreams. He loves her for every aspect of herself that was once frowned upon.

I remember a while ago seeing a Tumblr post from ye olden days (like 2012) talking about how because menstrual cycles were extremely irregular back in the day due to medieval diets and exercise, Maria would have to purposefully chill out to regulate her cycle to become pregnant. What that implies is that she trusted Altaïr so much that she was willing to settle down and have children because she knew it would not influence how he treated or loved her. Personally, I think this is true of Darim, but that Sef was an accident because it’s funnier that way, but regardless, the point still stands. Maria getting pregnant and becoming a mother is the opposite of what she thought she would ever want, but because she loved and trusted Altaïr so much, she was willing to have a family with him because she knew it would not come to define her. I think that is unbelievably sweet.

We also don’t really see Maria interact with her children very often, which I think is a fucking shame. When she does interact with Darim (we never see her with Sef, though we do see her reaction to his death), Maria is always supportive and encouraging. Again, this is more my headcanon territory but I really don’t care because I can do what I fucking please, but Maria low key feels like a boy mom to me, but not in the weird Freud way, lmfao. Like we established earlier, Maria’s key trait is her loyalty. I think this loyalty would be extended to her children. We know she’s loyal to Altaïr (it ends up killing her), but I feel like it would go insane with her children. When she learns of Sef’s death in The Secret Crusade, this woman breaks down in tears instantly. WHERE THE FUCK WAS THE MOTHERLY RAGE WITH ABBAS, UBISOFT. WHERE WAS IT. Anyways.

Masyaf is a pretty cutthroat environment to raise a child, especially when you consider that Abbas is apparently lurking in the background scheming during Altaïr’s reign. Something I wish we learned more about (and something I just find fascinating in general) is the political environment of Masyaf. Altaïr implemented a lot of changes to the Brotherhood that faced backlash, one of the key ones being allowing women in the order again (ahem, Maria). I know Maria said she was uninterested in the politics of running a house, but I do think she’d kind of have to play her hand in politics in Masyaf, kind of how Altaïr realizes he’s not exempt from politics since he’s literally shaping them. If Maria wants her kids to be safe, especially as sons of the Master of the Assassins, she’s gotta play her cards well. This is why I think it does make sense for Maria to calm down after having children to be more similar to the Maria we see in AC Reflections and AC Revelations. She can’t just fight everyone like she did when she was relying solely on herself. Now, she has people relying on her, and I think it makes sense for her character to chill out more (though without losing her spunk) to ensure her family is safe.

For those that have ever watched Magnificent Century, basically think about how Hurrem went from fighting everyone to playing her cards wisely so her kids wouldn’t die or do stupid shit. That’s how I feel like Maria would be.

Something else that’s interesting about Maria to me is her relationship with Altaïr. Duh, you’re probably saying, but hear me out. We know that while she and Altaïr were inseparable during their marriage, there was one thing that strained it: the Apple. It makes sense why Maria would be so pissed off at it. She’s seen Altaïr control men’s minds with it. She’s seen how it takes him away for days at a time with its secrets, to the point she is begging him to throw it away. Back to the point about loyalty to her family, whereas Altaïr seeks knowledge, Maria just wants her family protected and safe because she loves them – including her dumbass husband. It’s ironic that the very thing she fought about with Altaïr is the thing that killed her.

So we’re finally at AC Revelations, and I am truly shocked that you’re still here. Kudos to you. At that final confrontation scene with Abbas, that loyalty for those she loves comes to a head. When Altaïr whips out the Apple, Maria begs and pleads him to stop, because she knows if he uses the Apple to control someone, he will only be proving Abbas’s point, which will only fuck them over. In The Secret Crusade, we also have Malik’s head on top of this scene to make it worse. Maria’s position is again one of desperation. Her son is dead, one of her best friends is now just a head, and her husband is about to go sicko mode. She is screwed and she knows it. What she doesn’t know is that she’s about to be stabbed by Swami (I’m going with the revelations version shut up) in a last ditch effort to stop Altaïr from using the Apple. Altaïr doesn’t listen to Maria, and it kills her. He kills her.

… SO I HAVE THOUGHTS.

I think Maria dying from the Apple makes sense, I do. That’s not my problem. My problem is how AC Revelations basically dumbed her down to this motherly, homely figure which is the like, ANTITHESIS of what Maria is. Where was the feminine rage??? You’re telling me this woman would not be about to SLAUGHTER someone after learning that Sef died?? You’re telling me she would just pull an AltaïR thiS iSn’T yOu???????? Are you so fucking for real right now??? It pisses me off because it nukes her character. While yes, it makes sense for her to be a much calmer woman and 67 compared to 30, this is still Maria. Don’t act like she and Altaïr don’t have fucking anger issues and be so fucking for real.

Here’s my ideal scenario for what should’ve gone down. I think once they pulled Malik’s head out, there should’ve been all-out chaos rather than this bullshit “We killed everyone loyal to Altaïr before he arrived.” Maria should’ve been right there with them with a sword out. Altaïr, in a desperate attempt to calm everyone down, would take out the Apple and try to control everyone. If you’ve seen the long ass discussion about how Revelations fucked up Altaïr’s character arc, this also helps remedy that because Altaïr is pulling out because of his arrogance in believing he can control the Apple. News flash: he can’t. Maria, while fighting for Altaïr, would somehow be killed either by the Apple or like similar to how Swami accidentally killed her. Something along those lines where it is Altaïr’s fault. That’s how she should’ve gone out, not some weird pick me bullshit.

Anyways. RIP Maria Thorpe you would’ve loved Crusader Kings 3.

I definitely missed some points about her character but this is already 7 pages long on Google docs so I am NOT writing anymore. God bless.

TLDR she's a baddie and I need her so so so bad

[sweetercalypso]

Watch Party || Joel Miller

word count: 1.5k

summary: renting a Halloween movie turns into a nightmare when poltergeist!Joel Miller crawls out of your TV

notes: part two in my week of horror series! minors dni; female mast., male mast., voyeurism, facial, afab reader, better tags on a03 because tumblr hates this post

It’d started as a joke.

The dusty VHS tape sitting on your coffee table was a relic, an obsolete piece of lewd cinema recorded and forgotten by time. ‘Night of the Lustful Undead’ is clearly an outdated work, but you doubt that the twenty-first century has produced anything that rivals the corny obscenity featured in this parody of a classic horror film.

Static from the TV flickers in a black and white trance, casting a strange light over your living room, dancing across the furniture with an eerie glow.

You grab the tape and slide it into the VHS player that you’d pulled from storage just for this occasion, and settle onto the couch with the remote in hand. This started as a joke, but you’re in too deep to back out now.

When your Halloween plans had been cancelled for the third time in a row, you’d assumed it was a sign that you were meant to spend the holiday weekend at home. You’d told your friend about your dilemma over brunch one morning, and she’d said that time alone could be just as fun, as long as you knew how to spend it.

You’d blushed at the implication and laughed off her suggestive tone, but the idea had planted a seed in your mind, and by the end of the month, it’d grown into something more.

­­­­If you were going to spend the holiday by yourself, you decided that you wanted to stay on theme with your choice of celebration. A movie rental company on the other side of town had exactly the entertainment you were looking for.

You’d been grateful for the anonymity of the empty, dated storefront, though you’d struggled to make eye contact with the cashier as he’d stuffed your purchase into an inconspicuously plain plastic bag.

Now, as the opening credits roll across the screen, you’re still telling yourself that this is just an ironic charade. You’re not actually interested in the passionate plot you’d read on the back of the cover; you’re not secretly glad that your friends hadn’t invited you out at the last minute; you’re not vaguely aware of the heat simmering in your belly at the thought of what’s to come.

The scene opens with a grainy shot of a scantily dressed woman barricaded in the cellar of an old farmhouse – a reference to the film’s inspiration.

She’s toying with a radio to call for help when the reanimated “zombie” bursts through the door, mangled shirt barely covering his tan chest. He lunges towards her and she gives an exaggerated gasp before zealously attempting to wrangle herself free.

“Oh, that’s so fake,” you scoff, though your hands twitch absentmindedly at your sides.

Their stilted performances makes the movie seem more gaudy than you’d anticipated, but you’re too distracted by their heated struggle to worry about bad acting.

The performer in the scene is handsome enough – a burly, broad-shouldered man with dark eyes and a stony expression. The undead part of his character had been implied solely in his tattered clothes and the baritone warble of his voice, and now that he’s stripped down to his popped-open jeans, you can’t remember much else about his role.

Your hands inch into your lap as the two actors tangle themselves together, almost entirely abandoning the storyline they’d spent the first ten minutes building up. He lays the woman down on a conveniently placed blanket and moves between her thighs with the promise to ‘give her what she needs’.

The camera changes angles and you shift in your seat as the expanse of his back fills the screen. His muscles flex in time with his first experimental thrust, spine bent at an awkward angle as he leans down to groan against the woman’s throat. You barely notice the sound of her high-pitched moans over the guttural noises he sings against her skin.

When the point of view changes again and you’re met with a close up of his side profile, you’re immediately entranced by the sight. His nose is pressed against the woman’s cheek, brows pinching together as they share greedy breaths between their open mouths.

You gasp as he glances over at the camera. For a split second, it felt like he was looking directly into your eyes.

The thought is enough to bring you to your breaking point, finally caving in and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your sweats. You’re soaked between your thighs and the sound of the actor’s heady pants fuels the urgency in your touch.

Your fingers swipe messily at your clit as the man on the screen picks up pace, grunting a breathless command of ‘don’t come without me’ into the small room.

The camera switches to a more scenic shot of the pair and you mourn the loss of his close-up features. The woman seems to have forgotten her character’s earlier reservations, thighs wrapped snugly around his waist, one hand knitted into his dark, tussled hair. You silently envy the way she gets to explore his form.  

She throws her head back in pleasure and you imitate the act, almost like you’re trying to envision yourself in her place. Your eyes squint shut and you picture his face again, dipping your fingers into your core.

Light from the TV flashes behind your closed eyes, a wild display of vivid colors that doesn’t fit the setting of the movie. The sounds of their affair are replaced with a jarring static that makes you groan and slump down into the couch. The tape must be jammed.

You peel your eyes open with a disappointed sigh, already feeling the tightly-wound coil in your gut beginning to unravel. So much for enjoying your alone time.

From the flicker of the screen, you notice a tall silhouette looming beside the TV. The color drains from your face when it begins to move closer and you realize that it’s taken the shape of a man.

You’re frozen in fear, too scared to move and too dazed to consider whether your heart is hammering out of panic or eager anticipation.

The figure stops just a few feet away and you’re able to piece together his identity. The mused hair, the stubble on his cheeks, the hills and valleys of his exposed shoulders and chest – the man from the screen is here in front of you.

You look towards the TV in disbelief. Everything seems to be exactly the same, minus the empty space that he had once filled.

His scene partner is still plastered on the screen, blurred by the digital lines running across her image. Without his presence, the movie seems much more like the unserious spoof film you thought you’d purchased.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” his gruff baritone breaks the monotonous white noise coming from the speakers.

“How did you…” your question trails off before you can finish it. What could he say that would make you understand?

He nods towards where your hand disappears beneath the waist of your bottoms. “Keep going. I want to watch.”

His own hand is wrapped around the length of his cock, moving slowly to keep his interest limited to your assent. He’s close enough that you can see the pearl of precum dripping from his ruddy tip, glinting in the light of the flickering screen.

Your fingers move of their own volition, circling your clit with a gentle pressure, matching the leisure pace of his hand gliding over his length. Small chirps and sounds of pleasure fill the air, turning into little hums and choked sobs as your shared tempo becomes faster.

“Y’like my cock?” He spits, thighs flexing as he bucks into his palm. “Dirty girl, getting off on watching other people fuck.”

You whimper and stretch your free hand out to motion him to come closer, but he shakes his head and bats it away. “No – you’re gonna finish what you started.”

He takes another step closer and rubs his thumb over the underside of his cock, laughing to himself as your jaw hangs open in awe.

“Make yourself come, and then I’ll touch you however you want.”

A few more swipes over your clit is all it takes for you to reach your peak, crumpling forward and shuddering through your release. You’re still catching your breath when a warm hand meets your cheek, pulling your attention up to the man towering above you.

His cock stands just inches from your face, and he twists over the shaft once, twice, before he comes, striping the evidence of his arousal over your glazed features. He hisses out a blissful noise and taps the weeping head against your parted lips, leaving a salty taste in your mouth that makes your walls clench.

He tips his head to the side, admiring the opaque lines streaked across your face. When he takes a step back and glances at the TV over his shoulder, you’re afraid for a moment that he might disappear. He turns his focus back towards you with a grin, and the look in his eyes says he’s not leaving anytime soon.

[highlordofkrypton]

SUMMARY

The two strongest High Lords in Prythian are rarely in the same place at once, and when they are, they stay away from each other. When High Lord Celyddon and High Lord Sieffre arrive for the Autumn Equinox, young Beron Vanserra sees an opportunity to learn (or blackmail) greatness. He wants to be like them one day, but until then, he will do anything to get close to them. TL;DR - We all know getting topped would fix Beron, but what if it made him worse.

CHARACTERS: Beron Vanserra, Tamlin's Father and Rhysand's Father

AUTHOR'S NOTES

The first chapter of this fic is for @sjmvillainweek and focuses on Beron, and the two other High Lord's dynamics "Behind Closed Doors" leading up to the smut but there is technically no smut yet. The following two will be pure Kinktober. The tags will be added as the chapters go up!

TW: Blood, Violent Foreplay

READ BELOW THE CUT OR ON AO3.

“Ber, are you ready? ” The sigh from the other side of the wooden door is exasperated. “You’re going to be late! You know High Lord Sieffre never stays long. You’ll miss him.”

He looks himself in the mirror for another several minutes, adjusting his gemmed collar and his perfectly tailored coat. His shoulders have finally filled out after decades, and he swears he’s grown taller now. The notches are on the inside of the frame, and he can’t get to them to check without alerting his sister to his worries. She’ll go away sooner or later. The last thing he needs is her snooping.

His hair is tufts of close cropped auburn curls, dark red wine just like the rest of his family. He runs his pale fingers through them. I should cut it. He is not a child anymore, nearing his second century and still, the Courts won’t take him seriously. It’s hard to shine in his father’s shadow. His tail sways lazily behind him, rubies tucked into the fur and gold rings encircling the tip.

“Beeeeeeer, hurry up,” she complains in their autumnal tongue.

“Just fucking go!” Beron snaps in return.

The Fall faerie doesn’t need to see her to know that she rolls her eyes, mutters something twenty-shades of rude before storming on her way. Beatriz doesn’t have to worry. Not like he does. She has truly grown into her beauty, like when the trees that line Spring bleed into Autumn, their leaves maturing and taking on a certain richness. He’d watched her perfect her enchantments leading up to the Equinox, how to set her hair aflame without drawing directly on her magic. All eyes will be on her tonight, and he simply cannot allow that.

Beron loves her, he truly does. They were born from the same bud, but only one of them will ascend to the seat of High lord and it will not be her. Despite all beauty and showmanship, he must learn to command a room with his sheer presence.

Maybe I should grow a beard.

His reflection in the mirror quivers at the thought, and the ground beneath his feet follows. The distant sound of trees cracking and shifting, great oaks stepping aside for something greater. Beron abandons all thought, rushing to his window. The skies have begun to darken, like a storm coming, but there are no clouds. Rather, a tapestry of night crawls across his view, defying the day.

They’re coming. At the same time.

The flame in his chest flutters, kindled at the thought of entertaining both of them at once. Spring and Night—new life, and eternal darkness—always at odds, even with the passing of power. Even in the same room, they repel one another, keeping to edges and enemies, never overlapping. 

High Lord Celyddon arrives from the west, mounted upon a great elk. Emerald fabrics cascade off his shoulders, a dark canvas upon which his deep golden hair rests. Atop his head, laurels held together with gold sits between his curved horns. Beron has only ever seen him radiate power. Even in his approach, the ground seems to move instead of him, as if it doesn’t dare ask its King to waste any effort. His entourage follows him, dwarfed by the sheer regality of Spring’s chosen one.

What would I do? If I had to face him? Fire does not burn stone.

The young Lord’s mind is always calculating, preparing for his ascension. It will happen, sooner rather than later, Beron just needs to bide his time and wait for the right moment. Until then, he entertains the fantasy of standing on the same dais as the other High Lords—of speaking to them as equals and then, surpassing them. The thought has him biting his lip, hiding the smile creeping onto his face. Eagerness is good. It is necessary. Power requires hunger, and Beron finds himself starving.

To the North, the star-kissed king soars. He has no wings, unlike the barbarians that live in his lands, but the skies have deemed him worthy of being close to their gods. They carry him from Night to Autumn, like a comet dancing against the darkness. He spirals down towards the leaf-covered ground, his body enveloped in dark smoke. When he lands, it rolls off him, like a hungering cloak, looking to swallow the closest living soul. High Lord Sieffre arrives alone—always alone.

Beron knows that the Night Court boasts the largest military in Prythian, and he cannot help but think there is nothing else but Darkbringers and Illyrian warriors. He has never seen the High Lord take interest in anyone; Sieffre’s presence is transactional and scarce, at best. His absence is ignored, but his presence—oh, his presence is a sight to behold.

Violet eyes flick up towards his bedroom window, and Beron steps back into the shadows. Fuck. Children are not meant to be heard or seen, but he is not a child anymore. He is too damned used to the crushing weight of his father’s disdain, he forgets what it means to claim a seat at the Lord’s table. Beron watches the Lord of Nightmares, realizing that the shadows do the opposite in the face of this faerie. They make him easier to perceive. 

Sieffre’s face is made of porcelain, delicate and flawless—not a single scar or blemish, not even the grace of freckles or beauty marks—save for the purple spider of veins beneath his skin. His pallor surpasses that of the Autumn Court in leagues, so white his skin seems… translucent, and yet… and it does not take away from his beauty. His raven hair falls in waves, blending into his dark attire. He’s perfect.

The two of them, Spring and Night, are the closest thing to male divinity on this mortal plane.

His father would have his tongue for that thought, and Beron finds that he doesn’t care very much. He’ll die. Sooner than these two Lords before him.

Their eyes meet, down in the courtyard, emerald against violet, and Beron watches them carefully. His breath catches, eager to see if he will be privy to a single moment of interaction between them. It will be his precious secret, shared with them. He is a part of this moment. The High Lord of Spring dismounts, and his entourage follows suit. Beside his Great Elk, a smaller white stag carries a fail-looking Lady. Attendants help his wife down, and she takes her place beside him. Celyddon engulfs the nape of her neck with his immense hand; one wrong move, and he could snap it out of sheer entertainment. He tilts her head up forcefully, and tears a kiss from her lips, all while mocking the Night with his eyes.

The Lady of Spring simply stands there, taking what’s given—a passive tool. To stand by his side is to revel in his power, and were it Beron—

He bites his tongue. Lady Margret is his mate, a title that stands above all, except for that of a High Lord. He must tread carefully with his disdain, lest Celyddon have his tongue for the indiscretion. Mates are a fairy tale, a political ruse, he’s sure of it. A stupid ruse that binds them to weakness. What good are females, aside from their child-bearing hips? The males carry power, and were it up to him, he wouldn’t bother with the risk of power passing to the lesser sex.

No, no, were it him —whether Spring, Autumn of Night—he would elevate them to new heights. They would have to carry the burden of power alone, he would alleviate them of their woes. All they need is to choose him. His fists clench around the unspoken desire, and it tightens until the thought is gone.

High Lord Sieffre simply glances away, no additional moment wasted on the show Celyddon has put on for all Prythian, and disappears inside Beron’s home. 

Beron doesn’t wait; he’s late.

***

The Equinox celebration is dizzying. Beron is sent to and fro, attending to his father’s demand of a good impression. He talks up the wives of Day, pours spiced wine for the Summer delegate and pretends to care about Dawn’s famed Tinkerer with his useless inventions. What is the use of machinery when magic exists? All he hears are crutches fabricated for the weak.

His sister has it easier, twirling in her ember dress that lights up with the proper partner. High Lord Sieffre’s impassive face never changes, even as he leads her with graceful expertise. Beatriz knows exactly when to laugh, and chooses all the perfect moments to run her fingers across his broad shoulders, or tighten her hold on his arm. Her warm brown eyes flicker to Beron’s, a perfect mirror to his. When they were young, their father couldn’t tell them apart, and they’d play tricks, letting the other take the beating on the other’s behalf. 

She smiles, and his coiled tail tightens around his waist. He needs to get better at hiding his emotions, at least until he can divest himself of them completely, just like Sieffre. He’ll take all the pieces from stronger lords, and rebuild himself not in their image, but as their better.

“Beron,” his father’s voice rumbles, and Beron straightens his spine.

“Yes, father.”

“Summon, Sieffre to my study. I wish to speak to him.”

“Yes, father.”

There can only be one reason why his father would want a private discussion with the Lord of Night. Beatriz is of marrying age, still ripe, but not too young that she is a burden to her husband. High Lord Sieffre would be honoured to have someone with a flame as bright as hers, but… the love for his sister does nothing to temper his anger. When she leaves, what will he have? Nothing but a long con without the support of his twin. How dare she move on without him; their paths must branch at the same time.

Beron worries at his lip, his emotions spilling onto his face rather than his tail. Her ambition will get her killed. Father has allowed her to want more than her station. He should have been first, if only to remind Beatriz where she belongs.

He approaches his sister and the beautiful Lord. “My Lord, my father requests an audience with you. I will escort you to his study.”

Even with his eyes downcast, he can feel the weight of Sieffre’s attention on him. A shiver snakes down his spine, and he thinks nothing except hiding his eagerness. He wants more, but he is a loyal son and attends to his task.

“Very well,” answers Sieffre, his voice smooth as silk in his ears.

“I’ll join you,” Beatriz smiles at her brother, hooking her arm around Sieffre’s.

“Father did not ask for you.”

“Fortunately for you, I know where I am needed.” She tips her head. “And wanted.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you to stop listening to the voices? They aren’t real, Bea.”

If the High Lord is put off by their rivalry, he doesn’t show it. He has never s shown interest in anything. If Beatriz thinks their little dance means anything, that’s her own fault. Everything High lord Sieffre does is transactional. His attendance requires him to pay attention to her, nothing more and nothing less.

His sister talks the entire way through the Forest House, recounting its history and sparkling interesting tidbits about herself. Beatriz is smarter than most females, making sure that anything High Lord Sieffre learns about her is impressive, clever or a display of her skill. He doesn’t seem to care, and yet that does not deter her. Beron falls in step with her while leading them, amending her embellishments to include himself. The charm that has her beautiful crimson hair glowing at its tip was only finished because of him. The two of them push and pull, subtly vying for the High Lord’s attention, but Sieffre does not look at them again.

They arrive at his father’s study, and Beron announces High Lord Sieffre’s arrival. He steps aside, letting the impossibly tall high faerie past him.

“Bea,” he hisses, as she breezes into the room as well. Beatriz winks at him, then gives him a look that’s meant to reassure him. She knows what she’s doing, but he thinks she is treading a very fine line that her father would not enjoy. Beron may compete with her, but he does not wish her harm.

“You may leave, Beron.” His father drones.

The last time he’d argued against his father, the High Lord of Autumn had smacked his mouth so hard, he’d lost a tooth. It has since grown, and Beron has since learned. He nods, pulling the door shut behind him. Beatriz wiggles her fingers at him, and he bares his teeth at her. Fucking bitch.

Voices slip beneath the door, muffled by magic. Beron has long learned not to listen for words, but for tone. He leans against the wall, battling between anger and curiosity. How can he find the upper hand? Which part of his father should he twist to make him yield under his will? Could he find something on Sieffre ?

He hears nothing from the Night, only the drone of his father, and the soft song of his sister’s voice when she wants something. The discussion bounces between even-keeled and slowly builds into his father’s anger. His father’s voice booms, rattling the house, and heat seeps from the room. Palms presses against the wall, Beron can gauge the exact level of disrespect his father has experienced. Too much, but not enough to start a fight.

Even father knows when he’s outclassed, he smiles to himself.

The door opens, and Beron adjusts his posture. “Good evening,” he mumbles under his breath. Beatriz was right. High Lord Sieffre never stays long.

Beron waits a moment, then darts down a different hallway while his sister manages their father’s temper. He slips into a hidden passage, steps that deposit him directly at the foot of the Forest House. It would take Sieffre twice the time to follow the formal pathway out the House, and down the winding steps. Enemies can winnow into their territory, the problem is getting out.

He pushes the entrance open ever so slightly, peering through a crack in the stone wall.

“Aw, look who’s got his feelings hurt.” The deep baritone of Celyddon’s voice carries easily across the courtyard. He exhales a thick waft of green smoke out the corner of his mouth, and takes a drag of his cigar. “You should be happy, See. Someone wants you. You should take what you can get.”

This— this is the private interaction Beron wants to see. He hopes secrets will be spilled for him to gobble up greedily.

The High Lord of Night does not rise to the bait; he is truly a wonder, not even to waver in the face of Celyddon. He simply carries on, storming past Spring’s mocking perch, towards the edge of the grounds where he can winnow for freedom. Beron expects more mockery, and he blinks several times, when he sees the grin on High Lord Celyddon’s face. That fae does not smile. Neither of them do, yet he bares his teeth, extinguishing his cigar on his own tongue before popping it into his mouth. He chews the dried herbs, swallowing it and then follows Sieffre into the thick line of trees.

Oh, this is good. This is exactly what he wanted—to unveil a card that no one else knows.

Beron waits a few heart-flickers before pushing out of his secret hideaway, and begins to trail them.

While they make no sounds, creatures of such vast power are never fully concealed—it’s why High Lords rarely take matters into their own hands. Emissaries and spymasters are put to work; for a High Lord to move is to ask the earth itself (in Celyddon’s case) to move. His magic is easier to follow; Beron has come to recognize its flavour lingering in the air, as if the greenish tint on autumn leaves wasn’t telling enough as to where he’s been.

“You fucking disgust me,” Celyddon rumbles under the cover of the forest.

The two Lords keep moving, and Beron glances behind him. The trees—the trees are closing in. He can’t fall behind, lest they swallow him up. He stops only when they do, in a small clearing where the Priestesses perform their rituals. At the centre, a bloodstained altar awaits a sacrifice for the Mother, or any of her lesser gods.

Sieffre whirls on Celyddon, clawed hand outstretched. The Spring Lord, despite his size, sidesteps with ease, bringing both his fists down towards the Night Lord’s spine. Sieffre vanishes, like a dark cloud, and Beron has to crane his neck to try and find him. His clothes are too dark to see beneath the lightless canopy of trees, but the High Lord’s pale face is like the moon in the darkness.

The Hewnian reappears behind Celyddon, and the latter dips his head to try and gore his opponent with his horns. Neither draw blood, neither can quite put their hands on each other. Sieffre is far too agile, too slippery in his shadowy domain, and Celyddon is a bull. Those who fear his size forget his calculating mind, and those who have been terrorized by his brilliance assume he won’t rely on simple force if it pleases him.

Beron’s tail wags with muted anticipation, like a cat with vested interest. He doesn’t know who will gain the upper hand, he doesn’t know which outcome would be more terrifying. Fingers dig into the bark of a birch tree, admiring the contrast in style and in anger. Celyddon’s emotions are like battering rams, punched into the air when his rival vanishes again. Sieffre’s hate is like a dagger knife slipped easily between ribs—quiet, unexpected and efficient.

“Sieffre!” The Spring regent roars, and both the trees and the night scramble to swallow the sound. 

They crash into one another, and Beron can’t see —what happened? What happened ? He leans further and further in, drinking in every move and every snap of magic whipped in each other’s direction.

Celyddon straddles Sieffre, his strong hands wrapped around that slender column of a neck. He squeezes, and yet, the Lord beneath him only laughs, a cool foreign sound.

“Tired of that docile cunt already, C?”

Lithe fingers curl around Celyddon’s ornate robes, hiking them up to reveal thick thighs—thicker than both of Beron’s legs put together. The Spring Lord shrugs the layers off with a swear; he only wears this damned outfit in the name of tradition. Beron’s breath catches, and he nearly chokes at the sight of Celyddon in all his glory. A monster of a male, with muscles rippling down his wide back, and his abdomen. He is made of earth and stone, and he is the epitome of power.

A flush colours Beron’s cheeks, and he nearly looks away,  but he forces himself to focus. He might never see a sight like this again.

Sieffre digs his claws into the perfect musculature padding his ribs, and uses the new wounds as leverage to pull him down for the violence of a kiss. Beron’s not sure if he can call it kissing; it is made of teeth and growl. Crimson colours Sieffre’s thin, pale lips, and trickles down the corner of his lips. They favour devouring one another over breathing, and Celyddon is the first to break contact; Sieffre bares his teeth with a hiss, his elongated fangs glimmering in the low light.

There’s an ache between Beron’s legs, and the fire in the cage of his chest rages. He has never felt so alive, standing so close to death. Should they find him, they will tear him apart. He stands here, on the cusp of annihilation and the fear becomes inseparable from his anticipation. He palms his hardness, willing it to go down lest they scent his arousal, but… he wants to get closer. He wants to be a part of this, any way he can. Perhaps, by proximity, greatness will spill onto him. Perhaps, by virtue of what they are doing, he can drink up errant flecks of their sheer dominion.

He spots a lower bush, just three easy steps forward. The High Lords are too caught up to notice him, surely.

“Turn over,” Celyddon orders.

“Fucking coward,” Sieffre spits. “We both know you’d thrive bent over and speared onto my cock.” He curls his bloodied fingers into Celyddon’s blonde hair, pulling him in the same way Celyddon had done his wife. “ That is why you cannot be satisfied, even with your mate.” His laughter echoes around them, coming from the shadows rather than his chest.

The taunt gives Beron his opportunity to move, stepping forward—

Crack.

Beron stills.

No.

Maybe—

Maybe they didn’t hear the split of a branch beneath his all-too-heavy weight. Maybe they really are too caught up in one another to notice him. He raises his head, and Celyddon is getting to his feet, eyes searching the darkness in his direction. Sieffre is nowhere to be found.

Beron is yanked back suddenly, and slammed into the birch tree he’d hidden behind. A whimper escapes him before he can stop it. He feels the line of Sieffre’s body against his back, and his face burns with shame at getting caught. What a stupid, stupid mistake. It was a simple task: be fucking quiet. His eyes burn, but Vanserras do not cry. The tears are likely to burn up before getting anywhere significant.

“Do you like what you see?” Sieffre’s cool breath curls around Beron’s ear, warring against his natural heat. He fists Beron’s hair and makes him look. Celyddon has turned to face them now, no longer the elegant ruler that had ridden into his lands, but a brutal warrior. Blood trickles from his sides, courtesy of Sieffre, and without the clothes to mask his size, he is impossibly large. Beron’s gaze lands on his erection, just as thick as the rest of him, and standing proud against his muscular belly. 

That—That can’t possibly fit in anyone.

The Night Lord huffs his amusement, and breathes in deeply. “You smell like cinnamon,” he scoffs. “Is that what I should expect with your sister? Sugar, spice and everything nice? ”

“No,” Beron breathes, his chest crushed between Sieffre and the tree trunk. “I’m—I’m better.”

Sieffre exhales from his nose, concealed laughter as he drags Beron by the hair and tosses him into the clearing.

“The fuck is this,” Celyddon demands, folding his monstrous arms over one another as he looks down at Beron. 

Between the two old lords—lords who have been shaped by their Courts—Beron is tiny. They tower over him, and he realizes his mistake. He can’t reach them, he never was. It was never a question of time, or training. They are the chosen ones of their Courts, the avatars of their elements. They are so much more than rulers; they are distilled divinity. He refuses to back down; if this is as close as he will ever get to the goddess, then so be it.

“He believes Arroyo has made a mistake in his proposal.”

“Does he also think water is wet?”

“I am. I’m better than my sister, and your mate too. Anything a female can do, I can do better.”

Celyddon is much more open with his mocking, laughing at his face. There is no amusement in the sound, just booming, wordless condescension. “Go home, kindling. You’re out of your depth. I’m in a good mood. Fuck off.”

“I can prove it!” Beron says quickly before they send him off; they can winnow him away without moving from their spots, an easy feat for one such as them. He keeps his eyes tilted upwards, riveted on Celyddon who exchanges a glance with Sieffre.

“Alright. Prove it. If we disagree, I’ll kill you and fuck your corpse.”

[icyminghao]

if you call on me forever, i will come (preview)

pairing: popstar!soonyoung x fem!reader ft. childhood bestfriend!joshua genre: angst, fluff (not in preview), arranged marriage!au warning(s) (for the preview): cursing, mentions of food word count (for the preview): 1.9k

summary: as a result of his entertainment label teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, soonyoung is given an ultimatum: marry the heir of the largest entertainment label in korea and save his career, or risk losing everything he’s built over the last five years.

a/n: just a little something i’ve been working on to make up for the inactivity~~ not sure when this would be uploaded since i haven’t finished it yet ><

Having been in the entertainment industry since he was eighteen, Soonyoung has quite literally been through it all. From the doubtful eyes of the public when he just debuted to the current, decent fanbase he has garnered through all his years of hardwork and determination, Soonyoung has seen it all.

At least, he thought he had.

“What the hell did you just say?” Soonyoung snaps his head to send the CEO of his music label a chill-inducing glare, and Mr. Kang gulps for a split second before returning to his stoic expression.

“I said,” Mr. Kang clears his throat, “you’re to marry the heir of VIBE Entertainment, as per the conditions set by her father.”

The words hit Soonyoung hard, like he’d just downed a bottle of vodka in one go. He resists the urge to launch himself at Mr. Kang. “And why the hell would I do that?”

“Because,” Mr. Kang sighs, exasperated, “you have to. It’s the only way for our label to survive. You know what our situation’s like, Soonyoung. The CEO of VIBE Entertainment is doing us a mercy here. Just marry the girl, and VIBE will take us under their wing, and-”

“And then what?” Soonyoung snaps, “We’ll just be one of the many companies monopolised by that farce of an entertainment label. You’ll be just another one of his subordinates, another one of his pawns. Is this the path you want?”

“I mean, just look at what the fuck you’re doing here.” Soonyoung runs his hand through his blonde locks in pure frustration. “I have a fucking girlfriend. You’re just going to upend my life to live out a shitty future? This is the twenty-first century, man. You’d think we’d have gotten over the stupid ‘arranged marriage’ cliche, huh?”

“What do you want me to do, then?” Mr. Kang raises his voice, his gaze hardening. “Do you think I haven’t considered the consequences of this for you? For the label? For me? I’m doing this because we have no other choice-”

“I have my fans. I could work something out,” Soonyoung reasons, pacing about Mr. Kang’s tiny, cramped office.

Mr. Kang laughs with no emotions behind his eyes, and Soonyoung is just now noticing the pure exhaustion manifested in his horrid dark eye circles. “Your fans can’t do jack shit, and you know it.”

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything in reply, because Mr. Kang is right. His record label had been struggling when Soonyoung first debuted, and silly, naive, eighteen-year-old him thought he could change that. Thought he could be Mr. Kang’s hero, thought he could save the label with his immaculate talent.

Fast forward to five years later, and the label is doing so much worse after suffering the effects of supporting an average pop star for half a decade. Hell, he can’t even bear to call himself a pop star. Five years down the rocky road to stardom, and he’s barely produced enough hits to even be considered a household name in the country, let alone the world. He knows Mr. Kang is right. They’ve been backed against the wall, and there’s only one way out.

Breaths evening out as he calms down, Soonyoung shuts his eyes so tight it feels like his sockets might pop out. Letting out a sigh in surrender, he slowly opens them and inhales deeply.

“How long do I have till it happens?”

You think you might just be Soonyoung’s biggest fan.

You’ve been with him on his journey to stardom since he debuted, and you’ve been a loyal fan since. You’d even talked to him once, when your father’s secretary brought you to the set where Soonyoung was filming an interview with a magazine.

Which is why your mind is reeling right now. Your father’s secretary, Joshua, had just informed you of your impending marriage to Soonyoung, and you’re both happy and taken by surprise.

“He… agreed to this? Willingly?” you ask, doubt lacing your voice. Joshua simply nods in response, before letting out a huge smile and stepping closer to you.

“This is really big, y/n,” Joshua grins toothily. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and launch yourself into your childhood best friend’s arms, squealing.

“I know, Shua! I’m just, really surprised he agreed to this willingly. I mean, I feel really bad since this is, like, being forced upon us and all, but maybe he remembers me from the time we met at the N Magazine shoot?” you ramble in complete disbelief. “God, Joshua. What if he doesn’t like me? Or I don’t like him as a person? We’d be so miserable, maybe it’s not too late-”

“You know you can’t change his mind once he’s set on it, y/n.” Joshua sighs, gently grabbing you by your shoulders to ground you. “Besides, what’s not to like about you? The only thing you should be worried about is whether or not you’ll like him.”

You break out into a dopey smile, touched by Joshua’s kind words. “Aw, Joshie, are you flirting with me now?”

You see a hint of panic flash through Joshua’s widened eyes, but his phone beeps with a notification before you can call him out on it.

“Oh my god, I almost forgot,” Joshua says after pocketing his phone. “You have a dinner with him tonight.”

You’re late to the dinner.

Which clearly would not give Soonyoung a good impression of you, you realise, as you silently pray for Joshua to drive faster.

In your defence, Joshua had only informed you about the scheduled dinner barely an hour before it was supposed to happen, and you were at your office in your father’s company building sorting out some PR stuff for a newly-debuted boygroup, so you had a grand total of about forty minutes to prepare yourself for the dinner. Which, after reducing the travel time to your apartment to get ready and to the restaurant, left you a whopping ten minutes to spare.

Which is how you ended up in this predicament, at least ten minutes late to your first official meeting as a soon-to-be married couple.

You don’t even realise when Joshua finally pulls up in front of the restaurant, and he has to gently nudge you to snap you out of your stupor.

“I’ll be waiting out here when you’re done, okay? Everything’s going to be fine,” Joshua smiles softly, reassuring you with honey laced in his words. You shoot him a nervous smile, bidding him goodbye as you scramble out of his car and into the restaurant.

The restaurant is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You guess you’re considered a child of nepotism (a “nepo-baby”, as Joshua calls it), yes, but you’d stopped relying on your father’s black card to get by, instead depending on the pay you earn from your job (which technically comes from him since you work at his company as the PR team leader of a newly-debuted boygroup, but it’s still your money nonetheless) that honestly isn’t much, but you get by, so you couldn’t ask for more, really. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t really do fancy restaurants, hence your surprise.

Your first thought is that this restaurant is overwhelmingly bright. The place is decked out with so many chandeliers, and there are so many utensils laid out on an empty table for two you’d think there were at least five people having a meal there. You briefly glance at an occupied table and wince upon seeing the measly portion of the food, knowing you’ll probably have to get takeout later.

Your second thought is holy shit, Soonyoung’s right there, and he is ethereal the moment you spot him a few tables in front of you, seemingly lost in thought in a booth in the corner of the restaurant. He’s dressed to the nines in a crisp navy blue button down with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of black slacks, and his hair is nicely slicked back with a few strands framing his face, your heart nearly stopping at the sight. He makes eye contact with you as you stand there like a total idiot and looks away before you beam at him, like he didn’t recognise you.

Right, you think, he probably doesn’t recognise you considering the last time the both of you interacted had been four years ago. You take a deep breath and mentally psych yourself up as you walk over to Soonyoung.

Soonyoung looks visibly confused when you stand in front of him, and you don’t know if you should be amused or offended.

“Hi,” you begin, “I’m y/n.”

As if a switch was turned on the moment you introduced yourself, Soonyoung’s gaze hardens, and you feel yourself shrink a little under his piercing eyes.

“You’re late,” he practically spits, venom lacing the two simple words.

“I’m sorry, I got here on short notice, I only knew about this like two hours-”

“Save it, I don’t really care. Let’s just get this over with.” Soonyoung grumbles, not even bothering to hide his eye roll. Hurt flares in your chest, and you timidly take the seat across from him.

“Um, so, I think we’ve met b-”

You’re cut off once again as Soonyoung closes his eyes and sighs in visible frustration, his breaths becoming quicker. “Look, uh, y/n, I have no intention of being, like, friends with you or whatever, okay? You folks sprung this up on me like I’m some kind of object, so you can’t expect me to act like all of this is fine when it’s really not. Let’s just get this dinner over and done with and go back to our expiring freedom, yeah?”

“Soonyoung, but you… agreed to this. Willingly,” you protest, confused at the rude tone he’s taking on.

Soonyoung scoffs, cocking an eyebrow at you. “I have a girlfriend, y/n. Why would I accept this willingly?”

You don’t talk after that, and just like that, there’s an unspoken agreement that that was the end of the conversation for possibly the entire dinner.

Your food arrives, in portions made for children just like you expected, and you eat in silence, willing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just having a bad day, you try to reason, blinking back tears.

Or maybe, the voice deep inside of your head pops up, you’re doomed to be in this loveless marriage forever.

You jolt out of your trance as your fork clatters to the floor with an ear-piercing sound, and you smile sheepishly at the neighbouring diners who had turned to see what the commotion was. Picking up your fork and laying it on the table, you decide that you’ve probably had enough for the day.

“It was nice, uh, meeting you. I should go now,” you purse your lips together and try your hardest to not burst into tears in front of Soonyoung, though if he notices, he gives no indication. You stand up and leave after a few seconds of silence, feeling increasingly suffocated.

As soon as you step out of the restaurant, you let out a huge breath, the first tear slipping out of your left eye. Through your blurred vision, you see Joshua stepping out of his car, hurrying over to you.

“Oh my god, y/n,” he frets over you, swiping your tears away with his thumbs. “What did he say to you?”

You continue sobbing as Joshua wraps his arms around you, leaning your head on his shoulder as you shake uncontrollably. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s get you home, hm?”

You nod in between sobs, letting your body go limp as Joshua walks you to his car.

The ride home is silent, your mind clear of all thoughts but one.

You’re doomed to live out the rest of your miserable life with a man who cannot and will not love you. Not now, and not ever.

a/n 2: i hope this was okay!

taglist: @slytherinshua @xomingyu @belladaises @pepperonidk @tastymintchocolate @smilehui @dahliatopia

masterlist

[thesnicketfile]

Part memoir, part inspiration for aspiring writers, And Then? And Then? What Else? traces Daniel Handler's sometimes challenging and often amusing path toward one of the most spectacularly successful writing careers of the twenty-first century. Declaring his love of strange literature, Baudelaire's The Flowers of Evil in particular, Handler reflects on the life experiences--some of them deeply personal and revealed for the first time--and the cultural influences that shaped his writing, both under his own name and as Lemony Snicket, the lonely, beleaguered, somehow both cynical and romantic narrator of the beloved thirteen-volume saga of three unlucky orphans that became one of the best-selling series of all time. Inspiring, revelatory, and entertaining, And Then? And Then? What Else? is destined to become a classic of its genre, every bit as influential as Eudora Welty's One Writer's Beginnings or Stephen King's On Writing have been on previous generations.

Out May 21, 2023. Pre-order it here.

[comicsart3]

Xena Warrior Princess is an iconic 1990s and 2000s heroine - a sort of Ying to Wonder Woman’s Yang, with a fair bit of Red Sonja thrown in. Thankfully, she featured in her own comic book as well as the TV series that launched the character and so can feature in this blog!

With a dark back story of brutal mercenary fighting, Xena hailed from Thrace and journeyed through a fantastical version of Ancient Greece accompanied by farm girl Gabrielle, who slowly evolves from simple ingenue to becoming a warrior in her own right. Xena has reformed and seeks to exorcise her demons by righting wrongs and protecting the defenceless from oppression and tyranny - of which there is plenty in her world. Xena’s extraordinary fighting ability is frequently called into play in her adventures and her past nature often leads her into lethal violence, even cruelty, which the more gentle Gabrielle, who in time becomes Xena’s best friend and confidante, does much to help her mentor to control. Xena can never be said to be entirely on the side of the angels, but the enemies she fights and frequently despatches, are almost always utterly malevolent, meaning little sympathy is encouraged for their demise.

The TV series was the creation of John Schulian and Robert Tapart and ran from 1995 until 2001, featuring Australian actress Lucy Lawless as Xena. The comic book was based solidly on the TV show and was initially published by Topps Comics, first appearing in 1995. Subsequently Dark Horse Comics and, more recently, Dynamite Entertainment, took over the title. Broadly, the comic follows the TV series in style, characterisation and type of storylines, including encounters with characters from Greek mythology, historical enemies such as the imperial Romans, and numerous supernatural beings and monsters, although the later series also included a lesbian relationship between Xena and Gabrielle which was definitely not in the TV series - although arguably implied. The comics have therefore continued the tradition of the tales of an ahistorical Ancient World female badass well into the twenty first century. Xena’s titles have tended to come out in limited edition series, her most recent outing being a six issue run in 2019.

The cover featured is from Xena Warrior Princess #5 (2019); the comic page is from Xena Warrior Princess #2 (2019), and its story The Golden Army.

Sources: the Wikipedia pages for Xena Warrior Princess TV series and Xena Warrior Princess (Comics); the cover and page are from zipcomic.com

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Chen Gong with tanjiro!fem!reader headcanons

warning: ooc, manga spoilers, violence

The long anticipated collab work with @praisethesuuun is finally here! Guys, go check out their amazing blog if you wanna read more Chen Gong content! Here's a link to some more romance headcanons with this ball of sunshine! :)

With that being said y'all, sit back, relax and enjoy these headcanons!

Whether it was Brunhilde’s twisted judgment or it was simply because she wanted the best for the soul she guided to Valhalla, Chen Gong was extremely grateful to the Valkyrie placed the soul in Lord Lu Bu’s care. 

The soul in question was [First Name] Kamado, a swordswoman who centuries ago alongside like-minded individuals, secretly protected the public from the demons that prowled at night to devour human flesh. Yet in exchange for the knowledge of learning the art of Sun Breathing, she had paid it with her life and died at the tender age of twenty-eight. 

Those who had possessed the Mark of the Demon Slayer were cursed to perish. It seemed like a myth originally intended to scare off anyone from becoming a Hashira was not simply just that; it had been a truth, one that the Ubuyashiki family had known and shared with very few because it would discourage Demon Slayers who wanted to the Mark just to prove that they were the strongest within the organization. A badge of honor paid in blood.

It did not take much effort from the swordswoman to win over his heart. She was kind, empathetic, and extremely helpful around the camp. She’d do any task that was asked by himself or another soldier without complaint:  laundry, polishing armor or weapons, and preparing meals. 

The soldiers grew to like her and were often bewildered at the tales she’d share with them over the fire about her days as a Demon Slayer. They all laughed when she vehemently said she’ll never step foot in the entertainment district again because she feared it’d crumble in a single night like it had when she went undercover as an oiran-in-training. In her defense, the demons she’d faced were incredibly powerful, and she almost died from that fight! 

However, Chen Gong remained oblivious to [First Name]’s strength until Lu Bu had received orders from the higher-ups to investigate a peculiar situation: there was new territory to be explored, and all of the expedition teams were never seen again. The only clue of what actually happened was a half mutilated corpse of a soldier, the top half of his face removed…yet the army could see a blissful smile stretched across that rotten cadaver. 

As if he’d died a happy man and not in fear of the unknown. 

[First Name] took a single whiff at the corpse and immediately confirmed that the culprit is in fact a demon. She asked Lu Bu to allow her to handle the situation. She hypothesized that this demon targeted only men, or used their Blood Demon Art to immobilize them long enough to be devoured. Whether it was through their honeyed words or another method, she was not sure. 

But please allow her to go so that no one else would be killed. 

Lu Bu simply looked at the swordswoman and nodded, grunting to bring back proof that she carried out the deed. The demon’s head would be sufficient. [First Name] thanked him profusely, pressing her forehead against the floor before departing the tent. 

Hours before nightfall befell upon the skies of Valhalla, [First Name] was prepared to leave the camp, her sword strapped to her right side and fitted in borrowed, dirty armor. She surmised that the scent of a man would lure the demon out from its hiding place to hunt and conceal her own odor. 

Chen Gong did not like this strategy, not at all. But Lu Bu’s word was the law. He had to follow the commands of his lord. He wished [First Name] to come back safely, preferably not in critical condition or nearly comatose like in her stories of fighting against demons in the Taisho era.

She smiled brightly and said she would come back. Squeezing his shoulder gently, her form disappeared beneath the covers of the night. The longest night Chen Gong had experience thus far since he’d arrived in Valhalla.

He wanted to have faith in [First Name], to trust that she will keep her promise…but should he have given the Demon Slayer his most prized possession so she would be reminded to come back? No, that wouldn’t be right. He was the great Lu Bu’s genius strategist, not a fair maiden worried about her lover!

Yes, he might have known her for less than six months but damn it all he wanted to marry her! Who wouldn’t?!

Night passed before Chen Gong realized it, the faint orange-red rays of dawn approaching over the horizon. Just when the men were about to move out, however, a soldier noticed someone walking towards them. [First Name]. Covered in dirt and blood, and smiling at them tiredly as she slowly, steadily, headed in their direction. 

She made it back. She’s alive. 

Chen Gong broke into a run, passing the soldiers and embraced her tightly in the grassy fields. When he pulled away he did not hesitate to chastise her for worrying him and Lu Bu, pressing kisses around her dirty face. When he realized what he’d done, the swordswoman’s cheeks were flushed dark red as she stammered an apology, holding up a single amber eye in the air. 

She did try to bring back the head like the general wanted, but a demon’s body immediately disintegrates when the head is severed from the neck. The eyeball was the only piece of the demon she was able to salvage. 

Chen Gong didn’t give [First Name] another chance to apologize before he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the infirmary tent without a second thought. When he saw it was empty, he grabbed some supplies to start treating the most superficial wounds on his own until the doctor arrived. Once he’d gone outside though, some of the soldiers teased him about how he acted earlier. Realizing what he’d done made his face burn with embarrassment. 

Gods, what would [First Name] think of him now after acting like a barbarian?! He didn’t mean to act like that, but how can she be so reckless?! 

His troubled thoughts were shortly shattered when the doctor informed him that aside from having some deep lacerations and a broken rib, the Demon Slayer was in good health. She just needed to be on light duty and get plenty of rest. Chen Gong was relieved…yet at the same time, nervous. 

He needed to tell her. He needed to let her know that he was in love with her, and soon. 

So that was exactly what he did once she woke up three days later in the infirmary tent. He lightly scolded her for making him worry to death as he held her in his arms. When she asked about the eyeball, he informed her that he personally took care of it. 

Lord Lu Bu wasn’t all too happy that she didn’t bring back a head, but something was better than nothing. Now that he knew demons existed in Valhalla, he’d consult her if they ran into unnecessary trouble again. 

 A silence between them before the strategist took a leap of faith and sealed it with a light kiss. 

[First Name] grew flustered from his actions, stammering and wiggling as he continued to place smaller kisses around her face. He only stopped to look her in the eye and solemnly asked her to become his wife, if she’ll allow him to court her. 

Wide-eyed and with a pinkened face resembling a plum blossom, [First Name] nodded in acceptance. Chen Gong grinned, hugging her tightly again before she released a pained yelp. 

He quickly apologized, loosening his grip around her hips as he embraced her once more. 

Upon arriving at their designated military base, Chen Gong did not hesitate to begin the courtship immediately. Horseback riding, exploring the marketplace, and cuddling were some of the activities they did together. 

He did try to spoil his soon-to-be-wife with hairpins and perfume bottles, but she was insistent that she didn’t need it at all. He still bought it when she wasn’t looking, anyway. The marketplace was also where she’d reunited with her blacksmith, Lord Haganezuka….and he had a very violent reaction to seeing her chipped sword.

By ‘violent reaction’ he chased them both around the vendor booths with knives in either hand, two more were wrapped around his head with a black cloth.  It took a good while for the man to be calm enough to agree to fix the blade.

In less than three months, Chen Gong was a happily married man and obtained a new ability that would greatly benefit him in the next war: complete immunity towards all forms of seduction. 

In summary, Chen Gong is a loving, committed man who will not hesitate to simp over his spouse just as much as he fawned over Lu Bu. 

Bonus Content:

Ordinarily, Chen Gong would celebrate the New Year with the soldiers at the barracks, eating and drinking until the following morning. But this time, he will not be joining them. Instead, he would be secluded in a forested area within the territory’s borders, mesmerized by his spouse dancing bare-footed in the middle of pillars of ignited torches. Her face was concealed by a white veil, tiny bells jingling from the red sash that wrapped around her head. 

The sleeve of her ceremonial robes billowed in the wind, twirling a decorated wooden blade between her fingers. For generations the Kamado family have performed the rite to please gods, and recently, to pay their respects to Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the man who had founded the Breathing Styles and saved their ancestor’s family from demons. It had been passed from father to son, and in [First Name]’s case, from father to daughter. 

Yet after her father passed on, she persisted in carrying out the tradition, even when some of the villagers believed bad luck would happen if a woman carried out the sacred dance. Nothing happened….until that fateful winter morning.

But she never believed her family’s demise had been because of ‘bad luck’. Muzan attacked her mother and siblings simply because he wanted to see if a demon could withstand the sunlight. Her and Nezuko’s survival would be considered merciful in his perspective. 

Remembering the tragic tale behind the dance brought fresh tears to Chen Gong’s eyes. His wife had been through so much, and she is still kind to everyone even in death. Above all else…she was simply divine in that celestial garb. 

How did he get so lucky?!

From dusk to dawn, he watched [First Name] perform the rite with jugs of wine sitting by his feet, a warm smile stretched across his face, marveling at this spectacle.

It is said amongst the soldiers that at the start of each new year, the strategist’s simping for his wife increases tenfold and he acts like a lovestruck fool around her for the first three weeks…and progressively gets worse. 

Taglist:

@zodiacs-web

@onecantsimply

@kiannas-stuff

@yellow-snark

@justamegafan

@thatstrangesheep

@deathmetalunicorn1

@enryegotrip

@dance-till-the-death

@myrisan-melodies

@staticradiotv

@recreationalfanfics

@nixes-noxes

@mortemorii

@seijuuns-fantasy

[thatgirlonstage]

for a fun prompt: the crew of the starblaster celebrating the 69th birthdays of their human members

I went pretty far off script with this prompt but I think it’s still entertaining haha.

——

“I can’t have a crush on her, Merle!” Barry tugged anxiously at his hair, pacing back and forth so forcefully that he was liable to wear a hole in the carpet. “She’s, like, 110 years old! That’s barely adult for an elf! I’d be dating a twenty year old!”

“Ehhh, elf ages and human ages are both dumb,” Merle said, poking distractedly at the little potted plant in his lap. It gave a disconcerting, entirely un-plant-like hiss. “Even more so, now that we’re in some kinda funky reset loop. If you like her, you like her, and if she likes you she likes you. Why get hung up on the details?”

“But she’s— I’m— we’re—” Barry stopped in the middle of the floor to gesticulate madly. Tiny, confused fireworks of prestidigitation popped in his fingers. His shoulders slumped all at once. “I mean, she probably doesn’t even see me that way,” he mumbled.

“You know, for all you’re sayin’ you’re the one who’s too old for this relationship, you sure are acting like a kid,” Merle said cheerfully. He tickled the underside of a leaf on the plant, which promptly opened like a jaw a bit him. “Ooh, feisty little guy!” Merle said to the plant. He seemed entirely unconcerned by the blood now oozing from his finger and the thorns still buried in him. “All this drama over a crush! And you’re worried you’re too old for the interdimensional astronaut elf! Come on, Barry. I mean, by that standard, I’m decades too old for half the plants I’ve—”

“I am begging you not to finish that sentence.”

Merle grinned at him. “The point is— I mean, how old even are ya?”

“I’m fifty— no, hang on.” Barry mouthed to himself, counting silently. “How many cycles are we on? Sixteen?”

“Beats me,” Merle said. He was stroking the edge of the leaf that was still embedded in his finger. Something yellow and nasty was starting to ooze out of the wound along with the blood.

“No, crap, seventeen, I forgot about the hamster wheel planet.”

“Oh yeah! Your whiskers were adorable.”

“Are you going to heal your finger?”

“Aww, the little guy’s just playing, don’t mind him,” Merle said. “So seventeen cycles puts you at…?”

Barry stared up at the ceiling. “It’s almost the autumn equinox, isn’t it? Oh man, Merle, I turn 69 next week.” He started pulling his hair again. “Merle, I’m almost seventy!”

“Hey, congrats, you’re narrowing the age gap!”

“That’s not how this works!” Barry rubbed a hand over his face. “Merle, that plant is poisoning you, and I am not wasting a diamond to raise you if you keel over on me.”

“Alright, alright!” Merle, who had been turning faintly green and yellow, like his entire body was a fading bruise, said. “Sheesh, you’d think I never heal anything unless I’m told.” He extricated his finger from the plant and with a short murmur, the wound zipped closed and the poison dissipated beneath his skin. “The point is, Barry, maybe it’s hard to see because you’re human, and you can only see it from a human perspective, but adulthood is weird when you live a long time.” Merle shrugged. “I don’t know all that much about elves, but I know they don’t stay in their mom’s skirts until they hit their first century. A hundred years is still a hundred years, even if you feel it a bit differently. She might think you’re the little kid here. Either way, you’ll never know if you don’t talk to her about it.”

Barry sighed. “As usual, Merle, you’re somehow both a lot of help and no help at all.”

Merle gave him a broad grin. “I strive for oxymorons!” he said. “By the way, when did you say your birthday was?”

“Huh? Oh, next week. But it’s not like we’ve been celebrating—”

“Next week! Got it!” Merle hopped off his chair and waddled to the door. “Don’t you dare die before then, Barry!”

Barry was left behind in Merle’s bedroom with a hissing plant, somehow now much more worried about his birthday than he was about Lup.

*

A week later, with no further word from Merle, Barry had almost forgotten his birthday was coming, until he walked into the Starblaster’s common room one morning in a ratty t-shirt and sleep jeans to his entire family around a cake in the shape of a giant 69, shouting in bellowed chorus, “NICE BIRTHDAY, BARRY!”

[witchyfashion]

Discover the monsters, witches, and other ghoulish creatures that make up lesser known Christmas folklore in this gleefully creepy guide–perfect for horror fans who love the wintry holidays. When you think about Christmas, you likely picture mangers, glowing fireplaces, sweet carolers, and snow-blanketed hills. But behind all this bright magic, there’s something much darker lurking in the shadows. In The Dead of Winter, Cambridge-trained historian Sarah Clegg delves deep into the folklore of the Christmas season in Europe, detailing the way its terrifying and often debaucherous past continues to haunt and entertain us now in the twenty-first century. Perfect for the growing mainstream audience obsessed with horror and monsters, this guide makes the perfect gift, beautifully packaged in a stocking-stuffer-friendly trim size. 

buy here

[titleleaf]

Ridley Scott’s Gladiator (2000), a spectacular critical and commercial success, marked a return to the Roman epic genre after 40 years. While the film echoes many of the themes and images present in earlier films set in Roman antiquity, Gladiator imparts a twenty-first century sensibility in its representation of the emblems of power and in the use of mass entertainment as spectacle. In terms of sexuality, Gladiator also revives the image of Roman corruption and debauchery that equates oppressive political power with sexual “deviance.” Like earlier films, Gladiator employs the image of transgressive sexuality to suggest the moral depravity of the Roman power elite. But there are no orgies in Gladiator and no bath scenes, outdoors or en suite. To discover what counts as “deviant” for the cinema audience at the turn of the second millennium, we must examine how the Emperor Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix) interacts with his elder sister, Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), whose desperate fear of her brother’s cruelty casts a chill on every scene they share. Commodus expresses his incestuous yearnings for Lucilla in several scenes that clearly connect his aberrant erotic desires with his despotic plans for Rome. (see Figure 37.2). In an early scene, Commodus announces his wish to dissolve the Senate and invites Lucilla to stay the night with him with a single breath. Later, after the conspiracy is discovered, he spares Lucilla but demands she provide him with an heir to cement his dynasty, yelling: “Am I not merciful?” Commodus’ “deviant” sexuality parallels the depiction of the bisexuality of the wealthy Crassus hinted at in Kubrick’s Spartacus, where the inversion of conventional sexual relations also reveals the dysfunction of the Roman value system and suggests an equation between aristocratic promiscuity and political voracity. Thus Commodus is marked as “deviant” because of his display of erotic desire for his sister; the theme of sibling incest—even as it is supported by the historical sources about Commodus—represents an escalation of the “deviance” level on the modern screen.

"Ancient Sexuality On Screen", Monica S. Cyrino