let's play.

[durare]

open post. texts/prompts/starters welcome. Gen and NSFW friendly.

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[durare]

[ Ah, of course.

1918 -- Diana leans into his touch, pressing her cheek against his calloused palm. This is what she steals from him, just a little, before she breaks the news. His warmth, his kindness, how he looks to her, confused and lost but ultimately unhurt. Steve had been sleeping for so long, preserved in the earth, and perhaps Demeter had given him a blessing of hers, kept him safe until today.

She wouldn't know -- the gods ought to all have been dead. She opens her eyes two seconds, three later, her hand pressed against his as she thinks of just how to say it -- before she decides on pure, unfettered honesty. That's always worked relatively well with her, and Steve wouldn't appreciate being lied to. ]

We're a long way from 1918.

[certainvigor]

[No, he wouldn't appreciate being lied to. Especially not from her, even if she thought she was protecting him.

He's marveling at their hands joined together when she delivers her news. He's never really thought of himself as simple, as ordinary, as settling for the average but there's something about her and them where the little things mean everything. Holding her hand. The scent of her hair when she moves. Maybe it's because she's so extraordinary. Maybe it's because he's pretty sure he's in love with her and he's barely known her a week.]

How, uh long exactly?