#but the public absolutely could not handle the contents of this book and it kills me

[apoptoses]

it's day three of anne's eunuch book making me absolutely feral 🥺

[creativesaturn]

emily prentiss x female reader smut is my absolute fav. Maybe something with derek and emily competing for reader's attention. Emily wins of course 🙂🙂

Summary: Emily claims Derek wouldn't be able to handle you, but you really, you can't handle her.

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

Warnings: Oral (r!receiving), public place (Emily likes the thrill of getting caught), Dom!Emily, sub!reader, (lmk if any others)

Word count: 1.2k

You and Derek stood around Emily's desk in the bullpen, Derek leaned on her desk with his arms crossed, and you found your comfy spot on her desk in front of her, crinkling pages under you.

"My back is killing me." You complained, arching your back to hear the soft cracking sounds that quickly eased some of the pain.

"I could think of a few ways to help you out." Derek smirked, his flirty tone of voice coming out as he raised a brow.

"Yeah? Like what?" You raised a brow with a small smirk, turning your eyes back to Emily who was watching in amusement.

"Well, you'll just have to find out. Won't ya?" He egged on with a smirk that took up his entire face.

"You wouldn't be able to handle her, Morgan." Emily spoke, her words aimed at Derek but her eyes never left yours, leaving you with goosebumps.

"Her?" He asked, pointing behind him. "Please, she can't even handle me." He scoffed, looking you up and down in a sense of underestimating you.

You nudged his arm forward with an offended expression, causing him to smile. Emily finally aimed her eyes at Derek, laughing along with you.

Your eyes are still on Derek, but you can see the way Emily looks at you at the corner of your eye. It was pure amusement, like she's surprised that you can egg Morgan on with confidence. She knew you, and she knew you were all bark, no bite. If you were to say something, she knew it'd never actually happen.

You knew her staring was obvious to anyone who walked by, so you took it upon yourself to get off the desk with the oldest excuse in the book, "I'm gonna get a cup of coffee, you guys want anything?" You asked, ready to walk off.

"I'll come with you, I gotta head that way anyways." Derek offered, making you nod. He went first, walking across the bullpen, but before your legs could move one in front of the other, Emily grabbed onto your hand and pulled you towards her, fumbling into her lap.

"Emily, what are you--!" You gasped, her breath hot on her skin as she whispered, "If we get up and go to the bathroom now, he won't notice." She suggested with a grin.

You scoffed, but relaxed to her touch when she kissed down your neck. "Fine, but we have to be quick." You complied.

Emily had a shit eating grin on her face once you stood up to let her up. She went first towards the bathroom, hearing the small barely noticeable footsteps that your heels made against the carpet when you followed her around like a lost puppy.

She opened the bathroom door and walked inside, watching you follow from the mirror her face met instantly. She watched your hands lock the door, and as soon as you turned around Emily was right behind with only one thing in mind.

Her hand trailed to your face, automatically pressing your lips together. It surprised you with a soft moan, moving your hands to the sides of her face to keep her in place as you attacked each other's mouths.

She nibbled on your bottom lip as she pulled away, a proud smile on her face that was followed by a content hum.

You kept eye contact with her, watching as she inched down on her knees, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

You looked up as soon as you felt her delicate fingers unbutton your pants, your stomach sinking and your breath hitching at the thought of doing something like this in a public restroom.

You looked back down to help her get you out of your pants. You kept your eyes on her as she lifted your leg over her shoulder, face to face with your cunt that already soaked your lacey underwear.

"Truly pathetic how wet you get, y/n. You really should get control of that." She teased with a wide smile. She stuck her tongue out to lick a stripe up your clothed folds, earning a shaky moan to fall from your mouth.

Your eyes rolled at her words, tilting your head up to relax into her touch.

She teased your slit with her middle finger, pushing at your entrance but being stopped by your underwear that divided them.

"Please, Em.." You whined, hissing at the feel of the rough fabric dragging against your clit.

"Since you asked so nicely." She whispered, pushing your underwear to the side, wasting no time shoving her face between your thighs to lick a perfect stripe between your folds.

You moaned with a smile, finally getting the pleasure you oh-so deserved.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes, taking your clit between her lips and suckling on it to gather more desperate moans from you.

Your hand fell to her head, grabbing a handful of her raven hair to grind yourself softly against her face.

She quickly observed the movement of your hips, giving her the perfect moment to bring her lips down to your entrance, teasing her tongue around your entrance, tasting you on the tip of her tongue.

Her nose brushed your clit every movement you made, causing your moans to get louder and more sporadic.

Emily didn't bother telling you to be quiet, she liked the fact you couldn't even stop yourself. She enjoyed the thrill of getting, or almost getting caught. Especially when she knew people would see you as hers.

Her tongue slipped right into your velvet walls, taking in everything you gave her. Her eyes fluttering close to her state of pussy drunk you put her into.

"Em! Oh.. Emily, 'm gonna cum." You whimpered, your hips stuttering against her face, feeling her nose brush that sensitive spot and her tongue hitting the gummy spot inside your walls that had your knees weak.

She hummed against you in acknowledgement of your words, her response vibrating through your body, letting out one last moan of her name before you were letting go right on her tongue.

She sucked on your pussy like a mad man, desperate and greedy for every last drop of your arousal.

"Oh! Sensitive!" You gasped, your clit becoming quickly sensitive from post orgasm. You looked down on her as she opened her eyes and finally pulled back.

You watched as she tried to gather the wetness around her face with her tongue, the sight of her trying to hold onto the taste of you making your face turn red.

She stood up, a smile on her face that never left, "Fix yourself, you look like you just went a round." She whispered, clearly teasing with her hot breath hitting your face.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket and brushed her hair out with her fingers before opening the door, pushing you out of the way and closing the door behind her.

You didn't waste time putting back on your pants, rushing to the mirror to brush your fingers through your hair and fix your lipstick.

You rubbed out the wrinkles in your shirt before rushing out the bathroom, watching as people eyed you as they walked past.

The red on your face growing, this time in embarrassment.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[treybriggsthewriter]

This makes me nervous, but I’m going to post it. I’m going to try my best to achieve my goals. I’ve put in a ton of work already, so I’m looking for additional help. 

From the campaign:

My name is Trey Briggs, and I'm a black woman who writes paranormal horror, speculative fiction, and other types of fiction. You can find my stories at MaybeTrey , Astrid the Devil , and on Instagram , Medium , and Wattpad .

My stories are aimed at black people who want to read dark stories that focus on original black characters that are complex and interesting. I genuinely believe Black audiences deserve a variety of genres to delve into, and I want to introduce them to paranormal horror, dark romance, and fantasy that they haven't gotten enough of in the past. I also believe that this can be done across multiple mediums, and I spend my money with black creative professionals to make these experiences extend beyond my words. For the last two years, I've run my stories on sites and Instagram to great reception. I like to craft complex experiences that offer looks at character backgrounds, side and backstories, full websites for each title, and more. I also provide encyclopedias, maps, audio journals, and other ways to get into each world. During these last few years, I've run into a lot of walls, jumped a lot of hurdles, and tried my best. I've worked with amazing black artists, voice actors, and actresses, musicians, designers, and more. I trust my ability to run a project, especially when it comes to planning and finding talent. My overall goal is to run a team of black creatives that crafts novels, graphic novels, audio experiences, and animated series for a dedicated audience.

Why I Need Help Long story short: I have the skill, I have the marketing/website building/business experience, and I have the drive. There's a lot I can do on my own, but there's also a lot that gets left behind because I don't have the money I need to proceed at a steady pace. I need help with funding so I can focus, hire the right people, and craft these stories the way they deserve to be crafted. I have thus far spent over $60,000 of my own money on my projects over the past two years - the writing and site-building are easy for me; the rest has to be hired out. I have art, site costs for hosting, domains, templates, specific plugins, and maintenance, audio (and vocal artists to pay), musical, and editing costs. I'm by no means rich or even particularly financially stable. I have taken on tons of extra clients for my digital marketing business, transcribed hundreds of hours of audio for dirt cheap, and taken out personal loans. I even worked a second full-time job along with my full-time business last year to afford to produce the content I love. It's starting to take a toll on my mental health. I plan on continuing to fund these projects out of pocket (and finding ways to do so), but having financial help, however big or small, would allow me to move a lot faster and with less stress. It would let me flesh out ideas and concepts that I have had to scrap because I can only physically handle so much extra work. I run a full-time marketing business from home, homeschool my autistic 10-year-old, and generally have a busy life. Some of the strain is taking a toll on me, and I don't want to give up. Having some financial backing could allow me to drop a client or two after a few months and focus on the work I love to do.

How You Can Help I mainly need a start—a sort of base. I want to emphasize that I plan to continue to provide the main bulk of funding for my projects. I know my goals are ambitious, and I know each step will take time and money. I welcome any help to make the process smoother and to get around the initial hurdles. I'd like to have ebooks and novels offered on my site by the end of the year (along with the free serials and stories). Funding means that I can broaden the projects, include more free aspects to my sites, and secure direct financing through sales of ebooks and audiobooks sooner. It also means that I can offer MORE stories, whether they are online only or fully fleshed out novels and sites. I am swamped with trying to work enough to cover all my bills and creative projects, so I lose a lot of time I could spend plotting and writing. If I have better funding, I can get my stories out quicker (and with fewer mistakes).

The Initial Stories Let's talk about my stories! If you're familiar with my work already, you can skip to the next section. My main story site is Maybe Trey . Currently, I have two big titles and a bunch of smaller ones that I am seeking help with funding: Astrid the Devil

Astrid the Devil is the complicated story of a girl who inherits not only her family's features and DNA, but their fears, struggles, and fights. It's the story of a condition called Devil Syndrome, the women who suffer it, and the monsters that devour them. It's the story of the fight to save the people you love at the expense of innocent lives. At its core, Astrid the Devil is the story of a woman who inherits the chaos of three generations before her. It's a look at what is truly passed down to our children, and how they're left to fight our battles in the aftermath of our failures. It's the tale of an indescribable monster and the women who struggle to defeat it. It's a journey into how their every decision could save or destroy an entire world. Astrid the Devil is the story of Astrid Snow, but her story can't be told without the story of the women before her.

Vicious: On MaybeTrey  and The Vicious site (in progress)

Somewhere, a war is brewing.  That's the only thing that's for sure to Junnie Gorton, a young horned girl suffering from a debilitating disease called Horn Rot. She typically dealt with her low survival rate and abnormally large horns by escaping the world with her best friend, Lewish. Now she's forced to figure out which side is which, save her entire species, and find out the truth behind the sudden uprising in her home. Horn Rot, a highly contagious and violent disease spreading through horned people, is causing mass amounts of madness and death. Normal horns grow in ways that will pierce, suffocate, and maim their owners, and the only one who can stop it is Junnie's mother, Lyria. As Lyria falls deeper and deeper into an anti-social revolt, the country reels. While Junnie broods, her entire species must prepare for mass extinction. Her brother plots with a group of people with less than good intentions and Lewish is quieter than usual. In a civilization brought up on extreme violence and competition, Junnie and Lewish try their best not to get swallowed by their culture, their lives, or their horns.

Bunni and Bosque :

Bunni lives. Bosque dies. We all know how this story starts. Bunni is obsessed with destruction and death. She comes from the healthiest Horned family in her country. She's from the oldest, purest bloodline in the world. And she's bored with it. Bunni spends most of her time trying to escape her duties as a pureblood. She wants things dirty, messy, foul, inconsistent. Having parents that are willing to kill to keep their bloodline pure is annoying. Knowing that she'll live a long, full life, produce more perfect children, and die unscathed is agonizing. Bunni wants something to mourn. We all know how this story ends. Bosque is destined to die an agonizing death, alone on his family's land. He's watched everyone he loved and grew up with perish. Sometimes it was because of their disease. Sometimes it was because of the malice and hatred of others. While he's absolutely withdrawn and satisfied with his life, Bosque has never had a chance to live it. He spends his days basking in the sun, bathing in wood baths, and contemplating the end. Bosque isn't interested in joining the rest of the world. He'd rather die out, alone, where his family belonged. Bosque wants to go peacefully. But neither expected to meet each other one day in a supermarket. Neither expected to fall in love, lust, and every vicious and dirty thing between. Neither expected to be so right for each other, all while being wrong for everyone else. You know the end of this story. Bunni lives, Bosque dies. But maybe something will change.

My smaller titles, Bunni and Bosque /Aite and Jude, can be found at Maybe Trey .

The Business Plan

The initial phase of my business plan is to get the sites populated with ebooks and audiobooks for sale. I also have prints that can be sold. Right now, I am in the audience-building phase while I save up for editing the full novels. 

In terms of an actual business with which to publish the stories, I already have a registered publication company in Illinois: Wolfless Studios LLC. I took this step earlier this year with plans to self-publish Astrid and Vicious. So that is paid for and done.

I have also gotten initial editing done on the first six chapters of Astrid, though it will need to be edited from the beginning again once everything is said and done. I've spent over $1000 on that so far, and it would go a lot faster if I didn't need to save up to edit each chapter.

Astrid the Devil is fully plotted, outlined, and only needs the last three chapters. Bunni and Bosque and Vicious are newer, but plotted and already deep into character development (all being shared across social and Wattpad for audience growth). Aite and Jude and other shorts are plotted, and three other unshared stories are plotted and at the editing phase.

Other costs and ways I would use the funding (I would still put in my own money and do as much on my own as possible):

Initial $30K

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy edits for Astrid (currently at 250000+ words/expecting over 300000 at $0.02 rate)

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy Edits for Vicious

$3000 - $4000 Line and Copy Edits for Bunni and Bosque

ISBN Purchases (Separate ISBN for each format for each book) - https://www.myidentifiers.com/identify-protect-your-book/barcode

Covers for Astrid/Vicious/B&B Print Versions

Site Hosting Costs and Maintenance for 2 Years

Site completion for all stories

Initial store and app development

40K - Marketing and Graphic Novels

Social, Print, and Web ads

Email Marketing Campaigns 

Booths at Decatur Book Festival (depending on COVID)

Social ads and promos

50 to 60 pages

First two chapters offered as free promo with email sign-ups

Audio journals for each character

Situational audio journals

Encyclopedia for Astrid (finishing up)/Vicious

65K - Hires and Next Phases

Ability to hire a Full-Time Editor 

Audio Series for each (professionally done)

Vicious Graphic Novel

Additional Title Added

Short animations for both Vicious and Astrid (with plans to fund more with book sales)

Fleshed out Story Sections (Novellas for each character of each series)

Short comic series with Astrid and Vicious side characters

Possible to plan out monthly subscription service with new stories and 'story package' deliveries

75K -

Astrid the Devil Graphic Novel

Vicious Graphic Novel

Astrid the Devil Animated Short

Ability to hire part-time Web Developer

Additional bigger title

Anything Over - I ascend into pure light. And also, I can add titles, cover more mediums, and eventually expand my publishing to other black creatives.

From there, I should be able to handle the funding via sales of books, comics, audio, and more. Again, I will always offer mostly free content across the sites.

I believe in proof of concept, and I have diehard fans on my social platforms. With no outside funding, I've been able to a lot on my own. I'd love to expand my business into one that does the same for other black authors, artists, voice actors, and animators somewhere down the line. 

Thank you so much for your consideration. I appreciate all my readers, present and future, and I appreciate any help!

See incentives and more on the actual campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-trey-publish-black-paranormal-horror-stories

Thank you so much!

[shigarakislittlepet]

Hooooh boy👀 okay so if you have a character limit just do Dabi and Shinsou (my absolute favourite boys) but if you don't have a character limit I'd also like Aizawa and Bakugou with a s/o who's very obedient and good for them (and ofc good to them) and they're afraid that they're boring because they don't really break any rules or misbehave. Everybody's on and on abt brats and my obedient subby lil ass is over here like qwq obedient subbies aren't boring😤😤 take your time and don't feel pressured oke?? 💕💕

oh my god i love you, you are so so sweet 💕💕💕 I hope I did this request justice, the implications are just !!! So sweet QuQ

no character limit, so i will do all the bbys 🥰

TW: NSFW, Dom/sub themes, light quirk use for sexy times (shinsou), Daddy kink (for Aizawa, I’m sorry lol), some name calling... I think that’s it! Let me know if I missed anything!

HERES MY TAKE ON SUPER GOOD SUBS AND HOW THE HUBBIES WOULD REACT!

-Dabi-

•Okay okay so we all know Dabi is a HARD dom, he has a LOT of aggression to work through in a healthy way, and you help make that happen!

•You’d worry that Dabi would prefer a “bad girl”, a brat that talked back sometimes so he could punish them and REALLY let all that frustration out!

•Once you talked to him about it he would laugh at you. He’s just mean like that lol. BUT once he calmed down and realized it was something that was actually bothering you he’d just look at you and be like “...really?”

•Because what you HADN’T considered is that Dabi spent so much of his life with absolutely no control over his environment, he lived in constant fear of uncertainty. The only certainty he EVER had at home was pain.

•You provide him with total control. You never talk back, you never question him. You do as you’re told and then you say “Thank you Sir” in your sweet little voice no matter what depraved things he’s made you do for him. The absolute control he has with you makes him feel like he’s on top of the world! And you THANK him for it??? Way to stroke his massive ego while you’re at it, damn.

•You give him the stability he never thought he’d have, and the unconditional love and adoration and worship that he never thought he deserved. To him, you’re perfect. His perfect little angel. He would kill and die for you. He would get drunk off of your submission.

•He’d get bored of a brat pretty quickly, not as much of a power trip in his opinion. XP

•I feel like he doesn’t really go heavy on the praise, but when it DOES happen, when you’re on your knees worshipping his cock and using your talented mouth for what it’s MEANT to be used for, and he’s certain your mouth was meant for this, and he slides a hand into your hair grabbing a handful and tugging while his other hand grasps at any stable piece of furniture for some stability and groans out unfiltered praises in his deep gravelly voice??? It feels like you’re both on cloud nine, and nothing is ever going to tear you down from it.

-Shinsou-

• Shinsou would love his precious little kitty cat and shower you with praise and adoration and gifts to reward you for being so good for him all the time. He is a quiet simp, and will the worship the ground you walk on.

• If you voiced your concern about being boring, he would just smile deviously and then back you up against a wall of your shared apartment and start kissing your neck and saying things like “What do you mean kitty cat, don’t we have fun?” And then he will spend the next few hours reminding you just how much fun you have together~~~

• He would make sure that you never worried about being boring again. He would have a wonderful time making you verbalize all the "fun" things you want him to do to you. The fact that he can make you say all those embarrassing things so easily and make you beg for him without a second thought from you makes him so unbelievably feral. He doesn't even have to use his quirk to make you do anything he wants, which makes him feel like the most powerful man that’s ever lived, although whenever you bat your pretty little eyes at him and beg him to "Pleeeaaaassseeee brainwash me and turn me into your puppet? Pretty please?”. He will melt, and he will HAVE to grant all his perfect little kitten’s wishes.

• The reason he absolutely adores your complete obedience and submission is the undying and unwavering trust you clearly have in him. To do all the things he asks of you, no matter how humiliating, without so much as a single complaint? It makes him lightheaded and he will tell you that there is only one feeling in the world better than that, and thats being in love with you. He’s such a sap.

• It's the trust he gets off on. Even after becoming a pro-hero, the media tends to treat him similarly to Aizawa. They have this sort of “scary vigilanty that barely operates within the law” angle on him, even though he isn’t scary at all, and he’s a wonderful hero. The public tends to like him, but in a wary sort of way. Some people are still afraid to look him in the eyes or respond to him at all. So the trust you openly display is intoxicating to him.

• And of course, as is most important, the fact that you trust him enough that you will use your safe word when you need to, knowing that he will immediately put a stop to whatever is going on and hold you tight and take care of you never fails to warm his heart. He is never disappointed when this happens because it shows just how much you TRUST him to take care of you and not abuse his power.

-Aizawa-

• Hahahahahahahahahahahaha

•Okay so Aizawa is a different beast entirely.

•We all know Aizawa is a Daddy, and he expects his sweet little submissive baby to behave at all times. He’s HAD bratty subs before, and honestly, he finds them tiring. He can and WILL correct misbehaving subs with an iron fist, but over time he’s gotten tired of the whiny “make me”’s and the purposeful breaking of his carefully thought out rules.

•He deals with bratty teens all day, what makes you think he has the patience to deal with another brat at HOME? Nah.

•What he enjoys most about your near worshipful levels of obedience and submission is the level of respect you display to him. How much you truly want to please him and impress him. He finds it equally endearing and entertaining.

• You memorized every single one of his rules, every position, every expectation that he had of you, and you never failed to preform beautifully. He would never expect PERFECTION from a partner, per say, he’s perfectly lenient when and if you make an honest mistake, but he tells you all the time how perfect you are for him. He’ll tell you how much he loves the lengths at which you’ll go to please him.

• This man LIVES to tease you about how obedient you are, almost daring you to step out of line. You never take the bait though, you just get adorably embarrassed and pout at him while he teases you more. “Awe, what is it kitten? You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like it when I tease you.” as he drags his thumb across your lower lip while it trembles, the deep bass of his voice reverebrating through your skull and turning you to mush.

•He layers the praise on THICK when you’ve earned it. Once he’s had his fun tormenting and teasing and edging you, he will fuck you slowly and deeply, agonizingly, and he will tell you what a good little slut you are for his cock and it’s ages before you realize that he’s prolonging your torture by fucking you this way and saying these things to you. He wants to see how far he can push you before you either break down into a pitiful mess of tears and pleas, or if maybe ther IS a needy little brat in there just waiting to come out. It’s always the former though, and he always loves getting you to that point. You’d do anything for him, and he knows it. He gets just a little high on it.

-Bakugou-

•Mans wrote the BOOK on hero worship, and he expects you to worship.

•Pro-hero Dynamight expects nothing but perfection, and he expects you to measure up. He can tell a brat from a mile away, and I genuinely think he actively avoids them. He’s enough of a brat to for both of you anyway lmao

•I hope you like pain, because he’s the type to inflict it for fun and not just for punishment. A true sadist for the truest masochist.

•If you ever talked to Bakugou about your fear of being boring to him, I really hope you’re prepared for the consequences. “What??? You think if you were just some boring shitty extra that I’d honestly waste any time on you? Do you really think I’m that stupid???” Its all in an attempt to reassure you, but he will spend the rest of the night punishing you for thinking so lowly of yourself.

•No matter HOW good you seem to be, getting a praise out of this man is damn near IMPOSSIBLE, even when he IS pleased with you. Getting him to verbalize anything he’s happy about is a struggle, so you start to look for the subtle signs. You notice his hands trail lightly down your back when you handle the paddle better than the night before. The way he brushes your hair out of your face when he’s roughly fucking into you after a particularly frustrating day of hero work, and you don’t even bat an eye at his brutality. The soft smile you almost miss when you KNOW he’s had a rough day at work and meet him at the door, already on your knees in one of his favorite outfits and with dinner already cooking away on the stove. Sure, he usually cooks, but when all he has to do is come home and have you... He’s damn near ready to propose every time you do it because you are just. So. Good to him. Good for him. And on those days, when you’re both showered and warm in bed and he’s stroking your hair and half asleep, you can hear faint praises fall from his lips. You know he means them everyday, but it’s on these days when his stress is melted away completely by your touch and your love and he’s so filled with contentment and just by being with you that his heart and mind are relaxed enough to let a little vulnerability show. As a treat.

• He never thought he would feel like this about anyone. Never thought that anyone would ever measure up to his impossible standards, but you take all his gruffness in stride and throw it back at him by being warm and loving, following all of his rules, doing everything you can to make him happy, and treating him like a god. He can’t think of anything better than spending the rest of his life with you.

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

The Warehouse

Can I request like maybe a Halloweeny smut (??) with Wonwoo in like an abandoned factory (like the gose ep with the ghosts) or escape room but reader is not a fan of scary stories and terrified of clowns but she accepts the adventure anyways because detective!mode Wonwoo is such a turn onnnn thank you so much and please if you decide to write something like this don't feel pressured to post around Halloween 🎃 I always enjoy reading your stories! Thank you for your time and hard work! 😽

AN: Sorry this took me so long to write! I tried to get it done by Halloween and failed to do so :/ but I hope you still find it enjoyable! 

Warnings for: Sex, sex in a public abandoned warehouse, mentions of clowns and dolls, being a slightly terror fic, also no condoms, and creampies.

-

“So... We have to stay here all night?”

“If we want to prove that this place isn’t haunted, that’s what we have to do.”

“And... We’re sure it’s not haunted... Right?”

Wonwoo didn’t respond to you as he thumbed through the contents of his bag, seeming to go back through his mental list of things you two would need for the night. You watched him for a few moments in silence, but eventually your anxiety was making you just a tad too distracted. You sighed and looked down to your feet, kicking up the dirt beneath them.

Finally Wonwoo let out a content sound and resecured his bag over his shoulder.

“A place can’t be haunted if ghosts aren’t real,” Wonwoo said assuredly. He looked over at you and hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t look so sure however. Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

When Kwon Soonyoung had come to Wonwoo about an abandoned factory he wanted to repurpose, Wonwoo said yes to the job of proving it wasn’t haunted before Soonyoung had even finished what he was saying.

You weren’t sure why Wonwoo was always eager for the overnight jobs- always trying to stay up late in strange places that people swore up and down held cold spots and scary creatures. It certainly wasn’t those projects of his that you looked forward to. Personally, you were a very easily frightened person.

Just someone closing a book too loud in the library could make you shriek in surprise. So, normally, when it came to Wonwoo’s spookier adventures you tended to busy yourself playing video games safely indoors with Kim Mingyu.

But recently with Halloween being just around the corner, Wonwoo was busy with debunking so many places that he didn’t really have the time for you. It wasn’t anything he had said or done but... You knew that if you wanted to actually spend some time with Wonwoo you would have to suck it up and go on this one trip with him.

So you packed up for a overnight trip and begged him to let you come watch him work. It took a little bit of persuading, but he decided that he would let it slide if you assured him you would be okay.

“So... I just know that I’m going to regret asking this but... What exactly is supposed to be the problem with this place anyways?” You asked Wonwoo. He glanced back at you, his eyebrows high in surprise at the question.

“Oh you don’t know?”

He turned his attention back to the camera and hummed.

“Story has it that this used to be a factory for this really popular toy in the late 80s called Q-Tee. They had the whole management set up here. Like they oversaw the process of everything, including marketing. The toys weren’t doing great here... On account of them scaring children at night, so they decided to give the brand a mascot to help them sell better.”

“The mascot was supposed to be kind of like a Santa Claus, but the kids were scared of him too, and turned out the guy had a few screws loose. He ended up kidnapping a bunch of children- and almost killed them all. But before he could cops busted in. He didn’t want to go to jail so he got a gun and shot himself and now supposedly he haunts the place, still trying to get people to buy the toy.”

Wonwoo shrugged.

“Honestly, it’s not creative, but I guess it’s enough to freak out people who want to buy the place.”

You shifted uncomfortably but tried your best not to worry too much. Out of all the things that you were scared of ghosts certainly weren’t the worst thing that could be haunting this place.

“What was the toy anyways?” You asked him lightly, trying to make yourself sound brave.”

He once again shrugged.

“Clowns would you believe it.” Your heart stopped. If there was one thing that you absolutely could not handle it was a ghost clown. A clown doll- scary but can be destroyed. A clown itself- simply avoidable despite those terrifying painted eyes. But a clown ghost? Unavoidable. Avenging and- probably your number one biggest nightmare.

You grabbed on to Wonwoo’s wrist, holding him a little tighter as he switched on the camera.

“But don’t you worry,” Wonwoo continued, clearly not noticing your sudden change in attitude. “We’re here to prove that the ghosts here aren’t real. And no one has been to this factory in years. So, this job will be a piece of cake.”

Hours passed and nothing.

The room got darker, the clock kept ticking, Wonwoo turned another page in his book.

You sighed. You couldn’t believe that on top of being in a place right out of your nightmares you were bored. And desperate for something to do.

You got to your feet and began to look around on some of the shelves in the room that you were in. You could see something small in the back corner of one of them, so you reached forward for it curiously. You wrapped your fingers softly around it, and turned it around.

The item itself was soft in your hand, and had on a purple and silver diamond outfit. It was covered slightly in dust, but that wasn’t what bothered you. The pattern gave you a bad pinch of nostalgia, that made you hesitantly drag your eyes up to the face of the doll.

You screamed and threw the doll back towards the shelf when you saw the painted face of a clown.

It was hideous, with large white diamonds making its eyes look even bigger, a bright red nose, and dark skin that made the chipping white paint even more off putting. You raced back over to Wonwoo, burying your face into his chest

“I saw one,” you screeched.

Wonwoo laughed and peeled you off of him.

“It was just a doll,” he said lightly, patting your head in- frankly- an awful attempt to calm you down. “Don’t tell me you were scared of a doll?”

“It was not a doll it was a clown doll,” you stated back pointedly. “And I’m not scared of dolls... Well not that doll, I’m just... Scared of clowns.”

Wonwoo laughed softly at you, his fingers taking you by your shoulders carefully.

“There aren’t any clowns here,” he assured you softly. “And there haven’t been for many many years.”

The look in his eyes made you want to believe that what he was saying was true. You felt yourself ease down a little, your fingers lightly brushing against his.

“You promise?” You asked. He nodded.

“I promise.” He assured. “In fact... I’m so confident that you will be fine, that why don’t we do a little something to pass the time hm?”

At first you completely missed the implication in Wonwoo’s voice. Assuming that he was talking about maybe reading a book together or playing a round of Among Us on his phone. But instead of that you suddenly felt a cool hand slip under your shirt. You wiggled under the touch.

“You want to do that...” You looked around the warehouse nervously. “Here?”

Wonwoo hummed, his other hand chilling the skin beneath it as he rested it against your stomach.

“Why not? There’s no one around?” Wonwoo’s voice was comforting despite the location and honestly, where your heart should be racing due to environment, your heart was racing because Wonwoo’s hands on you were completely intoxicating.

You let out a long whine.

“We still shouldn’t do it,” you whispered quietly. Wonwoo gave you a smile.

“Oh, and is that a no?” He asked softly as he lifted you up, placing you gingerly on the table. You wrapped your legs around his torso and rolled your hips against him.

“I guess I’m not really one to say no to sex with you,” you said with a grin.

Wonwoo smiled back at that, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Hm, then I guess here is the perfect place to do it.” Wonwoo dipped his head down at that, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck. You whined softly and tilted your chin upwards so that he had better access to you as he began to kiss at the warm skin there, his teeth nipping at you every once in a while.

With each little touch a shock ran through your body, sending heat right down to your core.

You whined and wrapped your arms tightly around Wonwoo’s body. Your eyes started to drift down his body, trailing over first his broad shoulders, down his chest. As you were looking at him Wonwoo smiled and took the bottom edge of his shirt, pulling it over his shirt and tossing it over onto the floor. You groaned at that, throwing your head back.

“Wonwoo we just washed that shirt,” you whined. Wonwoo just grinned at you as he discarded the rest of his clothes.

“We can wash it again.”

He leaned forward and began to kiss your neck again, effectively shutting you up. You whined and squirmed under him, but he soon grew tired of your movement and placed his hands on your hips as he kissed you to still you. You were pretty happy with just letting Wonwoo explore your body with his lips, each kiss sending a small shiver through your body- but after a while you got eager for more...

You wriggled a little under his grip again until he loosened his hands and then you brought your hand down blindly until your fingers had wrapped around his thick member. You smiled and began to slowly struck it, feeling pleasantly surprised by how turned on Wonwoo clearly was by the little moans leaving his lips with every twist of your wrist.

“Hmm, how does that feel?” You teased lightly. Wonwoo didn’t respond, instead he grunted and in one swift motion, pulled your button-up open, and threw your pants and underwear to the side.

You whined as cold air hit your body, and you wrapped your legs around Wonwoo’s waist to try and warm up. Wonwoo chuckled.

“How does that feel?” He parroted back to you. You tried to send him a glare for the reaction but before it could really hit it’s mark, you felt a finger slide into you.

Wonwoo’s fingers were cold and big and yo felt your whole body jolt a little bit when yo felt his digit slide knuckle deep into you and then curl at the end.

“I can’t believe I’m going to let you-” The finger slid out of your body before you could finish speaking about it made you whine lowly, your thighs quivering. Wonwoo didn’t think twice before slowly beginning to ease his finger in and out of you, watching in amazement as your pussy took his digit.

He made quick work, working one- two- three fingers into your pussy, until his fingers were a dripping mess and you were literally begging for his cock.

“Fine, fine, but next time be a little more patient.”

Wonwoo slid his cock deep inside of you, and at first he just sat there- HIs cock throbbing inside your dripping pussy while his chest heaved up and down with breath after breath.

And then, finally he began to slowly slide out. You groaned in pleasure, your fingers curling into his back at the friction the action caused- Only to yelp when Wonwoo suddenly pushed himself hard back into you.

He sat there again for a few moments, just listening to your whine’s and half-hearted pleas for him to continue, before slowly sliding out again and pushing himself back in.

If nothing else, Wonwoo was a bit of a sadist in that way when he fucked you. He liked to find his own pace and fuck you at it no matter how you felt about the pace. If he found pleasure in the sounds you made while he was fucking you- that was all that mattered.

And he always found pleasure in the sounds you made when he was fucking you.

Every thrust made your toes curl, and made you want to cry out as complete and utter pleasure washed over you.

You could feel yourself approaching an orgasm, and Wonwoo seemed to notice too. He opened his mouth- surely to comment on it when suddenly his eyebrows furrowed. He began to quicken his pace fucking you- he was getting closer to an orgasm as well- but he kept glancing up.

“What?” You asked. “What’s wrong?” “It’s nothing...”

His eyes flickered upwards again.

“Wonwoo-” “I just... I could have sworn I saw something.”

You twisted your body around to see, but the movement just made Wonwoo’s’ cock slam right into the spot that made you moan even louder. Your eyes slammed shut and you wrapped your arms tightly around Wonwoo’s neck.

“Wooo-”

“Oh I know what I see now,” Wonwoo said, a hitch of horror in his voice as he spoke. You looked back up at him, eyes wide in fear.

“What? What do you see?”

“A ghost,” Wonwoo responded, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, without warning his hands jumped to your sides, making your whole body lurch. You screamed and as you did, you felt yourself beginning to cum.

Wonwoo felt it too as he pinned you down by your stomach and fucked you hard through your orgasm, unloading his cum into you with a loud moan of his own. Once he had finally collapsed on top of you, you grunted and shoved him over.

“You... You fucking sadist.” Wonwoo bit out a laugh.

“Come on,” he insisted. “It was fun wasn’t it?”

You didn’t tell him it was.

“We are never doing this again.” But it was kind of fun.

And you two did do it again.

[wincore]

sweet tooth | dong sicheng

pairing: vampire!sicheng x reader

words: 2.8k

summary: out of all the inconveniences a vampire boyfriend could pose, there’s about two tonight: a) him losing it at the next person who compliments his fangs, or b) you losing it at sicheng’s 100% blood alcohol content

genre: vampire!au, boyfriend!au, college!au, (tooth-rotting) fluff, comfort, humour

warning(s): mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, college halloween parties

song rec(s): candy - baekhyun // wish you were sober - conan gray

a/n: let’s pretend it’s halloween pls <3 also im sorry it’s so short and more drabble-ish but i wanted to write something gentle and comforting so!!! yeah ^^ also there is no plot. eep.

It’s two in the morning.

Or rather, it feels like two in the morning. 

A frat party is a horrible substitute for an actual Halloween party. The alcohol content is through the roof and the number of pairs making out is enough to make you feel queasy. You never knew horror themes had the innate ability to make people so flagrantly horny—you’re half glad you’re not, god forbid, single. Most of your friends were too busy, however, to organize the close-knit party you usually have each year—so here you are, with an invitation from a friend of a friend (of a friend). Your boyfriend might be the only one feeling more out of place than you are.

You glance at Sicheng from the pool table, the cup frozen against his lips while his eyes scan the room from corner to corner. You don’t do crowds and neither does he; though he does have the unwitting ability to charm any crowd he’s in. You’re not quite sure if he’s still unaware of that.

You watch as a girl you can easily recognize from your campus approach him, all smiles and giggles. She says something and you scoff, almost completely certain about what it is she said.

Sicheng might be unaware of it—but you are, and painfully so.

She looks at him starry-eyed and the scent of rum wafting around her. A part of her jacket is off her shoulder, a faint blush covering her cheeks that you can spot even under the dim lights. She’s definitely flirting—you know that because rumours go around faster than assignments in this university. Choi Joohee has a very public, very open crush on your boyfriend.

It’s not like it bothers you. Not at all.

Just a little bit.

Jealousy has never been your thing and you’re half certain what you’re feeling isn’t even jealousy—just a taste of alcohol and the proximity of a Halloween house party.

Speaking of which, the only thing harrowing about this place is the amount of alcohol everyone seems to be consuming—including your boyfriend. Ten dragged Yukhei home a while ago and a part of you is still not confident enough to handle a boyfriend with very pointy fangs and midnight cravings for blood (or juice, as Ten disgustingly phrases it). 

Sicheng nods along to something Joohee asks, an eyebrow raised quizzically on her and you assume he’s been zoning out the whole time. The urge to laugh surfaces and you swallow it whole. He’s so cute, even in this state. The lights dance across his face; candy blue, rich purple, saccharine red. The colours don’t help him stand any straighter, or slur his words any less.

You think it’s time to help your boyfriend out. However, the moment you walk through the swarms over to them, Joohee’s face sours. Of course, as the only competition (is it a competition if you’ve already won?) to the object of her affections, you don’t rank too high in her books. It made you a little upset at first, but you got used to it. (“She’ll get over it,” Sicheng had reassured several times. “Don’t worry.”)

People grow, and with that thought, you let it be.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Joohee tells Sicheng and walks away, like he’s supposed to follow her.

You roll your eyes and turn to Sicheng, who’s had a very delayed response to Joohee’s departure. His head is tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded and you’re almost afraid he’s going to drop to the floor right there and then. This is bad. The thing about vampires is that they absolutely should not, under any circumstance, have alcohol. Calling your boyfriend a lightweight is beyond an understatement.

“Sicheng,” you call softly. 

He turns to you, taking a moment to process, before pulling his lips into a wide smile. His fangs poke out even when he presses his lips back together, a contemplatory look over him.

“I thought you left me here.” He forces a sardonic smile.

Drunk off his ass and Sicheng still manages to be annoyingly sarcastic.

You open your mouth and close it again. It’s not like you can chide him without letting your fondness show. The Adonis features that grace his face don’t help. Flushed all the way to the neck, a drunk Dong Sicheng is very rare. The last time this happened must have been at least two years ago (and though you weren’t there then, the way Ten and Kun freeze up at the slightest mention, you decided to not ask).

“Why did you drink?” you ask, huffing. “You can’t even smell alcohol.”

There’s a short pause.

“Because you were ignoring me,” he replies, leaning in.

Heat washes into your cheeks. You forgot how unrestrained he gets with alcohol in his system.

Sicheng seems to have enough consciousness left in him to feel somewhat embarrassed, standing up straight and fiddling with his thumbs. You slip your hand into his without delay and pull, trying your best to navigate through the crowd. Is an ordinary Halloween party too much to ask for? Just when you can finally spot the front door, Sicheng stops abruptly, making you stumble backwards into his chest. He smells like the old deodorant he’s been using for a year underneath the smell of beer and… is that blood?

“Where are we going?” he asks sharply.

“Home, Sicheng,” you whine. “You can stay in my bed.”

He stays rooted in place stubbornly, and you wonder what it is now. This is the time you have to wonder if you’re dating a (potentially) immortal creature or a recently birthed baby.

“We should enjoy more. You’ve hardly smiled the past few weeks,” he mutters.

Your heartbeat spikes for a moment, when he brushes the hair from your face. All this time and he hasn’t changed the words he offers to you in private, the care on his lips and fingertips. A room full of people who aren’t listening is the best place to talk.

The first time you saw Sicheng was in the middle of the night, in the dark hallway of your shared apartment building, blood staining his jaw from a bag he’d acquired from med student Wong Kunhang. (You’re very sure that’s illegal.)

Needless to say, you’d fainted immediately after. When you came to, you were met with a man with pretty eyes and fangs poking out his mouth and in a bed that wasn’t yours. There was no blood this time but you screamed anyway, cut off by the man’s hand over your mouth.

“Calm down,” he said, voice surprisingly deep. “It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”

“You were planning to kill me?” you asked, panicking.

“I just said I wouldn’t,” he replied quietly, eyes wide and almost as stressed as you are.

Sicheng heaves a sigh, massaging his forehead. You shake yourself off the memories, tugging at his shirt so you can sit somewhere at least. The alcohol must have numbed his ears too. The low R&B tunes make no sense on Halloween night; even less when they’re played a few bars above the acceptable volume. If you’re not out of here soon, you might lose your hearing altogether.

The couch is slightly less stinky than you would have expected. (You grimace as you think to the last time you were at a frat party and in particular, the vomit.) Beside you, Sicheng mumbles about something you’re not quite sure of, a quiet rant with one-track emotions. It makes you giggle and for a moment, you forget the predicament of being stuck with a drunk vampire boyfriend who has just finished teething.

“Hey, guys.”

You look up to see Jihoon, the very friend of a friend (of a friend) who had invited you to this mess. It’s not like you harbour ill feelings towards him; but the guy has approximately zero ability to read the room. It’s mostly funny.

Sicheng makes a vague gesture that you assume means ‘hello’, sitting up straight so he doesn't look noticeably tipsy. You make light conversation with Jihoon, Sicheng’s arm around your waist tightening reflexively. You don’t plan on party-hopping, no matter how much Jihoon urges the two of you—seriously, does he not see the look on Sicheng’s face? He looks more zombie than vampire.

“You know, you don’t actually have to wear costumes for this, right? We didn’t set a theme,” Jihoon remarks, tilting his head to face your boyfriend. “The fangs are really cool, though. Holy shit. Dude, they look so real.”

Sicheng’s lips twitch but he forces them into a smile, trying to move as far away from Jihoon as possible. The fangs are usually not out and about in the open, slightly retracted during the day. The night, however, keeps him on edge. Sicheng hates the spotlight that only ever shows up for the wrong reasons, and he’d much rather graduate without having to deal with horny vampire-lovers. (It’s not that sexy; and you know from experience.) 

The way Sicheng looks makes you wonder how many people have pointed out the fangs tonight. You purse your lips to keep yourself from laughing.

“Thanks,” he responds, voice his usual deep baritone. 

Jihoon leaves after being unable to draw any more conversation out of Sicheng, some peace gracing you despite everything.

If you ever write a book on how to deal with vampire boyfriends, the first rule would be to never kiss him at night. The fangs are not as withdrawn then and they hurt. (The second is, of course, to never let them get a whiff of alcohol.)

When Sicheng first kissed you, it was midnight and you were at the convenience store to buy a few lunchboxes and instant coffee mix. You’d yelped when his fang had pricked your lower lip, alarming the worker and around fifteen minutes of (dishonest) explanation later, the two of you had left without buying what you came for.

After fretting for a while, Sicheng had kissed you once more with careful consideration—till the damn fangs got in the way again. It was sweet for a moment—like candy—though, the metallic taste of blood had invaded it afterwards. No matter how awkward or painful it was, your elation outweighed the rest. 

Kisses weren’t the only thing interrupted by fangs.

The turtlenecks and scarves certainly raised an eyebrow in your circle of friends. There was concern at first, then teasing and then a whole lot of inside jokes which made you want to smack each and every one of them. (“They’re hickeys, I swear, not vampire bites,” you had informed Ten. “Ew. I did not need to know that.” “Shut up.”)

Even so, Sicheng is warm—always has been, and not on the skin.  

You feel pressure on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck and you adjust yourself so it’s more comfortable. 

“Tired?” you ask.

“Not at all.”

You shake your head at his lie. Gently pushing his head away, you get up from your seat and pull him up with all of your strength. Linking your arm through his, you smile at him when he raises an eyebrow. It’s time to get home, you’ve decided and these are times when one vote is enough. 

When you reach the front door, stumbling out with your suddenly talkative boyfriend, the autumn breeze hits you. Under the moonlight, the rosy hue over his cheeks is clearer and even more so when he smiles.

“It’s like our first date,” he says. 

You smile back at him.

“You were so embarrassing,” he adds.

Your smile drops and you smack his arm, eliciting a soft complaint from him.

Your first date was the only normal thing in this relationship—a date at the amusement park on Halloween, a bunch of kids mistaking your now boyfriend for Count Dracula and caramel popcorn smeared over your fingers. 

Sicheng sighs, lowering his head to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The two of you stay like that for a moment or two, the party music finally fading and Sicheng’s warmth seeping into you. You fix the lapels of his jacket absentmindedly, fingers tracing over the material. His hands rest lightly against your back yet still secure. 

A kitten lick at your neck jolts you back to reality. You gently push him by the shoulders, finding his fangs bared already. He stays unmoving for a few seconds before closing his mouth and going back to leaning against you, breath falling in waves against your neck.

“I’m not your juicebox, Sicheng,” you snap, frown deepening.

“But you have so much blood,” he mumbles, his forehead hot against your shoulder.

“Sicheng.”

He sobers up a little, pulling back with a stream of pouting apologies. You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Despite everything, your boyfriend is such a child sometimes. There’s a short pause.

“But wait, don’t go biting someone else’s neck,” you quickly add, flustered.

Sicheng suppresses a smile.  

“So I can have a little—”

“No.”

Sicheng pouts but agrees enough to follow you, the two of you moving soundlessly over the sidewalk. Being alone with him has always been easing; you don’t need a crowd for comfort. 

With fingers interlaced, you walk alone with him as the orange street lights cast shadows on the buildings lined up. A few more blocks and you’ll reach your apartment, get to push Sicheng into bed and pray he doesn’t throw up at your front door—and yet still, you walk as slow as you can as if the autumn wind will be gone as quick as it arrived.

The number of people shrink the further you get from the party, and you heave a sigh of relief, glad to be away from, what you and your friends call, the rich neighbourhood. The familiar path to your apartment, no matter the pricing, has much better air to breathe in. It’s past midnight and yet, you can see the city lights in the distance, the ones that never sleep—for the living or the dead.

Something runs into your legs and you jump onto Sicheng, who in turn flinches away with a strangled yelp. 

You look down to see a giant golden retriever in a white blanket which you assume is meant to be a ghost outfit. It wags its tail, sniffing around your boyfriend’s legs, making him giggle as he crouches down to pet the creature.

“I’m so sorry!” 

You look up to find a young girl holding a pumpkin almost as large as her head, an apologetic look over her head. Some part of you is happy to see a costume, considering you were robbed of yours. (Sometimes you dream of matching costumes but again, the damn fangs.)

“Piri loves people, I’m so sorry if he bothered—oh hey dude, cool fangs.”

Sicheng offers the fakest smile ever, accompanied with a thumbs up gesture. You sigh, apologizing to the girl before parting ways. 

“That’s the eighth time tonight,” Sicheng says, scowling almost. “I counted.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. Calm, relaxed Dong Sicheng tends to lose it at repetitive comments with only three sips of beer.

When you reach the apartment building, clouds cover the moon and you draw your jacket closer to yourself. You think for a moment about the inevitability of time and whether you’re even allowed to fall in love this way. You push the thoughts aside almost inevitably. When the time comes, you will have a decision to make—and after everything, it is love which turns people. 

For now, you can enjoy this Halloween night with your (literally) one-of-a-kind boyfriend.

You fumble around with the keys, Sicheng looking at you with sleepy eyes as he leans against the wall. He must be worn out from the alcohol by now.

“Hey,” he calls, the words more muffled than usual. 

You raise an eyebrow, tugging him inside all the while maintaining your balance.

“You know my favourite blood type?” he continues.

You shake your head. “If you’re thinking of feeding, I’ll get some blood bags from Kunhang.”

Sicheng pouts. “You ruined the line.”

“Huh?”

“Yours. Yours is my favourite blood type.”

Despite the terrible execution of his so-called pick-up line, you find yourself shaking with laughter. You’re not sure if it’s the late night or the October air—the two of you share the silliest of laughter at the doorway to your apartment.

Within the moment itself, Sicheng leans in to kiss you and your hands move to run through his hair out of habit. The taste of beer and the prick of his fangs makes you pull away. You look at each other for a moment before you give in anyway and kiss him against the doorframe.

October ends with memories—your first date, Sicheng’s cooking disaster, and now this. It’s blissful for the few moments the two of you let it be. That is, until Sicheng opens his mouth.

“Oh, by the way, can you apologize to Ten for me? I think I bit him thinking it was you.”

“Sicheng, what the fuck?”

October ends with proximity, sweet as candy and warm as toast—stumbling into bed with all that and more.

[calciumcryptid]

This is about the character, not the content creator.

Dream SMP Headcanons:

TechnoBlade Edition

Techno was born in a Crimson Forest, and grew up eating the fungi there. Due to this, he is vegetarian and hates eating meat.

The majority of piglins aren't expected to make it to adulthood, so most of Techno's childhood was moving around and protecting himself.

Techno, like all Piglins, has a strong attachment to gold. In fact, gold armor is the equivalent of diamond for him.

Techno has a tendency to hoard gold, but due to having to move around a lot he turned the gold into jewelry for him to wear.

Techno grew attached to Philza because he mistook the man's hair for gold. He followed Philza because Techno was curious about the man's wings (he didn't float or go through blocks like a ghast, it was insane!)

It took Philza a while to convince Techno to touch grass. Techno immediately hated the sensation of grass on his hooves.

Philza just brought Techno home with him to where he and Wilbur stayed. Wilbur lost his mind at the idea of having a brother.

Techno didn't have a choice in the adoption. Wilbur, upon learning Techno's age was unknown due to no concept of time in the nether, just declared they were twins.

Techno taught himself how to speak Villager by reading books. The first book he ever completed was The Art of War.

Due to the differences in Nether and Overworld fighting styles, Techno got an upper hand during fighting competitions.

The SBI house was by the ocean. This was how Sally met Wilbur and by extension Techno met Squidkid.

Squidkid was the one who introduced Techno to potatoes as a food source and taught Techno how to grow them. Techno eventually challenged Squidkid's status as the number one potato farmer which lead to the Great Potato World.

During a mining trip, Techno ran into a ravine inhabited by Golems. There he met Skeppy, a Diamond Golem trickster.

Surprisingly, the two got along well and set up a trade system between them that got the SBI a good influx of diamonds and Skeppy plenty of food and building materials.

Techno, like Skeppy, can crunch straight through rocks. This is why Techno consumes golden carrots.

Techno was the one who introduced Skeppy to the Nether, and taught him the truck of using the roof to travel the safest. It was on the Nether Roof where Skeppy met BadBoyHalo.

Techno was the best man at BBH and Skeppy's wedding, his best man speech goes similar to the Conner and Minx one.

Techno figured out the mother of Philza's kids was Kristen, better known as Lady Death.

As a reward for his mix of strategic and fighting skills, Kristen granted him the title of Blood God. This made Techno functionally immortal alongside Philza, but since Techno wasn't the child or lover of a god the ritual sort of backfired into creating the chat.

The crown upon Techno's head, which I imagine more of a fancy gold circlet, was first given to him as a child by Philza who enchanted it so he could go to the Overworld without being zombiefied. It later was enchanted by Kristen to help Techno reign in his bloodlust.

Techno was the one who taught Tommy how to fight. Techno at first tried to teach Tommy a battle style that would fit Tommy's stature, but Tommy was insistent that he could fight like Techno and be better at it.

This lead to Tommy being "bad" at fighting.

Tommy and Techno went hunting once, which lead Tommy's first kill to be a raccoon. I draw Tommy with a raccoon hat, this is where it comes from.

Wilbur and Techno would stay up into the late hours of the night talking about psychology and philosophy.

Techno got along with Philza and Kristen better than Tommy and Wilbur which caused Techno to not see Tommy and Wilbur as brothers.

Techno actually met Ranboo before the canon events, not that either remember. Techno found a weird ghast enderman hybrid and fed it a golden apple. Ranboo teleported away from him, but they did technically meet.

Techno and Dream met in a weird way. Dream was going to have a dramatic introduction where he declares Techno as his rival when in reality Dream fell off a building and Techno was so frightened that he blacked out during their conversation.

It wasn't until the rivalry was publicized that Techno realized what exactly he agreed to. Techno also quickly realized he had a lot more to lose than Dream did so his anxiety will go absolutely insane when he is around Dream.

Now onto more canon aligned headcanons:

Techno and Niki get along so well because they both know what it is like to have the smallest voice be theirs. They also speak the platonic love language of quality time so it isn't weird to see Niki baking with Techno reading near by.

Techno refers to Ranboo as the Blood Prince in his head, but he'll never admit this.

Techno can speak Villager, Pigllager, Aquatic (Squidkid), Avian (Philza), and Engar (Ranboo).

Due to Techno's first interaction with Dream being Dream falling off a roof, Techno isn't intimidated by Dream at all.

Techno has a tendency to forget that Philza is married to Death herself, so he is always a little shocked when Philza talks to gods so casually.

Techno will still think that being handed gold means the other person wants to trade. It is awkward explaining this.

Piglins like to drape their love ones in gold, so Techno will give golden ornaments to his loved ones. He has given Wilbur a black guitar with golden lining, Tommy swords with a golden handle, Philza and Kristen plenty of golden jewelry, Ranboo golden quills, and Niki golden baking utensils. He also gives golden apples to animals around him, and dresses Carl, Steve, and Blitz in golden collars and armor.

Techno has Thanatophobia, the fear of death.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 12

~ The following day, Saturday ~

"Do something, Wesker! These fucking imbeciles at the papers are starting to question my competence as chief all because of a pathetic group of boys you can't seem to dispose of." Irons seethed, slamming his cup of whisky on the desk, knocking his nameplate to the ground.  

Wesker gave nothing away of his emotions, save for a tick in his brow. His hands craved to wrap around Irons’ neck, giving it a swift snap. It's how he felt most of his days at the station. Irons was replaceable. The man didn't realize just how worthless he was to Umbrella. His replacement could arrive this very afternoon.

"We are working on finding the gang's nest. The big players keep using young boys for the jobs but tell them nothing about insider information. There are too many eyes watching us right now. We cannot use any special means to dispose of the group in order avoid questions."

"Just Do your fucking job right. I can't stand the news conferences anymore. the journalist's questions make me look laughable." Irons clutched his glass, throwing it hard against the wall. Tapping a finger on the armrest, Wesker didn't bat an eye at the behavior of the chief of police. One couldn't expect much from such a lowly creature.

"You seem to forget why Umbrella put me as captain of STARS. It isn't to keep up your public appearance but to protect theirs. I'm not the one who isn't doing his job. Deal with the journalists while I handle the little boy scouts." pushing back his chair, Wesker made sure to leave deep grooves on the freshly varnished floors. The scraping sound was like music to his soul. He didn't miss the deathly glare on his way to the door like hot iron rods.

Returning to the STARS office, Wesker ignored the gossiping of Chris and Jill about the newest trouble between their captain and Irons. Shutting the door to his office, he took a seat behind his desk. Through the office blinds, he eyed each present member of STARS. of course, no one was getting any work done, lazing around the office, making meaningless bets.

This simply will not do.

It was time they did some undercover work, gathering information about Raccoon city's newest crime family. These boy scouts wouldn't last long around here, especially since they fell on the radar of the real monsters in the shadows of Raccoon.

---------------

She sat alone on the staircase, elbows resting on her knees, wondering how the hell she got here.  The house was familiar to her. How many times has she looked after Sherry here? Still, it felt strange. It was his space, and she was invading it.

This was now supposed to be her home. The place gave no hints as to who lived here, lacking any personal touch. It was likely the work of an anterior designer following the most fashionable trends. The home of a bachelor.

Speaking of Wesker, he left after dumping her here last night and vaguely pointing her towards the guest room with a 'help yourself' to any food. As always, he gave her the bare minimum of info, not that she asked what he was up to. She didn't care whether he spent the night hiding bodies or doing legitimate police work. She was too terrified to sleep under the same roof, only a few walls apart. Does the man ever sleep? Shower? Eat?

She won't lie. She was glad Wesker left. But even with him gone, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened. More so the kiss than almost becoming a guinea pig. It was a lot to process, and she couldn't even begin.

For the nth time, she forcibly pulled her fingers away from her lips, scolding herself for replaying the memory again. This man was absolute bad news. She needed to get out of the house, and an incoming call from Claire had her scrambling to answer as quickly as possible. Her friend presented an idea, and Cara was all too grateful to join in.  

Pulling up Wesker's name in the contacts, Cara's fingers hovered over the letters, unsure of what and how much to tell him.  Where did they stand? Did he really mean everything, or was it a trick?  Was she free to leave? Did he give up completely on the idea of killing her?

"Going out with Claire. I will be back late." she texted, fully knowing a lot of info was missing. But it's not like he ever gave her a ton.

"Stay out of trouble.' came a replay moments later.

The words were unsaid, but Cara definitely heard them.  'I don't have time to drop everything and run over to the rescue each and every time you get in trouble,'

'I asked for help only once. The other time's nobody asked you to come.' Cara grumbled but deleted what she wrote. she could've gotten herself out of those situations...with a little bit of thinking. Actually, a lot of thinking.

----------------------------

Cara had to walk several blocks away from Wesker's house to prevent suspicion. If by any chance, Claire knew the address of her brother's captain, it would be a hole she did not want to leap into.

Standing in front of an old bookstore, she waited for her friend. The building was slightly rundown, its walls covered in graffiti, but the owners were a kind elderly couple. They pushed discounts her way, and she was guilted to buy something. She ended up buying a useless cat plushie toy after seeing that most books were non-fiction or raunchy romance novels. She would rather die than have Wesker coming across an erotic novel lying around his house.

She stared at the plushie as she leaned against the wall outside the shop. Cara considered giving it to Sherry the next time they met. This would be the first present she ever gave the young girl, and she could almost imagine the excitement on Sherry's face. It made her smile.

A helicopter passed overhead, sleek black and adorned with the Umbrella white and red symbol. Cara watched the chopper get smaller and smaller until it disappeared, heading in the direction of the Arkley mountains. she wondered about their business up there was. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice nor care. Maybe it was best to keep all knowledge to herself.

Seeing a familiar redhead and a motorcycle, Cara waved as Claire pulled up, handing her a helmet.

---------------

The barn smelled of sweat, dust, and old wood. The unmistakable smell of alcohol was thick in the air as it was passed around freely in cheap red plastic cups. She recognized kids from school, but many more were older, likely from Raccoon university. A light disco machine was nailed to the wall, casting the barn in a series of flashing lights. Tall Straw piles of hay distributed across the barn ensured there was no shortage of dark corners for people to disappear to.  For a moment, Cara considered hiding in the straw and then going home when the party was over. But seeing the sparkle in Claire's eyes about hanging out with her best friend threw the idea out the window. With a sigh, she followed her friend.

Over the course of the night, the girls danced and drank, carefree. A blond-haired boy was staring at her, Cara noticed. He attempted to walk up to her but turned around before getting within ten feet. He tried multiple times but always chickened out despite his friends constantly cheering him on. Claire thought it was cute and refused to stop openly staring at him and giving a thumbs up.  Cara swatted Claire's hands before holding them behind her back in a pretend arrest, pushing her against the straw pile.

"Sorry Officer! I was just trying to help you get laid," Claire giggled. "I hope you're into blonde's though,"

"This is so embarrassing. Stop, or I'm leaving," Cara snapped, feeling a blush heat her face as Wesker crossed her mind. Fuck, why now?

"Oh? so you are into blondes," Claire's smile was cunning. "Let me help you,"

"No. Bad Claire, bad, bad girl. No treats for you tonight." Cara scolded, Stealing the can of beer her friend stole from a guy before cracking it open and downing its contents. She wouldn't yet consider herself drunk, just pleasantly buzzed.

The boy ran off again. Cara felt bad for him and was actually tempted to go up to him instead. His friends kept a steady stream of alcohol into his hand.

"H-hey, " And then he did it, with the help of liquid courage, of course.

For the effort, Cara decided not to openly embarrass him with rejection but not lead him on either. Walking away backward, Claire gave her a thumbs up along with a suggestive motion of the eyebrows, making horrid shapes with her hands. Cara covered her face, hoping to purge the image out of memory. She'll get her back in no time.

Ben was a bit shy at first, but soon they got talking and enjoyed themselves. His hair was a few shades darker and shorter than Wesker's. She didn't have to look up at him as they stood at a similar, comfortable height. Slender and skinny, he would shrink to nothing beside the captain. Cara grimaced, realizing she had been comparing the poor guy to a demon. It wasn't his fault that her mind was occupied with someone way out of her league... the legal kind.

The barn was becoming more and more crowded, and the dancing crowd swallowed them. Sticking out like two sore thumbs, they did their best to dance. Cara felt awkward but seeing the dimples in his smile made her feel better even as it became a tighter fit among the crowd. They had to dance closer lest they got separated.

She wondered what it would feel like to dance with Wesker. He seemed like the sophisticated type. The awkward moves of a teenager would never be adequate for him. Did he ever do anything that was remotely recreational? What do villains even do in their spare time? Manipulating the feelings of underage girls looks like. What stupid, stupid thoughts.

She prayed all these ideas would go away soon, as the thrill of the kiss wore off, and everything went back to normal. Did she want to go back? Why in the world would he like her? she knew who he really was, and he still let her live. Why take the risk with her? she was just a seventeen-year-old. Useless to everyone, with no connections and no money.  

Fuck it. Cara refused to think about Wesker anymore tonight. There was a perfectly alright guy in front of her, someone her own age, someone in her league, someone she wouldn't have to hide. Someone who was looking at her with a soft expression, blinking slowly.

Cara placed her hands on either side of Ben's face and pulled him towards her, connecting their lips. He reacted instantly, kissing her back. His hands awkwardly hovered over her arms before stroking them softly.

He was a nice guy, not a terrible kisser, but she hated it. Hated every touch because it wasn't as good as with Wesker. She couldn't stop comparing, and it was frustrating, spurring her to kiss Ben harder.

She continued, out of spite, to kiss the boy who looked at her with affection. in the background, she heard a few boys cheering, likely his friends. This was wrong, very wrong.

A firm hand gave her waist a painful squeeze before it was gone, and she thought it was Ben. Her eyes flew open as she felt a warm breath by her ear. It wasn't Ben.

"If I was not undercover right now, this lesser specimen of a boy would've made some unforgettable acquaintances a lot sooner. You could've done so much better, yet you have chosen to this..." Wesker seethed by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Her body froze, but Ben didn't pick up the cue.  Wesker's muscles were tense as he pressed against her back. She could almost hear the exhale through clenched, grinding teeth.

Then he was gone, slipping through the crowd just as he came. No one notices anything. Cara broke the kiss and shoved Ben away. "I'm sorry, it isn't going to work out." She hurried after Wesker, but he was already lost in the crowd.  

She shoved her way through the throngs of people but only managed to find other members of STARS in civilian clothes. None seemed to notice or recognize her. They must've been here on undercover work, but why? she put that question aside as there were more pressing things to worry about.

She felt sick and wanted to throw up, but nothing was coming up. she burst through the doors of the suffocatingly hot bran, raking her hands through her hair. The cool night air hit her heated skin, but she couldn't find relief. She wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

She needed to find Wesker. But then what? Apologize? Apologize for making her own choices? They weren't a couple.

She continued to look for him nevertheless. She walked further from the barn towards an old car junkyard. She thought perhaps a fuming man would need some privacy. A strong feeling in her gut told her this was the right way.

Cara walked far enough from the party that the music was nothing but a distant noise. It was dark and quiet, the perfect place for an assault. If Wesker decided to murder her, no one would find her for at least a week, stuffed in the trunk of a car. If ever.  

Grabbed from behind, she was thrown against a car. Sliding to the ground, she cradled her aching arm, squinting in the dark to see her assailant. Wesker kneeled beside her, his civilian clothes dark and expensive.

"Why cut it short? You should've kissed him more while you still can because he will be the last boy you will ever kiss." squeezing her cheeks harshly, he dragged his thumb with heavy pressure over the flesh of her lips, still swollen from kissing Ben.

As Wesker let go of her face, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressing against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat, but she glared at him straight in the eye. Daring.

"I don't know what you want from me! You told me to keep out of trouble, and I did. Yet here we are," Cara lied. She knew what he wanted but didn't know why he wanted it.

"Were my intentions not clear enough? Do I have to spell it out for you? But I suppose intelligence was never your strength,"

Wesker pressed the gun harder against her temple, her glare unwavering. "Go ahead. Shoot me. why do you even bother?"

Neither moved, naked eyes locked with no shades between. Cara reached up and pulled the gun out of his hands with ease. He didn't resist, glaring at her with a tense jaw. Looking down, she almost laughed, seeing the safety was still on. This man couldn't bring himself to kill her. It was all a show of intimidation, and she wasn't falling for it. Not anymore.

As she made to stand, his hand pushed her down. Thinking he wanted the gun back, she returned it to his hand and tried to stand. again, he pushed her down. "Can I get up now?" she scowled, staring up at him.

Things happen too quickly for her to process. The hands on Cara's shoulder grabbed her legs, lifting her off the ground as Wesker wrapped her legs around him before slamming her against the car. She was winded, gasping for breath as he watched her with a smirk. She grabbed his arms, digging her nails into his defined muscles.

"You're up now," he whispered before his lips kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling the skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth immediately.

Grabbing both her hands, he pinned them against the car. "I need to clean your mouth of all traces of that boy,"

"Are you going to rinse my mouth with soap or something? This is childish and-" Cara's words settled in a moan as Wesker began grinding a very defined length against her growing sickness. She tightened her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

Trailing his nose across her skin, he followed the curve of her neck to the ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. She melted against him when his hot tongue entered her ear. His tongue plunged in and out repeatedly like a preview of what he could do to her. Her heart went on an overdrive.

"Just kiss me," Cara breathed, a tension building in her belly. She wanted to taste him. in addition to sparing any additional marks on her neck to hide.

"No,” nuzzling into her neck, he grinded harder against her, earning a series of moans.  

"You know who else wouldn't mind kissing me-" Wesker slammed his lips to hers, kissing her roughly, their teeth clashing. Cara melted further, a smile on her lips as her tongue danced with his. She savored everything, The taste of him, softness of his lips, his warmth, and the building friction between their bodies. There was nothing more she wanted.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three gunshots were fired.

Cara was barely steady on her feet when Wesker dropped her to the ground, his eyes scanning their surroundings. What little they heard of the music was drowned out by distant screams of the partygoers.

"What's happening?" she questioned, grabbing his arm, but his attention was fixed on the barn.

"Stay here," Wesker warned, already talking to someone by an earpiece she hadn't noticed before.

With his gun ready, he took off, running towards the barn. Cara made to follow him but was pulled back towards the car by her hand.

The fucker handcuffed and left her in the middle of a junkyard in the dark.

[serararku]

A Modest Proposal

Back straight. Eyes down. Book open.

Mizuna spent the first half of her shift a hair's breadth away from the overnight beds. K'vyna was able to eat solid food despite her broken ribs and collarbone, but Mizuna didn't want her moving around until she was absolutely certain her bones were healing correctly, especially with that shattered leg; otherwise it would be up to her to break them again to start the healing process anew. Dawn could sit up and hold a conversation at least, yet getting used to her two foreign eyes will certainly be a challenge, especially with one of them with the signature Auri limbal ring. That cerulean eye staring back at her was unsettling. Mizuna felt like two strangers were looking at her when Dawn met her gaze, but she would never tell her that; she’s been through enough, and adding to her insecurities would help no one. Nijah always stayed longer than the allotted time for visits, but Mizuna always let it slide- Dawn needed someone to talk to. Speaking of which, even Osric himself checked in to pay her a visit once. With luck they could close the rift between them sooner than later.

While K’vyna was broken physically, Dawn was broken emotionally. It pained Mizuna to see them both in such shattered states… yet they remained better off than Conobharo.

The Lalafell had his arm severed right across the ball-socket joint, and it was not with him when he arrived to the clinic. The  blood loss made him lethargic for the first few days, but after enough rest he could talk and move around on his own- at least until he was struck with phantom pain in his missing limb. With just a pinch of nightshade essence and a tonze of gloomroot, Mizuna had Conobharo's head swimming in anesthetics and bedridden until the agony would pass. Worse still, he was still struggling to accept the fact that he was now handicapped, and it was taking its toll on him, both physically and psychologically. She was convinced he could kiss the mercenary life behind; how could he survive out there with only one hand? Surely he couldn't swing that heavy sword now. Perhaps he could find fulfillment in helping around the clinic? Khair and Mizuna could certainly use the help, plus his sense of humor would always be a welcome diversion.

She kept a monitor on their vitals with her so she could rush to their aid at a moment's notice, even during her smoke breaks; dark circles sagged from her eyes while she read, unwilling to rest until her shift was over. Dawn, K'vyna and Conobharo were all counting on her for a safe and swift recovery… yet some would recover sooner than others. And one may never truly recover at all.

Boom!

There it was again, easily the queerest thunder she had ever heard. There were no windows in the main lobby of the clinic so looking to see the storm clouds herself required more effort than tilting her head. The weather report made no mention of a shower, but Thanalan was infamous for its sudden storms; she was almost ready to return to her book and continue reading Life as an Amputee: A Beginner’s Course before she was rudely interrupted again. Boom! “That does it.” She muttered to herself, rising to her feet. The magitek device keeping tabs on their vitals was wireless and mobile at least, allowing Mizuna to pluck it off the table and carry it with her- and carry it she did, all the way straight to the front door.

She was greeted with the blazing glare of the Thanalan midafternoon sun: no rain, clouds, or thunder. K’thalen appeared next once her eyes began to adjust, his back turned and smoke rising from the barrel of his rifle. He stood alone in the center of the courtyard, or so she first thought; S’era appeared atop the arch over the entrance to the estate with her katana drawn. “What’s going on out here?”

“Ah- heya Doc.” K’thalen turned an ear toward the woman but kept his gaze focused on S’era. “Gigglefits over yonder claimed Hadriel is the greatest swordsman in the world. So I tell’r; what good is all that skill when a drunkard with a clear shot can kill ‘im? So she says he can deflect bullets. I told her there ain’t no way he can move that fast, and even if he could, he can’t parry a barrage, yeah? So now she claims anyone with enough practice can deflect a bullet, so…” He raised his rifle and fired. BOOM! Mizuna flinched at how loud his boomstick bellowed. She glanced up frantically to see S’era wave her sword in the air, then stomp her feet and curse under her breath. “See? If I was aimin’ center mass n’not over your shoulder you’d be dead, darlin’!”

“I just need a few more bells of practice!” She insisted, preparing herself for another attempt. “Do it again!”

"This is incredibly dangerous, reckless, and irresponsible." Mizuna scowled, feeling that dreadful sound ringing in her hollow horns. "You both should stop before someone reports suspicious gunfire in the Goblet."

K'thalen couldn't argue with that; he was already on their watch list for public intoxication and disturbing the peace. "Aye, she'll never be able to deflect 'em anyroad. Come on down, Era, before you fall off n'break your ankle. Goddess knows the Doc's gotter hands full already." A groan slipped from the Samurai before she hopped down, still certain such a feat could be possible. Mizuna, content with handling this situation swiftly, checked the vitals one last time before she turned on her heel to flee this muggy heat.

She didn’t make it ten paces before S’era came trotting in behind her. “Oh Doctor Kusakari? Can I ask you something? I know this probably isn’t a good time, but I need a huge favor…”

Mizuna glanced down at the vitals again before giving the woman a warm yet faint smile. “What’s the matter?” Just as she finished speaking, K’thalen came strolling in as well, with one hand holding his rifle upright, and the other clasped around his old flask.

How could she tell her? How could she convince this woman- who on all accounts was practically a stranger- to risk her life to help people she couldn’t possibly be invested in. Risking her own life in Mor Dhona with friends willingly volunteering to help was one thing, but now she was older, fairly wiser, and far less willing to act on emotions alone. It was a big request, but it was better for Mizuna or Khair to come along than Dawn, especially in her state.

“S’era?” Mizuna repeated, snapping her out of her daze. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah… I… well you see…”

“Is this a medical question?” The Raen woman asked, glancing over at K’thalen who was busy chugging more liquor. “Should we go somewhere private to talk?”

“No, it’s not a personal-...” S’era began wringing her hands before she took in a deep breath and stood up straight. “My tribe… the Zu Tribe, needs help. I need a medical professional and I don’t know Dr. Himaa at all, so…”

At last K’thalen made a noise as he coughed and choked on his drink. “Guh-...! Huck…! What?! You wanna bring her to your tribe, S’era?! Have you gone mad?!”

“The Zu Tribe is infamous for killing anyone who enters their lands.” Mizuna calmly explained what K’thalen was alluding to. “I would love to help your people, but I don’t want to be strung up and flayed. I just don’t see how I could even get close enough to help them.”

“My Nunh has agreed to let outsiders in… on my watch.” S’era explained, ignoring his remarks. “Please, Dr. Kusakari… our kittens have some sort of disease that-”

Mizuna didn’t even flinch. “I’ll do it.”

“Huh?!” Both S’era and K’thalen exclaimed at the same time, before looking at each other.

“I’ve only seen a handful of Miqo’te children in my travels, and none that were younger than nine or ten. This is an opportunity of a lifetime.” Mizuna glanced down to check the vitals again- still safe, still stable. “If you can guarantee my safety then I’ll gladly help. And if Miqo’te kittens are as adorable as they claim… then I won’t soon regret this.”

“The mention of kittens was all she needed to change her mind?” S’era thought to herself, nodding confidently at Mizuna. “This is all going better than I originally planned!”

---

Mentions: @dawn-aethwyn @nijah-wolff-xiv @osric-slater-ffxiv @conobharo-cobharo-xiv​ @hadriel-ffxiv​

[halo-jpeg]

Could you by any chance, do slashers with a shy, twink SO?

I love this yes!!! I FINALLY finished this, jeez!!! This took a looong time. All my asks all for all the slashers I write for so it’ll take a long time for me to get the content out! Sorry for the wait!

Slashers with a Shy Twink S/O

Michael Myers

He’s a sucker for height differences, so a short guy is absolutely his type. He’d hold you close at all time, sitting you in his lap and never letting you get up.

You’re shy? That’s perfect, who needs to go outside into society anyways? He’d much rather keep you at home where he can make sure you’re safe, so don’t worry about having to go talk to people other than him.

Will protect you until the end of time. He’s super paranoid that you’ll be hurt or attacked for any and all reasons, so he’ll be close by no matter what, making sure no one makes you even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Whether it’s comforting or unnerving to know hes always close by, it’s the undeniable truth. Just shout for him and he’ll be there. Dip momentarily into a quiet place and he’ll be there. Talk aloud, he’ll hear you.

Jason Voorhees

Right away he knows you’re different from other campers. You’re short, fragile, and completely afraid to be out with the other teenagers. You aren’t as overly-confident and obnoxious like they are so that grants you bonus brownie points.

Again, you’re fragile and small, along with the purest babey in the world. The forest is dangerous; even before you know Jason is there he’ll be protecting you.

After you actually meet and get to know each other, he’ll be at your side no matter what, even if trespassers need to be dealt with. If it makes you happy he’ll do whatever you want him to.

He’s pretty shy himself, when he isn’t killing of course. He understands the whole ‘not too keen about attention’ stuff, so he does his best to keep trespassers away unless you want to be with them- until they’re killed.

Brahms Heelshire

He L O V E S Y O U. You are the cutest most adorable little thing hes ever seen and he will 100% love and cherish every single little thing about you.

You’re so tiny compared to this tower of a man and he LOVES to tease you about that, leaning his elbow on your head and purposefully placing stuff just too high for you to reach.

He’ll curl his entire body around yours like some human cocoon and you’ll be stuck there until he says otherwise.

Will always want to have tea parties and is always saying you’d look good as a doll, like his mini-Brahms self. Has scoured the internet for a custom-doll maker.

Billy & Stu

Protectprotectprotectprotectprotectprotectprotect-

Billy likes to tease you for being so small and shy when he’s generally outgoing, and finds it almost weird that you’d go for someone like him. After all, you’re basically polar opposites.

Stu makes you feel loved every second of the day, making sure no one makes you uncomfortable and always asking to hold your hand.

Both boys are so glad to have someone like you tolerate them and their stupidness. They don’t know how they got so lucky.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is a big man, and he loves tiny little you and your nervous personality.

He’s always afraid that you’ll get hurt if you leave the house, so you rarely do, and only when he’s with you, glued to your side like a protective tick.

He’ll pick you up and seat you on his shoulder, carrying you around like a parrot or something. Tommy loves to take walks with you like that.

Any and all teasing from his family will result in him punching them. Hard. He won’t take anything, not wen it comes to you because you’re his S/O and no one gets to tease you >:(

Bubba Sawyer

Another sucker for height differences!! He’s TALL, so he’ll always want to compare heights, seeing if you’re going to grow as tall as him some day. Even when you tell him you won’t, he still has hopes that you’ll grow as big and strong as he is.

No matter what Drayton says you are NOT doing any chores that are even remotely dangerous. If you ever try to help hunt trespassers or use a saw or hammer, Bubba will erupt into a series of panicked whining, and then he’ll drag you away into the safety of home.

Even though you’re so small he still likes to be the little spoon sometimes. It makes him feel even more loved and valued than ever. On days where he’s the big spoon, he loves that too, because then he knows you are feeling just as loved.

He’s shy too, so he knows how you feel!! He’ll take you on walks through the sunflower fields if guests ever come over, or if you want to get away from the shouting of his brothers.

Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson

Twink? Y E S. Danny is pretty twink-y himself, so you go perfect together. Everything about your personality is entrancing you him.

Will teach you how to use your height and weight perfectly; if you’re short, you’re harder to spot, and you can learn how to walk silently no matter your weight.

Danny is the polar opposite of shy, but he absolutely respects that you aren’t as confident around people as he is. He’s a natural attention whore, so he’ll absorb it all and keep peoples eyes off of you.

Some days where you’re really reluctant to go into public he’s perfectly content with chilling at home with a movie.

Billy Lenz

Will 100% call you Twink. All the time. Every day.

Makes fun of how short you are even though he’s pretty short himself, doing whatever he can do sabotage your daily life while still being convenient for his own- a lot of things are going to be placed just out of your reach.

Shy? Good, you don’t get to go outside anyways. It’s always attic time for Billy, and attic times means him, you, and the rocking chair, much too small for two people.

The ultimate little spoon. Cradle him in your arms or suffer 😡

Leslie Vernon

He’s a very outgoing, loud person; your polar opposite, so he can be a little overbearing. He draws a lot of attention (and loves it all) as well, so you’re often put out when you don’t want to be simply because he doesn’t notice that you’re uncomfortable.

He always makes it up to you with cuddles and love, feeling bad for making you uncomfortable.

Short? Okay. That’s fine, he doesn’t tease you or anything, you’re too good for that.

His favourite thing EVER is planning out his little hunting games. He usually lets you pick out the group (after he’s chosen his final girl, of course). You always think up different ideas than he does.

Vincent Sinclair

L o v e l o v e l o v e

He will cherish every single little thing about you because he’s never seen anyone as naturally perfect as you are.

Models 80% of his wax figures after you!!! There’s a lot of different mini figurines with your features, even if he tries not to let you know that.

He’s so shy, so he doesn’t ever want to go out of the basement. Now, you don’t ever want to leave either, and he loves it. Your personality is so easy to handle, it’s not overwhelming in the slightest and he loves you.

Bo Sinclair

Endless teasing. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this nasty texas man.

He’ll randomly rip things out of your hands and hold them too high for you to reach, laughing all the while.

He can be soft though, and he’s softer around you than anyone else. He’ll cuddle you and tell you how he’ll keep you safe no matter what.

He locks you in your room whenever people stumble across Ambrose. He won’t risk getting you hurt.

Lester Sinclair

You’re just the cutest to him!! Compared to his brothers he’s tiny, so he loves that you are too!

He’ll bring you with him on his work rides, cranking country tunes through his old tinny radio and singing along loudly.

It’s nice and secluded all throughout the work day, so you won’t have to worry about much social interaction.

On the day Lester runs into someone he intends to lure back to Ambrose (like offering a ride) he’ll make sure he takes all the attention, talking non-stop so you didn’t have to talk if you didn’t want to.

Norman Bates

He himself is pretty twinky if we’re being honest. You’d totally click personalities.

He’s shy too, so there would never be the problem of having to talk to other people. The two of you make do with simply being around one another.

He’ll read you books and make tea, along with constantly buying you flowers. He’s so in love with you.

The most gentlemanly gentleman on the earth. Absolutely no teasing from this guy, and he’ll beat anyone who teases you to a pulp.

Pyramid Head

S m o l b o i = p r o t e c t

Super territorial and constantly worried about you. If you ever leave his sight he’ll flip, his anxiety blasting through the roof. He’ll spend hours tearing the town apart to find you.

He’ll pat your head as his main sign of saying ‘I love you’. If he could speak he’d shower you with endless praise.

He’s so big and strong and brutal, but when it comes to handling you he’s so careful and gentle, like two different sides of a coin.

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 04 | thomas jefferson

 title: freedom of the press

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich --- hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

words: 13.5k

warnings: this still doesn’t go past, like, pg-13, but careful around the end -- it isn’t quite sfw even tho its not rlly nsfw. also, neo-nazi mentions, the loml monica lewinsky mentions, bunny slippers & flaming hot cheetos (hope yall can handle it gettin SPICY 🔥)

desc: you’d just moved to d.c. full time, a promotion at your publication leading to a transfer to another district chapter, and you were more than thrilled to be there, more than ready to immerse yourself in the world of politics. what you weren’t ready for, though, was how the campaign trail you were following made your heart flutter and your stomach turn. you also hadn’t expected it to be so… gaudy? magenta? – or perhaps, though you wouldn’t hear of it, that wasn’t the campaign’s effect at all.

Y/N SPENT THE following days, the next weeks, focusing on herself. She was letting herself get distracted, and with that, distracted by precisely the person she was supposed to be focusing on. It felt ironic, really, but she wasn't amused.

She spent time tapping her sources from and around the campaign trail, trying to establish a connection with other politicians who had been identified as potential candidates for the election, trying to expand her network beyond her small corner of the policy scene. ("The policy scene" was much bigger than she'd thought.)

She reached out to think tanks, to analysts, economists -- she was getting a little off track, but basically, she talked to everyone with no link to the name "Jefferson," despite the precise nature of her assignment.

Her stab at freedom from the now-former Secretary of State was to little avail. While he was the foundation of his campaign, there was enough else going on surrounding the election that she could dance around confronting him.

Yet, not for as long as she'd have liked.

She was knee-deep into finding the perfect person to cold call at Brookings when the crucial blow came.

"Y/N!" Her boss's perpetually peppy voice rang through the hall toward her office, and our fatigued heroine looked up with a brow raised. Ashley stopped in the doorway, appearing elated. "Guess what?"

Her eyes flashed with crazed excitement, and Y/N almost didn't want to ask what. It felt very much like a trick question.

In response to Y/N's expectant stare, silent and unmoving, Ashley sighed and entered. "You should be a lot more excited when I come running down to your office with a 'guess what,' y'know."

She sighed. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry! What ever exciting news could I be missing out on at this very moment?" Her contrived enthusiasm reeked of sarcasm, but Ashley's spirits were too high to be quashed, and she only rolled her eyes in response.

"So, you've been covering the Jefferson campaign for months, right?" Apparently she was ignoring the less-than-thrilled response. Y/N nodded. "And you were out in front of it before anyone else was, right? You know more than anyone else about his platform and history."

Grudgingly, she nodded again. "I suppose so." She was equally unexcited to claim to know Thomas Jefferson's past better than anyone else.

"And, he's projected to be the Republican frontrunner."

"The debates haven't even started, everything could change in a night," Y/N pointed out. "You know that."

"You're right, the debates haven't started." Y/N was clearly missing something. Ashley seemed to be unreasonably thrilled about the lack of pre-existing clash between the candidates. She raised a brow, and Ashley appeared to be holding back a squeal with how she was grinning. "But, the debates are only a few days from now, so, I called in an old contact from NBC, and of course, they'd heard of you--" She paused for dramatic emphasis, but the anticipation wasn't exactly killing Y/N, "And... since the Washington Post is co-sponsoring the event, they want to have you as one of the moderators for the first round of debates!"

With that, Y/N was struck silent. "They...?" She could only gape for a moment, and Ashley nodded excitedly.

"Mm-hmm. It's against precedent, but since you've become the most prominent and consistent reporter covering Jefferson the past few months, they think your input would be invaluable."

"But what about my live commentary?" she asked, still dumbstruck. Everything in her was telling her this was a bad idea; she needed to protest her way out. "I won't be able to provide as good of coverage of the debates if I'm not taking notes and writing during them. It'll hurt my articles. This is too big of an event not to write for."

She knew she was rambling, but Ashley only let out a sigh, as though Y/N was being absolutely ridiculous. "Oh, come on. Your commentary's more valuable on the spot if it can be used to grill the candidates and get Jefferson to talk."

"'Get Jefferson to talk'? This is a debate, not an interrogation." She blinked, visibly put-off. "Besides, it's not like I'd be controlling the floor. I wouldn't be doing much good anyway, and it really wouldn't get me much notice." She paused a moment, trying to gauge Ashley's reaction, and swallowed. "I think I should stick to my own territory."

"Y/N." Her tone was firm now. "This is the biggest opportunity you're going to get for people to notice you as a political journalist. It wasn't easy to get you this position, and besides, you're perfectly equipped for it. You've spent hundreds of hours by now researching the issues, contacting think tanks for different perspectives on them, contrasting Jefferson with the other candidates, and..." She took a thoughtful pause. "And I can't even scratch the surface of what you've been spending all this time on. If anyone should be moderating, it should be you. This isn't the time for cold feet."

Ashley had begun monologuing, and Y/N knew right there that there was no getting out of this job. It's not about getting cold feet, though, Y/N thought, I can do it, easily. What Ashley didn't know, though, was that there was more there.

The growing pause following her boss's speech was heavy with expectation, and finally, Y/N sighed, knowing she didn't actually have a choice in the matter if she cared to keep her job.

"Fine. Should I book myself a hotel in Detroit?"

"Don't bother. It'll come out of company funds; it's the least we can do."

She sighed, turning back to her computer, closing the tab she'd just opened. "Michigan, here I come."

_______________

THAT CONVERSATION HAD taken place Monday, and, as Y/N later realized, the first round of debates were that Wednesday, so she had approximately 48 hours to pack, fly, and get situated in Detroit. That evening was a whirlwind -- Ashley texted her that the flight the WaPo had booked her left at 10:00 on Tuesday morning, she immediately began her frenzied packing. Which, in turn, brings us once again to the apartment, filled with Y/N's anguish, the hair she was tearing out with stress, and clothing strewn over the carpet's full surface area.

"What do I wear, Ang? I'm gonna be on national TV, I need to look good but so, so, so professional," she wailed, looking up at her friend who was perched on the edge of her bed. Angelica gave her a sympathetic look.

"You're overthinking it, honey," she said, "No one's worried with what you're wearing, alright? It's what you say, not what you look like."

"But I'm..." She sighed, arms going slack along with the three different dresses she'd been holding up to the light, shoulders slumping. "I dunno, it's just the first time I'm gonna be that clearly in the public eye. When I'm writing I can just hide behind the words."

"The time for hiding's over." Angelica pushed herself off the edge of the bed, joining Y/N in the garment tsunami that threatened to claim her furniture. "You got the spot with the debates because people wanna hear from you, so pick an outfit. Doesn't matter which."

"But it does." Y/N looked over at her weakly, everything in her expression reading dejected, from her furrowed brow to her little pout. Angelica gave her a pointed look, and she huffed. "I just... It's not only the public, y'know? I'm also up with all the famous newscasters and the fucking Republicans, for God's sake."

"Since when do you care what Republicans think of you?"

"I..." She hesitated, considering herself. Angelica made a good point -- since when did she care? "I don't, really. I just don't want to look bad on national TV on my first gig where I'm... visible."

She pursed her lips, praying the issue wouldn't be pushed further.

Finally, Angelica huffed, beginning to pick through the pile of Y/N's clothes, seemingly resigned to the angst that deciding one outfit had apparently proved to be. With a sigh, Y/N slumped against the footboard of her bed, her dejected stare meeting the multicolored flood piling around her ankles. She carded a hand through her now-disheveled hair as she checked her phone, unable to stifle a grin at her Twitter notifications coming from all different corners of the political compass -- not to mention, now, John Adams. Her recent article on Jefferson's voting history was blowing up.

She began to respond to a tweet, nails tapping frantically against her phone screen, and though she couldn't see it, Angelica raised an eyebrow.

She let out a soft giggle as she read another response to her post: this time, the successive Secretary of State, his voice being behind her loud and clear. The feedback on her writing was only making her progressively giddy. Her smile curled with self-content, though, as she saw James Madison's message about her post, sent directly to her. Angelica raised another eyebrow.

"Y/N?" Angelica's tone bordered on cagey as it cut through Y/N's laser focus. She looked up, eyes wide. "The concerns about your outfit wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the Jefferson campaign, right?"

"Well, of course they do." She blinked, unable to place the intent behind the skepticism heavy in Angelica's words. "It's the only reason I have this gig, anyway."

Angelica pursed her lips; apparently, that hadn't been quite what she was asking. "Would it have anything to do with a specific person from the Jefferson campaign?"

Y/N paled. All-too-vivid memories of the state dinner that was now months past fought their way to the forefront of her mind -- her attempts to curb them hadn't been in vain till Angelica popped the question. "I'm sorry?"

The pause that followed as Angelica examined Y/N's look of near-panic was anything but silent, both their trains of thought threatening to derail themselves with conjecture. Angelica took in a shuddering breath.

"I just mean..." Y/N could hardly bear to meet Angelica's wary gaze. "D'you have a thing for James Madison?"

The next beat that passed was simply stunned. Y/N could hardly conceal her laughter in a huff; she had to swallow her amusement, every nerve in her body immediately relaxing.

"What did you just ask me?" She shook her head, small grin breaking out across her lips as her shoulders slumped. Angelica didn't look so sure. "I am not lusting over James Madison, Ang. He's literally married."

"Marriage isn't forever, babes." She pinned her with a skeptical stare, to which Y/N could only laugh.

"I swear to you, Angelica. You will at no point see me trying to jump James Madison's bones."

"So why'd you react how you did when I asked you about the Jefferson campaign, hm?" Angelica folded her arms, plainly unconvinced, and Y/N's breath caught. She'd supposed she was off the hook.

"What do you mean?" Y/N wished the question hadn't come out so breathily.

"Y/N," Angelica started, exasperated, "You've been messaging Madison on Twitter. You've met him multiple times and have spent your fair share of hours detailing to me each of the times you've met. You were just giggling at something he sent you." She was fully deadpan by then. "You don't need to hide it, I just want you to talk to me 'bout it."

"I promise, it's not that I'm in love with Madison." Y/N's smile as she returned to packing was meant to have been placating, but functioned as anything but. She needed to get back to packing before Angelica could press the matter. "Blue or green dress?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"I'm not, but I'm gonna be on a plane in twelve hours!" she said, "I need to finish packing."

"So there's no ulterior motive to how you're approaching the Jefferson campaign?"

For a moment just long enough to evoke doubt, Y/N paused. She wasn't inclined to reminisce on the last time she'd actually talked to anyone from the Jefferson campaign, but her psyche had other priorities. A nearly undetectable chill ran down her spine -- she could still feel his heavy hands trailing down to her hips, hot breath brushing over her cheek; she could even feel the sculpt and contour of his body as it pressed against hers, muscles rippling under his stiff button-down. Her skin burned still where rough calluses had grazed her neck.

"There's no ulterior motive, Ang." She wanted her words to be true, fighting back a shudder as she bottled up the memory. "I swear."

Angelica didn't look convinced.

________________

ABOUT TEN HOURS, a mildly annoying trip through TSA (the Post had paid for her pre-check, otherwise she'd have been less forgiving of the experience -- and the line), and two hours on a plane later, she rolled into her hotel lobby in Michigan, small suitcase dragging behind her. She knew she wasn't exactly a sight to see, just off a plane at noon in her socks and sandals, her oversized sweater. She certainly wasn't feeling as high-end as her hotel appeared to be.

The high ceilings, crown molding, and arched entryways all reeked of wealth, not to mention that the space was crawling with men and women in sharp suits, appearing as though they were on the verge of being willing to cut anyone who held them up for a moment too long. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one Birkenstock to the other, waiting for the manager to return to the front desk so that she could check in. As she warily eyed the man marching through with a clipboard, aggression in each step, she had to wonder why the Washington Post had decided to drop here there, of all places.

She would've loved to disappear into her sweater, at that moment.

The manager returned to her position, looking just as sleek and professional as everyone else there, and Y/N's appearance seemed to give her pause. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, yes, I'm here to check into my hotel room for the next three nights." She gave the manager her warmest smile in an effort to diffuse some of her tense nature, but it was to no avail. "I'm here with the Washington Post, but I think it should be under the name L/N?"

Y/N waited a moment, trying to roll some of her post-travel soreness out of her shoulders as the manager typed away at the computer before her. She creased her brow, frowning for a moment. "Y/N?"

"That's me," she said, enthusiasm weak in her voice.

"Alright, you're up in room 569, so let me get you your key." She paused, rooting through drawers as her coworker appeared next to her, apparently taking a post at the next laptop over. She looked back up. "Alright, you should be all set," -- she slid the keys across the counter to Y/N -- "but it's still early, and I'm not sure your room's been checked out of quite yet. Excuse me for a moment to go see about that."

Before Y/N could say another word, she was gone, and Y/N let out a heavy sigh. It'd been a long 12 hours, and all she wanted was a proper bed and a nap. It seemed rest wasn't what the universe had in mind for her, though.

She began checking her Twitter while she stood in wait, paying no mind to the energetic bustle of who she'd worked out to be politicians and the like, given the snippets of conversation she'd picked up standing there; however, tuning out became significantly more difficult when a familiar voice sounded next to her.

"Yes, only the next three nights. The room is registered for the surname 'Madison'." If she couldn't guess from his voice, his words were a dead giveaway. She looked up, and sure enough, there was the man himself. Well, shit.

Not only was she painfully opposed to having to interact with him in her near-pajamas and slipper socks, feeling like the biggest mess she'd ever been, but she also knew that where he was, Jefferson wasn't far behind.

She immediately busied herself with something, anything on her phone, facing down and away from him in the hope that he wouldn't notice her. She'd just pulled up a scintillating article on diabetes in labradors, when--

"Y/N?" The man at the desk helping him had disappeared when she reluctantly turned to face him -- busying himself with something other than helping protect her from social interaction, apparently. James, however, looked all but amused.

"Hey, James." She did her best to return the positive sentiment he perpetually seemed to give off, but she knew it came out weaker than intended. "Should I assume I know what brings you here?"

"Should I assume that it'd be the same thing that brought you here?" He quirked an eyebrow, unable to resist eyeing her outfit. She sighed.

"That might be fair," she conceded, small smile resting on her lips. "Is the campaign all ready for the first round of debates?"

He laughed; not a polite chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh, as though he couldn't believe the question. "Something like that. We've prepared Thomas as many talking points as we could think he might need, but I'm worried the moderators--" He gave her a pointed look, wearing a knowing smile, "--may end up grilling him regardless."

A wry smile crept onto Y/N's face. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Word travels fast, especially from the Washington Post's Twitter account."

"You really are always one step ahead, hm?"

"You're the one with the questions, last I checked."

"Well, I'm sure your campaign will be thrilled to hear them -- following you is why I got the gig, anyway." She only shrugged, despite the self-content etched into her grin.

"Oh, really?" Amusement was deep-set in his smile.

She nodded. "I'm forever grateful."

"Grateful enough to go easy on Thomas?"

"Not quite," she laughed, "When following his campaign makes me my first million, then we'll talk."

"Sounds like we'll have to step it up, then."

"Running on a deadline, James," she warned him in a singsong voice, folding her arms.

"We'll win you over by the end." He grinned, turning back to the woman at the desk, handing her his credit card, and shot Y/N a sly glance. "Thomas has always loved a challenge."

Her stomach turned at his words for reasons she couldn't explain, amused smile faltering for only a moment as James slid his card back into his wallet and tucked it into his coat pocket. James raised an eyebrow at her silence, her moment of hesitation.

To her delight, that was the moment the concierge returned, wearing a wide (and contrived, but that was how customer service was) smile, stepping back up to the desktop Y/N stood before.

"Alright, your room should be all set, Ms. L/N." She returned to quickly tapping at the keyboard, before pulling out a number of brochures. "These are for room service and the various hotel amenities. Our pool is on the second floor, gym is on the third along with the spa, meeting rooms are on the fourth, and the business office is on the fifth, fully equipped with desks and printers." She hesitated, glancing with disdain down at Y/N's choice of travel outfit. "Are... you here on business? Or... ?"

As she trailed off, Y/N sighed, returning the less-than-candid customer service smile. "Yes, I am, actually. Thanks so much for everything."

She nodded. "Alright! Don't hesitate to come let us know if there's anything else you need. There will always be someone here to help you."

"Perfect." She turned back to James as she folded up the brochures, shoving them into the side pocket of her purse. "Well, sounds like I'll be seeing you around, then."

"Thomas and I look forward to it."

Then, the automatic doors of the lobby slid open, and a rush of cold air, as well as a grand entourage, made their way in, catching both of their attention. "Well, speak of the devil."

At that, Y/N realized exactly why there was such a crowd, and it became immediately clear why the Washington Post had chosen that hotel to set her down in, among the countless in the area. Thomas Jefferson had just entered, along with a bustling crowd of Secret Service and reporters, all orbiting him like he was the sun. He wore a broad grin, laughing and shaking hands, and Y/N stared for decidedly a moment too long, longer yet than James had. Her breath caught as Thomas looked over at her, and she found herself frozen, rooted to the spot, his gaze locked on hers.

Thomas, too, was stunned when she caught his eye. His pause was minuscule enough to be unnoticeable, hardly a fleeting glance that even Y/N didn't think anything of, but his self-consciousness couldn't let it go in that moment. His smile faltered for a moment, softening to become small, apologetic, and certainly more sheepish than it'd ever been, all the teasing self-content drained out of it. For the first time, she returned the smile -- tense, nervous, but real.

The flash of a camera broke their gaze, and the moment ended as quickly as it came.

_______________

Y/N CRASHED ALMOST immediately into her hotel bed upon reaching her room; she'd had less sleep than she'd have liked during the past thirty-six hours, anxiety keeping her awake. She was shaken from her long-overdue nap, though, by her phone buzzing angrily next to her. She groaned as she recognized the number as belonging to Ashley, her boss, and declined almost immediately.

After that, though, despite her best efforts, her nap seemed to have ended, and much to her dismay. She made the mistake of instead opening her email, then, deciding productivity was the obvious cure for sleeplessness -- until she opened her most recent email from Ashley. (The subject line read 'IMPORTANT, IMMEDIATE, AND URGENT.' Got any synonyms for 'redundant'?)

The oversized, highlighted body text blared at her to the point where her eyes began to water, still adjusting to the light and certainly not ready to be staring directly into all the light of the sun her boss had managed to stuff into a single communication.

There's no reason to use font size 25, she thought, rather irked, and highlighting every word in bright yellow goes entirely against the point of highlighting.

She could only bring herself to skim the message, but when she did, she groaned at its contents, falling back onto her hotel bed in annoyance. Thomas Jefferson was having another campaign rally, apparently, to garner support going into the debates. And she was being prodded to attend.

It was expected to be a small ordeal; the venue was modest, and around 100 people would be in attendance, maximum. So, she went. Grudgingly, with a full 30 oz cup of coffee, and in jeans and a tank top, but she went.

She showed up just over 20 minutes before the event -- a town hall on his policy, as it turned out. She felt a bit out of place, the look she was rocking from her hiking boots to her disheveled post-nap bun not exactly screaming 'distinguished professional,' but she liked to think throwing a blazer atop the whole look saved it.

The venue was small, homey -- she'd read that it was generally used as a comedy club, but that the space could be rented out (obviously). Y/N figured the best use of her time there was to get to know Jefferson's base of voters. Who were they? What did they care about? And, most importantly, how long could they keep her occupied so she never actually had to speak with Jefferson?

The first person she met, though, wasn't exactly a supporter.

She'd tucked herself into a back corner as everyone swarmed Jefferson, who was busy giving his opening remarks, but she was content just to record them, to reserve judgment for the time being (verbally, at least). She had the audio being taped, all but absentmindedly taking notes for herself for the debates. Yet, there wasn't much substance in most of what he was saying.

"This seat taken?"

She looked up with her eyebrows raised, surprised to have been approached. What met her was the smiling face of a vaguely-familiar Democratic reporter, and eyebrow cocked in question.

"I... No! No, please sit." She smiled, motioned to the metal folding chair beside her. "We've met before, right? Ben Arnold, New York Times?"

"That's me. And it's Y/N, yeah?" He pulled out the chair, swinging a leg around it and resting his forearms on his thighs as he looked to her. "You're from the Washington Post, the one tracking Jefferson."

She sighed. "That seems to be everyone's first reaction to meeting me, hm? Jefferson's media adversary?" Her tone was joking, but there was a certain bitterness in them at her career now being irreparably tied to Secretary Jefferson. She hoped Ben didn't take it personally. "Yeah, you've got the right girl, though."

"To be fair, you've become famous for digging up info on him that no one else seems to have." He shrugged. "I've read some of your recent stuff, since we're following the same campaign; hope you know you're famous in your own right, even if it is tied to him." He nodded toward the stage with that, just as applause broke out and Jefferson began taking questions from the crowd.

She chuckled, though it was all but mirthless. "Thanks, but I'm not so sure about that. Everyone loves gossip, and they only know me because they think I'm here to dish out the dirt on Jefferson."

"Now, that's not true." She raised a brow, and he grinned. "They follow you because you knowledgeably and eloquently dish out the dirt on Jefferson."

"Oh, that's so different." She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help her laugh at his words.

"It's true!" he protested. "C'mon, there's a reason the public has latched onto your coverage and not mine."

"I dunno about that." She pursed her lips, stifling her small smile. "I've read your writing. It's really good."

"Aw, you've looked up my writing? I'm flattered." He appeared touched, though mockingly, placing a hand on his heart and plastering on an exaggerated pout, causing her to laugh.

"Well, you did give me your business card."

He sighed, nodded sagely. "Ah yes, I suppose the media circus is easily Google-able, huh?"

"What can I say, clowns recognize clowns." Her gaze drifted back toward the stage with this, turning toward Jefferson as she cast Ben a sidelong glance. The corners of her lips quirked up. "And we are all caught in this circus, too." The pointed look she gave Jefferson at that was entirely devoid of subtlety, and Ben laughed.

"Are you claiming Jefferson as part of our circus? A bold move, Y/N."

"Good point, good point." She leaned back in her chair with a grin. "So what are we, then? Consumers taking advantage of free entertainment?"

"I dunno, we're making money off this circus." He pursed his lips. "Shit, what d'you call the people who like, run the circus?"

Her eyes widened in amusement as she looked back over at him. "What, we're the ringmasters?"

"Yeah, yeah, exactly!" She couldn't keep herself from laughing at that, the idea of Jefferson as a circus freak or a traveling sideshow too comical to entertain. He cracked a grin as well, unable to take himself seriously. "C'mon, hear me out -- he's up there playing the fool, and we're making the big bucks off of it, hm?"

"Fair enough," she conceded, grin now chronic and apparently contagious. "Anyway, what're you here for? Just general info from the town hall, or looking for something specific?"

"Well, I figured this was my chance to question Jefferson before the debates, y'know?" He nudged Y/N at that. "Or can I just pass my questions off to you for tomorrow, since I've heard you're moderating now?"

She sighed. "Word really does travel fast when Jefferson's name is attached, huh?"

"Or it's because your name's attached." She gave him a skeptical look, and he held up his hands defensively. "I'm serious! People care about what you have to say now, y'know? Given, it is about his campaign, but really, it's your take on the next election that they want -- it's no longer just about him."

Y/N had to pretend her chest wasn't swelling with pride at that. Perhaps he was just feeding her ego, talking her up because he wanted to be able to use her for sources, but it was nice to hear regardless of the motive behind it. Her small smile grew. "Well, thanks, I guess. I'll certainly take it."

"You should." He looked like he was about to continue, but his following sentence was broken off by a sudden uproar of excitement. Hollers, cheers, and applause sounded loudly from the center of the room, and they both looked over to see Jefferson exiting the podium, moving down to begin talking to the voters there to see him, and Y/N sighed.

"Guess we'd better get a move on if we want anything out of this event."

"I suppose so." He huffed as he lifted himself out of his chair, and Y/N immediately followed suit, tucking her laptop into her bag. "You headed to talk to Jefferson?"

"Nah, actually." Her gaze darted through the room as she tried to find where to begin. "Just tryna find out what his supporters care about for the election. Needa know what points I need to drive home tomorrow at the debate." He nodded, and she cocked an eyebrow. "Care to join me?"

"Think I'll have to take a rain check, unfortunately. My editor wants direct quotes from Jefferson, and this is most of my window of opportunity." He glanced over at her with a small grin as they walked together toward the center of the room. "Come find me if you get sick of the Republicans, though. I'd be more than happy to abandon Jefferson for a cup of coffee at the place around the corner."

He winked before he made off toward where Jefferson stood, and Y/N was left stunned a moment. Shit, was he hitting on her? She couldn't help it as her eyes raked over his retreating form, biting her lip as she decided that she certainly wouldn't have minded if he was. After all, even the clowns need company in the media circus.

She didn't let herself dwell, though, but instead fixed her focus on the task at hand. She floated throughout the room for the next hour or two, meeting Ben's eye in passing here and there, receiving a wry grin. A few trends emerged from Jefferson's supporters, and they were fairly generic. Russia, China, healthcare, the crushing weight of existence and the feeling that they were running out of time, fear of the impending race war, healthcare -- y'know, the usual.

(Perhaps she'd spoken to one too many alt-righters. The fact that they were at the Jefferson town hall spoke volumes.)

A few hours deep, she checked her watch, concerned about how long this would go on, leafed through her notes trying to determine whether she had enough to just jump ship, to climb into her hotel bed, order room service, and take her pants off. She glanced back up at Jefferson warily.

Her gaze traveled lazily around the room as she decided talking to one or two more people wouldn't kill her, wincing internally even as she made the decision. She braced herself for just a few more minutes of crazy.

"Y/N!"

Oh, the voice that came from her left was melodic, sounded of angels singing, of her walking miracle saving her from the political shitshow, and she turned with a smile. Walking toward her brightly was Dolley Madison, and her brows shot up as she reached her.

"Hey, Dolley, what's up?"

"Not much." She pulled Y/N for an unexpected hug, grinning as she pulled back to look at her from arm's length. Her hands still rested on Y/N's shoulders. "Fancy meeting you here, though. What are the odds?"

"Oh, so low. Especially considering my job and your marriage, who knew we'd both end up at Jefferson's town hall?" Her tone was playful as Dolley rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't gimme that. I'm just glad to see you."

Y/N laughed as Dolley finally pulled back, settling beside her. "Jesus; tell me about it. D'you know how many crazy voters I've had to pretend were completely normal in the past few hours. Even just your sanity is a breath of fresh air."

"Yeah, the American voter." Her smile was amused as she eyed the crowd. "Really gives you hope for the future of our country, hm?"

"Of course." Y/N laughed, tucking a hair behind her ears. "Comforting to know these are the people who determine our president for the next four years."

"I'm sure." Dolley glanced back up toward where Jefferson stood, James apparently now beside him making his way through the crowd. "Though, I do find a bit of comfort in the idea of Thomas being the one behind the wheel for the next four years."

"That makes one of us." Though Y/N's tone was joking, her words were dead serious, and transparently so. Dolley grinned as she caught her eye.

"Yeah?"

"I might be just a little bit biased." Y/N shrugged. "To be fair, I've spent the past four months digging up all the dirt there is on him, and reviving any and all skeletons in his many, many closets."

"Yeah, I gotcha. I keep up with your articles." Dolley winked, and Y/N could feel herself flush. The fact that Dolley Madison actively kept tabs on her writing felt like quite the honor. "Didn't think any of it was all that damning, though, to be honest."

"No, I agree with you." Y/N nodded reasonably, eyes fixed on Jefferson as he moved fluidly through the room, weaving between people and families, shaking hands, taking selfies. "And I'm glad it comes off that way, too. I try to keep the tone of my writing neutral, but as a journalist, I have to look at everything with a critical eye, y'know?"

"I've gotcha. I may be biased too, considering my husband is probably gonna be his running mate." Dolley grinned as she caught James's eye and waved to him. He was at the opposite end of the room, but he began walking toward them almost immediately.

"James may be what saves the ticket in my eyes, to be honest." Y/N returned the smile as he neared them, and turned to Dolley. "If not, though, is it too late to take you up on covering my therapy costs?"

She laughed, squeezing Y/N's forearm lightly. "I'll just have to hope James helps keep your sanity these next few months."

"What's that about Y/N's sanity?" James furrowed his brow as he reached them, a small smile resting on his lips, but his gaze full of concern.

The two women shared an entertained look before Y/N turned to James. "Just that when I lose it, the two of you had better find me a comfy asylum."

James's visible confusion deepened as Dolley's grin grew. "Don't worry about it, love. We were just discussing Y/N's writing about the campaign."

"Ah, so that's why you're losing your sanity?" He raised an eyebrow, and Y/N nodded in confirmation. "Then no worries, we'll find you the best therapist money can buy."

She let out a soft 'aw,' placing her hand over her heart. "When you do, I'll be sure to write an exposé on the generosity of the Madisons. You'd better be honored when I cross party lines for you two."

James grinned. "Abandoning partisanship for the Jefferson campaign? Never thought I'd see the day."

"You won't. It'll all be for Dolley." Y/N shot her a wink. "I'll throw all my weight behind Jefferson when Hell freezes over."

"You do so much for me," Dolley sighed dramatically, wiping away an imaginary tear as she squeezed Y/N's hand, pretending to be moved by her words. Meanwhile, James folded his arms, wearing a small smile.

"He'll see to it that that's sooner than you think."

________________

SHE ABANDONED JEFFERSON'S rally not long after, having no desire to breathe any more air that reeked so heavily of contrived charisma and shitty cologne, but having all the desire in the world to snuggle into her warm pajamas and pop open a bottle of hotel wine. After all, the debates didn't start for nearly 24 more hours.

She was about to pick up her nap from earlier right where it'd left off, but had first to piece together what she'd taken away from the rally and forward it over to Ashley. Not to mention the unfortunately necessary hours of preparation between her and the debates. She couldn't mess up her first run on TV. It was two hours and half a bottle of wine later that she sent off the culmination of her notes and recordings from the afternoon, and by the time Ashley emailed her back, it was nearly eight PM. After that, she resolved to spend no more than two hours writing and revising her questions for the following evening.

She groaned at the fourth email from Ashley -- she had too much criticism, but not nearly enough suggestion. If all my ideas are bad, Y/N thought, frustrated, why don't you have any better ones? After shooting her a response, she decided to take a well-deserved break.

At this point in the night, shame was a non-factor in her decisions, and she was far beyond caring if anyone down in the lobby was going to judge her tank top or bunny slippers. She just wanted whatever candy went best with shitty, five-dollar, red wine, and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, and she knew the hotel's food kiosk was the most convenient place to find both.

"Wait, hold the elevator!" She only really kicked into gear when turned the corner on her floor to see the elevator's doors about to close, and she really didn't have the patience left to wait for the next one down, let alone actually take the stairs. To her delight, a hand darted out against the door at her words, and they bounced back open. She breathed a sigh of relief as she finally reached them, ready to sing her mystery savior's praises -- that is, until she saw who was standing in the back of the elevator, and her eyes widened; she'd be lying if she said she didn't seriously consider braving five flights of stairs just to reach the ground floor undisturbed.

"Oh, I-- Y/N..." Jefferson's voice trailed off, surprised, as she stepped hesitantly into the elevator, keeping her distance from him even in the small space. "Hey."

"Secretary Jefferson." She only acknowledged him, not meeting his eyes as the elevator doors finally closed. He glanced over at her with an eyebrow raised at that, though, almost surprised that 'Thomas' had somehow reverted to 'Secretary Jefferson' in just the past few weeks, but he couldn't pretend he didn't know why -- that was why he didn't say a word about it, especially since they both knew, and both wanted to deny, that they couldn't help but still think about the last time they'd met. The tension was heavy in the growing silence.

She could feel his gaze over her shoulder, could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she was determined not to catch his eye, looking instead firmly down to her phone screen, responding to Angelica and Alex's texts from earlier in the day (keeping her brightness down, though, so he couldn't see those, either). She swallowed thickly as he looked back up, biting her lip as she glanced over at him. She looked back down for a moment, anxious in the deafening silence, eyes unfocused but toward her phone screen, but she figured she was safe to sneak another glance at him -- apparently, he'd made the same calculation.

She froze as their eyes met, breath catching in the back of her throat and heat rushing to her face, and he only smiled, waiting to see if she would make the next move. She was determined to ignore him, but it appeared as though she'd been caught. He held her gaze a moment as the elevator descended; it appeared she wouldn't be the first to speak.

She bit her lip, looking up at him as his eyes traveled down her form, grin widening as he caught sight of her pajama pants and slippers, and he raised a teasing brow. "Harry Potter? Really?"

She glanced self-consciously down at her Deathly Hallows pants, her face growing hotter by the second, and she looked back up at him weakly. "They're good books, okay?" she said, tone defensive as she folded her arms, fixed her gaze back on the elevator doors before them, and he chuckled.

"You won't hear me arguin' with that." He had to choke back another laugh as she rolled her eyes, letting out a nearly-inaudible huff. "Aw, c'mon, I'm just teasin'."

She scowled as she looked up at him, feeling more-than-flustered and far from entertained. "What do you want from me, Jefferson?"

He quirked up a brow at her. "Really?" He paused, seemingly in disbelief, and she shook her head blankly at him, waiting for him to continue. "We just never gonna talk about that state dinner, then?"

Her face was now burning; she couldn't meet his eye. He'd finally pointed out the elephant in the room, and for once in her career, it didn't happen to be the one that belonged to the GOP. Just the one that had decided to sit directly on her ego and crush her spirit. "I certainly wasn't planning on bringing it up."

He sighed. "C'mon, Y/N." She didn't look up. "Alright, fine, pretend it didn't happen. But I just wanted to say that--"

That was the exact moment the elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, catching both of their attention immediately. He cut himself off as the doors began to open. As they caught sight of the numerous people standing before them in the lobby, waiting to get onto the elevator, he glanced back down at her to find her looking up at him, biting her lip but her expression unreadable.

"Some other time, Secretary Jefferson."

She exited the elevator without another word, and he did the same, although slow to follow suit. He didn't continue after her; he couldn't see the point. There was no way he'd be able to have that conversation with her in a lobby full of politicians, but his stare was still attached to her as she left. He really didn't know what to make of her -- but he intended to figure it out.

________________

THE NEXT EVENING was the first night of the debates. To be quite candid, to Y/N, nearly the entire night was a blur. She'd gotten ready with a series of emails to her boss and with Angelica on Facetime, helping her strike the perfect balance of femininity and professionalism (it'd proved to be a tough line to walk), and arrived at the venue hours early as per her official instruction. She steeled herself for the ordeal, determined to ignore any lingering tension between her and Jefferson. She had a job to do there, and she intended to do it right. After the debate, once she began to remove her microphone and slowly make her way out, she avoided him at all costs -- even if the confrontation was inevitable, with the unfortunately large overlap between their lives, it was neither the time nor the place, and she intended to put it off as long as possible.

Chatter filled the room behind her. Everyone who had shown up to watch the debates live was now slowly filing out, apart from groups here and there of stragglers or of people who wanted to approach the candidates afterward. She handed her microphone off to a tech intern with a warm smile and a 'thank you,' collecting her notes before she went backstage to retrieve her coat. (Michigan winters, she'd learned, were brutal.)

She shuffled everything back into her folder, glancing at the crowd behind her, when she caught sight of a familiar face. She furrowed her brow and squinted. She paused, considering whether to go down to greet him -- she hardly knew him, after all -- but he beat her to the punch. He waved, beckoned her over when he caught her eye, and warily, she obliged.

"Hey, it's Lafayette, right? We met at the state dinner; I'm Alex's friend, Y/N."

He grinned as she reached him, clutching her papers to her chest and extending a hand in greeting, which he took without hesitation. "Oui, I remember. It is good to see you, Y/N, although Alexander neglected to mention zat you would be moderating ze debates."

"Oh, what, didn't he tell you how important I am?" She shrugged, shaking her head with a grin as though it was obvious. "Next I'm coming for Anderson Cooper's job, just you wait."

He laughed, folding his arms as he glanced up toward the stage. "I do not doubt it for even a moment. Are you moderating again tomorrow night?"

She nodded. "Mhm. You coming tomorrow night?"

"Oui. I came all ze way to Michigan for zis; it would be a shame if I was only 'ere for one night, hm?" He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged, nodded. He flashed her a sly grin. "Besides, since I now know zat you are going to be 'ere tomorrow, zat gives me all ze more reason to show up."

Her breath hitched a moment, before she laughed nervously, running a hand through her hair. "Ah, yes, can't miss my political commentary and passive aggression for two hours onstage. Isn't that your idea of a perfect Thursday night?"

"More or less." His smile was sharp, his gaze all but wolfish for a moment, and a chill ran down her spine before his expression softened. "Would it be against your ethics as a journalist to tell me which of ze candidates you are supporting?"

Y/N shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not a fan of any of them at the moment, but we'll see how it shakes out after the second night of debates. After all, the candidates are only human, so I've gotta find a way to look past the skeletons in their closets."

Lafayette raised a wary eyebrow, looking concerned. "Ze 'skeletons in their closets'?" he repeated, and she cracked a grin.

"Yeah, like the bad things from their past?"

He stared at her, expression deadpan. "I am from France. You will 'ave to forgive me zat we do not use murder as an idiom for all wrongdoings."

She couldn't help her laugh at that, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Cut me some slack; I've grown up with it."

He raised his eyebrows. "With murder?"

"No! With the English language!" she defended, laughing, and he couldn't stifle his grin any longer.

"My apologies, chérie. I could not 'elp myself." He held up his hands in his defense, and she rolled her eyes. "Is it safe to assume you are not voting for any of ze candidates zat 'ave murdered anyone?"

She shook her head, amused. "Yeah, that's a fair guess."

"I am glad to 'ear it." He paused a moment, grinning as he nodded to someone behind her, and she raised a brow. She glanced over her shoulder to see none other than Thomas Jefferson approaching, headed down the same stairs she'd taken to reach Lafayette several minutes before, and she groaned internally. Just her luck. Would it be rude to immediately run the moment he reached where she was standing? "Thomas! 'Ow 'ave you been?" Lafayette immediately pulled him into a hug as he reached the pair of them, greeting him like an old friend, and Jefferson pulled back with a small smile of his own.

"Gotta say, I've been worse," he said, "Especially when you weren't here. Spendin' all that time over in France, abandonin' us." He put a hand on his heart, shaking his head with a playfully mournful frown, and Lafayette rolled his eyes.

"Oui, I am sure I was sorely missed." He huffed, shaking his head, and Jefferson cracked a grin. "I left you with an open invitation to come and visit me whenever you pleased, and you never came. I did not feel particularly missed, Monsieur Jefferson."

"Ah, I'll find a way to make it up to you." He shot Lafayette a wink, and in the midst of the interaction, Y/N considered just silently slipping away. They seemed to have forgotten she was there, and if there was ever a time to escape, it was right then. She hesitated. "Though, you never came to visit me back in D.C., either," Jefferson pointed out to his friend, who scoffed, "So who's really to blame?"

"I resent ze accusation, Thomas. I was busy. I am a very important person with very important things to do, and I simply could not find ze time. I tried to visit you, but alas, ze people of France must come first." He sighed dramatically, his entire proclamation made in jest. Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"You implyin' I'm not doin' anything down in D.C.? That hurts, Laf, really."

Lafayette grinned. "Of course not."

It was then that Y/N began to back away from the pair, seemingly forgotten in their enthusiastic greeting, and she figured that she'd be able to escape without a problem. Just after she began to turn, though, Lafayette spoke.

"Ah, Thomas, you know Y/N, hm?" She froze at that. Her retreat no longer seemed as secure as it had previously. His tone was jovial as he motioned to her, and she reluctantly turned back around to face them. "Obviously, from zis," --He motioned to the stage, and Y/N met Jefferson's eyes warily-- "but ze two of you met at ze state dinner, non? With Alex?"

Jefferson seemed to be taking his cues from Y/N at that point, watching her with raised brows as she sighed, plastering on a smile as she turned to Lafayette. "Yeah. Yeah, we've met."

What followed that was a momentary silence. Lafayette had obviously detected rigidity of the interaction, but he hadn't quite figured out what to do with it, and Y/N wasn't at all inclined to force the conversation to happen. She had no interest in making small talk with Jefferson. Lafayette cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at Jefferson, who sighed.

"Yeah, a couple of times now," Jefferson added tiredly. "State dinner wasn't the first."

"Oui? When else?"

Y/N and Jefferson shared a tired glance. The whole interaction was painfully out of character for both of them, their actions and words forced, and while neither of them seemed up to carrying the conversation, it certainly seemed Lafayette was doing his best.

"Just, through work, Lafayette. Nothing all that exciting. I've been covering his campaign for a while now, so by the state dinner, we'd already met once or twice," Y/N explained, offering Lafayette a weak smile. "Y'know, exciting stuff."

"Actually, about the state dinner." Both Y/N and Lafayette were surprised when Jefferson spoke up once again, instead of just letting the conversation entirely drop. She was concerned as to where this was going. "I just," he paused, meeting her eyes, "wanted to apologize, if I ever made you uncomf--"

"Don't worry about it, Secretary Jefferson," Y/N cut him off abruptly with a sigh before plastering on an understanding (obviously forced) smile. He raised his eyebrows. "It's fine; it was a mistake. And this really isn't the time or the place. We can... talk about this later." She huffed, clutching her papers even more tightly against her chest. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't hide how flustered she was.

He paused, searching her expression, clearly not quite believing her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiled stiffly.

"Alright," he sighed. He made pointed eye contact with her, squaring his shoulders. His gaze was determined if not frustrated. "We will talk about this some other time. See you around, Lafayette, Y/N." He nodded to both of them, holding Y/N's gaze for just a moment too long, his expression steely. She could feel her heartbeat in her head; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and he turned and left. Lafayette and Y/N both stayed there a moment longer, frozen to the spot and stunned for entirely different reasons.

There was a skip, before Lafayette broke the silence.

"What happened at ze state dinner?" Lafayette asked, turning to her, but she didn't even hear him. She was still fixated on Jefferson's parting words. Her heart was in her throat as she watched him retreat. Jesus, fuck.

We will talk about this.

___________________

Twitter

@gilafayette started following you.

Y/N raised an eyebrow from where she sat on her hotel bed. The debates were only a few hours away.

@Y/N_L/N: As the second night of Republican primary debates nears, keep up with the biggest issues and the who's-who of the candidates with the Washington Post's recent article about night 1 of the debates. Join us tonight on the official live stream, co-sponsored alongside NBC, and hear it all firsthand from the candidates themselves.

Quoted article: https://www.washingtonpost.com/fakelink/clowns

@BenArnold started following you.

Replying to @Y/N_L/N: @BenArnold: or you could just read my recap, but to each their own ig

She rolled her eyes at the tweet, though smiling to herself. She considered replying to it, but then thought better of it -- his tweet was so clearly in jest, and it was too easy to misinterpret tones over the internet. She opted to like the tweet.

@JamesMdson retweeted your recent tweet.

New message from @A_Hamilton:

@A_Hamilton: wanna grill jefferson about our war debts with france tn???

@A_Hamilton: i could even write u the questions

@A_Hamilton: wait omg open it up to audience questions and claim it's from someone else if u don't wanna attribute it to urself

@A_Hamilton: Suzie from Mississippi asked: why the fuck would you decide not to engage in France's war as secretary of state, not even try to assist them when we HAD the funds and they'd just helped us in our war, and then oppose an improved centralized banking system so that we could unilaterally balance the national budget, asshole?

@Y/N_L/N: have u been drinking again

@A_Hamilton: ok ok hear me out. like he wouldn't suspect a thing!!!! he doesn't even know we're friends why would it b me

@A_Hamilton: wait shit we saw him at the state dinner

@A_Hamilton: fuck nvm just pin the question on lafayette as a bitter french diplomat

@Y/N_L/N: alex.

@Y/N_L/N: i swear to god, you are the ONLY voter THAT invested in our debt to france

@Y/N_L/N: isnt it just like a trade deficit, anyway??

@A_Hamilton: YES THATS THE PROBLEM

@A_Hamilton: he can't even deal w our relations with one of our oldest allies, he was a shitty secretary of state

@Y/N_L/N: clean up the language and ill lead the conversation there

@Y/N_L/N: it's not a completely shit idea

@A_Hamilton: ur the only reporter that matters ily

✅ Read, 5:27 PM.

@gilafayette wants to send you a message. Accept?

@gilafayette: what happened at the state dinner between you and thomas

@gilafayette: i tried to ask him but he is very evasive

@gilafayette: i am concerned about him since then

Y/N's eyes widened as she accepted the message. She'd expected it to just be dropped, for Lafayette to entirely let it go, as it truly wasn't his problem, but there she was. She raised a brow at the last message, though.

Messages to @gilafayette:

@Y/N_L/N: it was nothing important, but why are you concerned about him??

@gilafayette: he has been acting strange since we saw you

@gilafayette: he and i went for coffee and he was preoccupied for the whole time

@gilafayette: and when i tried to ask him he was being very evasive

@Y/N_L/N: it really wasn't anything monumental. hes probably preoccupied w/ the debates, don't read into it

@Y/N_L/N: have u tried just asking him what's on his mind?

@gilafayette: brb

She rolled her eyes at the message. Of course he hadn't even thought to consider the obvious solution: communication. There seemed to be a disconnect between Lafayette and the obvious, though..

Messages to @gilafayette:

@gilafayette: he says he is fine and not to worry

@gilafayette: but i worry

@Y/N_L/N: did he say what was on his mind

@gilafayette: no

@gilafayette: brb i will tell him you asked. perhaps he only does not want to talk to me.

Her pulse skipped as she read the message; her eyes widened. Shit.

@Y/N_L/N: no lafayette pls don't say that

@Y/N_L/N: i didn't ask. i just wanted to give you a better idea for what to ask.

@gilafayette: yes you told me to ask

@gilafayette: exactly

@gilafayette: what is the difference?

She let out a groan, burying her face in her hands. This whole interaction felt so middle-school to her. Y/N said to ask Lafayette to ask Thomas if he's still thinking about her!

@Y/N_L/N: please lafayette just keep me out of this

@Y/N_L/N: don't wanna get involved in ur relationship with him. if i wanted to ask him something id do it on my own time

@gilafayette: wait he has just responded

@Y/N_L/N: so you still sent the message???

@gilafayette: it was too late, i am sorry!

@Y/N_L/N: what did he say??

@gilafayette: "if she wants to know, tell her to ask me herself"

@Y/N_L/N: lafayette i stg

@Y/N_L/N: please tell him this was just a misunderstanding and it wasn't MY question!!

✅ Read, 5:49 PM.

She groaned, letting herself fall back onto her bed as she saw the read receipt. Just her luck.

@Thomas_Jefferson wants to send you a message. Accept?

Oh, fuck. She didn't want to open the message, but at the same time, she was desperate to see what he had sent. In the midst of her internal struggle, it occurred briefly to her that if she didn't just open the message, he'd find some way to confront her about it in person that night, and -- to her dismay -- her mind was made up.

Messages to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Thomas_Jefferson: did you really just avoid every time i tried to talk to you abt that night and then ask lafayette what was on my mind???

@Thomas_Jefferson: im going to come talk to you after the debate tonight. don't leave the building.

✅ Read, 5:56 PM.

________________

WITH JEFFERSON'S WORDS still in mind, Y/N fled the second night of debates the moment she could cut loose, calling an Uber before they even gave her the go-ahead to leave, not having a second to waste.

She caught his eye on the way out, him surrounded by three campaign staffers and James Madison, and he raised an eyebrow at her. The intimation was obvious: wait up for him.

She broke the eye contact immediately, shaking her head lightly. She had a blue Toyota Camry and a driver named Mandy to find out on the snow-coated street, and she was off long before he had even a chance to try to follow her.

She'd assumed the ordeal was over. She thought it was over with, that she'd somehow managed to escape scot-free, and that she'd managed to avoid Jefferson privately confronting her once and for all.

Boy, was she wrong.

She spent her final evening in the hotel carefree, drafting the second night's article as Lizzo played in the background. She'd packed most of her things, aside from the previous night's bottle of wine and the second pack of Flaming Hot Cheetos she'd bought with her future self in mind (she was patting herself on the back for that one, of course).

She strolled over to the business office on her floor with a pen in her mouth, still humming along to her long-abandoned music, as Ashley had requested that she fax over her handwritten notes from both nights of debates -- she'd called down to the front desk to ask first if they had a fax machine. She hadn't intended to get out of bed if she didn't have to.

Balancing her notes across the keyboard of her laptop in one arm, she opened the door to the office, eyes still fixated on the screen of her computer as she pushed the door with her shoulder. When she looked up, she was met with more than just a printer and a fax machine.

His nose was no longer buried in the book he held on his lap, seemingly distracted by the sound of the door opening, and he had his sweatpant-clad legs propped up on the desk before him, his glasses discarded on the table next to him. She froze when their eyes met.

"Y/N," Jefferson said, looking as stunned as she felt. She blinked. A beat passed. She almost responded, before she remembered the pen she still held in her mouth, continuing into the room and letting the door click shut behind her so that she could put her papers down. "Shit, uh... I can leave if you need the room, or--"

"No, no, you're fine." She finally took the pen out from between her teeth, withdrawing her papers from her laptop, closing it atop the desk. "But I can, ah, come back, if--"

"No, 'course not." He gave her a soft grin, fiddling with the page of his book. "Seems like you're the only one who actually needs the room, anyway."

She returned his smile, though hesitantly, feeling awkward to be alone with him in the small space. "Thanks."

She began shuffling her papers into the fax machine one by one, and the silence grew heavy. She tried not to feel the need to fill it. Yet--

"What brought you here, anyway?" She glanced back at him over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised and found his gaze still trained on her. She shifted her weight, and he chuckled.

"Just tryin' to escape."

She furrowed her brow, not sure if she understood, and another moment passed as she fed her last paper into the fax machine. Now she just had to play the waiting game (which was unfortunately long, considering the number of papers Ashley demanded). "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, lifting his feet off the desk's edge as he leaned forward to rest his forearms atop his legs. "Just needed a moment to myself. I'm sharin' my room here with James, and since I started runnin' for president it hasn't been easy to find some time alone."

She nodded, glancing down at the book in his hand, and grinned. "And you're spending that time reading?"

"You got any better ideas for me?" He raised a playful eyebrow when she turned to lean against where the wraparound desk met the back of the incredibly small room. She only shrugged.

"Could spend this time cleaning up your entire political platform," she suggested, and he laughed.

"Now you're just baitin' me."

"Never!"

He rolled his eyes as he turned the office chair to face her. "Now tell me why I don't believe you."

"Beats me." She plastered on an innocent smile, ultimately pursing her lips, though, to stifle her grin.

"Mhm." He shook his head in amusement, wide grin adorning his lips as he looked down once again, thumbing the nearest page of his book. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Nietzsche." He held up the book, showing her the name scrawled across the cover and the spine.

"Zarathustra? Really?" She eyed the book with a wary gaze, and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline, amused.

"Don't tell me you've read it?"

"It seems we have annoyingly similar taste in literature, Secretary Jefferson." She grinned. "Can I get past you to the printer real quick?"

"Hm? Oh, 'course." He glanced over his shoulder, standing and taking a step over immediately as he realized the chair was situated directly in front of where she needed to be. She thanked him softly as she moved past him to collect her newly-inked papers. There was a skip; he hesitated.  "So it's back to Secretary Jefferson now, huh?"

She looked over to where he stood beside her, eyebrows raised and heat creeping up the back of her neck. The look in his eyes was expectant, but not demanding. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he said, wearing a small, almost comforting smile, and she couldn't help but return it, before he added with a grin. "Thomas is better, though."

Despite the amusement in his eyes and the mischief dancing in his smile, Y/N let out a sigh as she pushed herself onto the counter beside the fax machine. "I'm sorry, I really just--"

"I know. 'M sorry. We don't have to get into it, if you don't wanna."

She paused as she met his eyes. The understanding tone he was taking now felt like a far cry from how he'd been earlier in the day, but sitting alone with him in that hotel business office after hours, both of them out of their suits and into their sleepwear, joking about his reading material, she felt like she was just then seeing him clearly. "I..." She gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

"You never responded to my message on Twitter, though," he continued, a grin once again breaking across his face, and she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "C'mon, don't pretend, I saw that you read it."

"Lafayette was out of line!" she defended, "God, he was asking for advice on what he should say to you because he was worried, and somehow I became his advisor, and I literally just told him to ask you what was wrong. I wasn't trying to pry after avoiding you the past few days."

"I kinda figured, after Laf's next couple messages. Basically told me you were chewin' him out for askin' that," he laughed, but raised an eyebrow as he met her eyes. "But you admit you were avoidin' me, though, huh?"

"I--" She paused, mouth open to respond, and eyebrows raised, but she didn't know how to respond. The question caught her entirely by surprise. "I guess so, yeah."

Her face burned as he chuckled lightly, and she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She bit her lip, folded her arms across her chest. "Don't act like it's some big confession, now; it was kinda obvious. You said all of three words to me in the elevator, shut me down when you were talkin' to Lafayette, and then today, at the debate?" He raised an eyebrow, seemingly enjoying watching her squirm. She didn't look up at him. "Now, that was the most obvious of all. You read my message, made direct eye contact with me, and then were still the first one outta the building. You aren't subtle, sweetheart."

She sighed, crossed her ankles where she sat on the counter, and ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, I guess that's fair," she sighed, finally looking up at him, and he didn't say a word, waiting for her to continue. He cocked an expectant eyebrow. "Just, after the state dinner, and what happened -- or really, what almost happened," she sighed, and the corners of his lips quirked up. "I really didn't wanna talk to you, or know how to, and I'm sorry, I just-- What would I have said? What was I supposed to say? 'So, I know I, like, almost let you kiss me three weeks ago, but now I'm gonna grill you about fiscal policy on national television! Isn't that fun?'" She plastered on an exaggerated smile, mocking the hypothetical, and he laughed.

"That would've been a good start." She rolled her eyes, bit her lips, and his smile softened. "Could've at least let me talk to you, though."

She sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I should've, but I think I just scared myself into thinking talking to you meant my immediate demise."

"Now, that offends me a little," he teased, "I'm nothin' if not approachable, and I don't like hearin' you suggest otherwise."

She pursed her lips as she met his eyes. "Oh, of course. The Republican presidential frontrunner, who's always surrounded by people much more important than me, and is never seen in public without an entourage. The easiest to talk to." He didn't comment on the thinly veiled confession of insecurity contained in her dry sarcasm, but instead raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't I?" His tone, his wide grin both seemed to suggest that he was joking, but something in how he looked at Y/N made her breath catch.

"Yeah," she said, softly, "I guess you are." She swallowed, looking down at her feet, and the only sound reverberating through the little room was the cranking of the aging fax machine that still held her notes. The hush that fell over them only stretched on.

"Can I just--"

"I wanted to--"

They both looked up at once, though, voices overlapping as they chose the same moment to break the silence, and Thomas grinned. Y/N let out a light laugh. "You can go first."

"Yeah?" he asked, hesitant. She nodded, shooting him a wink.

"The floor is yours."

"Much appreciated." They shared an anticipatory glance, the tension in the room magnified by the close proximity the little space had pushed them into. They weren't even feet apart. "Anyway, I just, at least, wanna apologize."

Y/N quirked up an eyebrow. "What for?"

"The state dinner." She sighed heavily, raking a hand through her hair, and he continued, "C'mon, don't pretend there's nothin' to talk about there. I can't let myself ignore it, so I'm sorry." She bit her lip, trying to keep herself from squirming under his gaze, afraid to break the eye contact as he searched her expression. "Seemed like I scared you that night, and I wanna make sure I didn't make you feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, or... Just felt like I put you in a bad position, or made you feel like you couldn't leave because of me, since I was still the Secretary of State and all, and..." He trailed off as he saw Y/N raise an amused eyebrow, failing to stifle a grin at his words, and hardly stifling a laugh. He huffed, but there was no real frustration behind his smile. "Gimme a break, it's happened!"

"What, you've cornered other hot reporters in your office and leveraged your title against them?" she teased, and he rolled his eyes, cracking a grin.

"I usually go for hot Congresswomen, but none were around, so I figured you'd have to do."

"You've tried to stick it on Nancy Pelosi?" she asked in mock disbelief, and he laughed, carding a hand through his hair, "Can I quote you on that?"

"May wanna keep it off the record, just this once." He winked, and she couldn't help her light huff, playful disappointment mingling with amusement. He pursed his lips. "But seriously, Y/N, hope I didn't scare you."

"No sweat, Thomas, I don't scare easy." She gave him a soft smile, and he raised a brow, surprised to hear her using his first name again, but he held his tongue. She swallowed thickly, realizing it at the same time. "I'm not about to become your Monica Lewinsky, if that's what you're worried about -- you didn't put me in any position I didn't wanna be in." Her last few words had even her taking pause, surprised at having said them aloud. It felt more like a confession than a reassurance, and with that, Thomas's brows shot toward his hairline, and a small smirk rested on his lips. Y/N could feel her heart in her throat as she waited for him to respond.

"'I didn't put you in any position you didn't wanna be in,' huh?" he repeated slowly, his smug smile growing as her eyes slowly began to widen; she didn't like watching him take pleasure in this.

"I--" She cut herself off as he took a step toward her, pushing herself further back where she sat on the edge of the desk. "Yeah," she breathed, worried that her heart would beat out of her chest if she said much more.

"So--" One of his hands landed beside her on the desk as his stare became increasingly self-contented, "What if you ended up in that position again, hm?" His other large hand came to rest on her right knee; he was now hovering just inches above her, and her pulse threatened to stop altogether as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Thomas," she said softly, biting her lip, and she couldn't help but notice him track the movement, his gaze falling momentarily to her mouth. His hand lifted from her knee to her jaw, brushing a hair away from her face before running his thumb along her cheekbone, cupping her cheek. "What are you doing?" she asked, breathlessly.

"This time, is it a position you don't wanna be in?" he asked, the hand that previously sat on the desk now meeting her waist, pulling her closer to him. Something about his smile told her that he was confident in what her answer would be. He raised an eyebrow.

"What..." Her voice faltered as he pulled her into him, her legs now straddling his waist from atop the desk, and she prayed he didn't catch it when her gaze fell to his lips, if only for a moment. (The way he grinned told her he'd definitely caught it.) He stilled millimeters away from her lips, and the movement wasn't even conscious as her arms wrapped around his neck. "Thomas."

He smiled, his nose brushing against hers, and he couldn't help that his grin grew when she shivered at the contact. "Y/N," he whispered, too close even to make out her full face, but he could see every detail of her shining eyes clearly, could trace every ridge of her lips.

She was terrified. Every nerve in her body seemed to be standing on end, and she could feel everything. Even the slightest movements made her pulse jump -- the pads of his fingers digging into her waist, his breath as it fluttered across her cheek, him pulling her impossibly closer, yet still, not quite close enough. She swallowed hard, looking into his eyes. "Kiss me."

He obliged her immediately, his hand gripping her jaw as his lips moved against hers, and she reacted in the same moment. One of her hands weaved itself into his hair, while the other sank into the back of his old college t-shirt. His tongue pushed insistently past her lips, and she arched against him in an effort to pull him ever closer, pushing herself toward the edge of the desk. His hand slid down to hook itself under her thigh, and his grip tightened on her leg as she sighed against him. He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth, but nearly lost it when he yanked at her hair, and she let out a soft, needy whine against his mouth -- the kiss immediately became harsher, faster; in seconds it was all teeth and tongue. Y/N didn't know when his lips had begun to trail down her neck, didn't realize his hands began to tug at her shirt until she felt his fingers brush against her stomach, and she shuddered. She gasped as he scraped his teeth over the base of her neck, sucking a hickey into the skin, and she rolled her hips involuntarily up against his. He groaned against her.

"Fuck," she whispered as his hands finally breached the hem of her shirt, pressing into the bare skin of her waist, and she dragged her nails down across his back, feeling his muscles rippling in his shoulders as he pulled her harshly against himself.

"Shit, sweetheart." She yanked at his hair, began kissing along his jawline, grinding her hips persistently up against his. "Y/N," he groaned, his nails beginning to dig directly into her hips. Her movements faltered a moment. She swallowed.

It must have been then that she came to her senses. She couldn't have placed exactly when, or why she broke it off, but it must have been when she heard her name out of his mouth, against her skin, when she realized exactly where she was. She pulled back from him, gasping for air, her hands against his chest, and he raised his eyebrows.

"What...?" he breathed, equally winded, "What's wrong? Did I do somethin'?"

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, shaking her head slowly, but her expression was despairing, the gravity of the situation just then beginning to sink in.

"I..." She trailed off, letting out a huff as she ran a hand through her hair, "No, no, it... it's not you, but..." She pulled further back, pushing him gently away as she broke out of his grasp. The look in his eyes was worried, but more so disappointed. "We can't do this, Thomas. Fuck, this was a mistake. What were we thinking? I just--"

She groaned softly, burying her face into her hands before hopping off of the desk, scrambling to collect her laptop and her papers. His eyes widened as she began to rush to leave the room.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart!" He grabbed ahold of her arm as she began to turn away, and she yanked it from his fingers. "Y/N, c'mon, wait a minute."

"This can't happen! Don't you get it?" she said. "This was so fucking stupid. I'm a political journalist, Thomas, and you're running for President, for God's sake! Can you imagine what would happen if we hooked up? If that somehow leaked?"

"Wait, be reasonable--"

"I'd become the next fucking Monica Lewinsky, and there goes your campaign, and there goes my career. Next I get accused of biased reporting, and you get accused of foul play with the media." She shook her head, shuffling her papers together as she turned to leave. "I'm sorry. I... I'm so sorry, this was such a mistake."

"Y/N." His voice was steady, but firm. "Listen to me: no one's losin' their career, no one's life is shatterin' because of this. Relax, darlin'. Leave if you want to, but relax. I'm not gonna try to make you stay."

She hesitated as he rested his hands on her biceps, as they ghosted down her arms. He smiled. "Don't get me wrong, you're more than welcome to stay, but I won't hold it against you if you don't."

"I can't do this, Thomas," she breathed, and he chuckled. Despite his small smile, and despite what genuinely were his best efforts, disappointment clouded his gaze, and he did a poor job of hiding it.

"Okay. Then go." His voice was soft, gentle. "If you ever change your mind, though, just know that I'm the only one with access to my Twitter messages. You know how to reach me if you want to." He grinned as he said that, and Y/N’s eyes widened. Did he just offer himself up as a booty call?

The thought had her breath hitching in the back of her throat. The look in his eyes told her that he was being perfectly sincere.

"I'm sorry,” she finally said, voice only just above a whisper, and he nodded.

"Don't worry about it.” There was a skip. “I'll see you soon, Y/N.”

“Bye, Thomas.” She held his gaze a moment longer, struggling to bring herself to leave, but knowing she couldn’t stay. He sent her a wink, and she finally began to move.

She was out the door without another word, her breathing shaky as she rushed back to her hotel room. She was desperate to immediately open her phone, to text Angelica or Alex, but shit, if that wouldn't ruin her life. Angelica would find some way to convince her to quit her job, or somehow weasel her way out of her assignment on the 2020 election, and Alex would be worse yet -- he'd take it straight back to Thomas and confront him.

She groaned into her hands as she walked into her bathroom. A cold, cleansing shower was what she needed at that moment. The first thing she saw as she walked into the bathroom, though, was a deep purple hickey, at the base of her neck; she'd be covering that up for weeks, she thought as she drew closer to the mirror, running a hand over it as she examined the area. Yet, it also left her with several 'what if's -- what if she hadn't stopped it? What if she were to let this happen? What if, for once in her life, she stopped worrying, let herself live, took a risk?

What if she'd decided to stay?

She met her own eyes in the mirror as she entertained the thought, and she swallowed roughly.

[breakingsomething]

the fall part fourteen - check in

basic summary: chase and lucas vibe. henrik gives someone an apology. marvin is emo.

trigger warnings: internalized homophobia, references to past domestic abuse (not much but i'm putting a warning just in case), alcohol, emeto

tagslist: @synonymsforzombie @spicydanhowell @skyewardlight @dreaming-of-stories-and-stars @cest-mellow @graveyardlettuce @lower-your-expectationss

chase was feeling a lot of emotions, but mostly he was just angry.

"i just don't understand how i'm supposed to keep being a peacemaker for marvin and henrik," he was saying. he and lucas were sitting in a coffee shop at the very back of the room, lucas stirring his drink and listening to chase vent quietly. they'd finally been able to find a time where both of them were free to meet up, and it was going smoothly so far, so to speak. "they're always fighting and i want to agree with both of them because they're both making points but i can't help but feel i'm being yanked in every direction here."

"yeah, that's sucky," lucas murmured. he pushed up his glasses, which had fogged up in the heat of his coffee. then he shot chase a small, nervous smile. "sorry i'm bad at knowing what to say. it might seem like i'm not listening, but i swear i am. i just don't have any good advice."

chase sighed, his rage at his brothers slowly dissolving. "nah, it's ok. i'm not expecting you to solve all my problems." he scratched his head and laughed softly, feeling his face heat up. "i honestly don't know why i'm telling you all this. i barely even know you - we met, what, a couple months ago? three months, maybe? under the dumbest circumstances imaginable. very, very sorry for that, by the way."

"it's cool!" lucas laughed, waving his hands. "it's honestly cool, don't worry. i do find it funny how this all started as a favour for naomi, and now we're here."

chase winced. "yeah. my family tends to - be like that. dragging people into our messes somehow. it used to be anti causing all the problems, and now it's - well. you know."

lucas snorted and turned his head away, glancing at the line of people waiting for their coffee. lucas was the type of man who looked as though he fit in perfectly in a place like this; fluffy blonde hair, black rectangular glasses, even a fucking indigo hoodie over a dark red button up. he looked like a stock image of a hipster. he looked like he spent all his time in coffee shops with a laptop and earl grey tea in front of him, a hipster siren calling all those who wanted to live some sort of cliche romance movie. chase bet that if he opened up the man's plain grey bag, he'd find books and art supplies inside. it was immensely attractive.

chase blinked. no it wasn't. that wasn't something he should be thinking, what the fuck? why had he just thought - he hadn't really just -

lucas spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. "i don't know a lot about your family, aside from what you, naomi and marvin have told me. but i know that they definitely need to maybe… talk it out. go to family therapy, i don't know -" he clapped a hand over his mouth and laughed out of shock. "oh crap, it is absolutely not my place to say that, is it!"

chase threw back his head and laughed, glad for a distraction. "no, no, you're so right," he giggled. "i love how - i love how you've literally known us for three months and already know that like, all of us need some kind of therapy. are we that obvious?"

lucas shook his head, wiping his eyes. "ah, man, i need to keep my mouth shut. i am very sorry for calling out your whole family like that."

"it's fine, it's fine," chase said. he fanned his face, suddenly realizing how hot it was in here. to be fair, he was wearing three layers; a plain white longsleeve, a dark blue ac/dc shirt, and a black jacket on top of that. along with ripped jeans and a beanie. he looked the polar opposite of lucas. it was quite funny, actually. "we deserve to be called out."

lucas smiled and sipped his coffee, glancing to the front of the shop out the window. "man, it's so warm," he said through his cup. "to think it's september and it was storming so badly only three days ago."

chase nodded slowly, glancing down at his barely touched cup. he didn't want to think about the storm, honestly. that had just been a nightmare. "hmm. weird storm, yeah. everything's a bit weird lately."

for instance, he'd just called lucas "attractive" in his head. that was strange enough. why was that the thing he was focusing on? why was he freaking out about this?

lucas was a friend. just a friend he wanted to talk to and do normal things with. could straight guys call their friends attractive? chase decided to believe he could.

"they shouldn't treat you like that, though," lucas said. his dark eyes were warm under his glasses. "once again, maybe not my place to say. but i feel like they shouldn't use you as, like, a substitute therapist."

chase winced. "i mean, that's kind of what i'm doing to you, isn't it?"

lucas set down his drink and shook his head, shifting slightly closer to chase. "it's different. you're not expecting me to solve all your problems for you. you just need someone to listen." he smiled. "i get the feeling it's been a while since you had that."

chase flushed, blinking. "uh, yeah. i guess… i guess, yeah." he decided not to mention his old therapist and just looked at his legs, folding his hands together. lucas had glanced away by the time he looked up, but he was still a little bit closer to him than he'd been, and his hand was resting on the table next to chase's cup.

"thanks for listening," chase murmured gratefully. "i suppose it has been a while since i had a friend like… like you."

lucas widened his eyes. "oh! oh, thank you! i mean, i…" he giggled, rubbing the back of his neck. "i'm assuming that's a compliment. you're… you're sweet."

a grin spread across chase's face. "i - thank you too."

chase wasn't sure when their faces had gotten so close, only inches apart. lucas blinked, looking up at him through his pale lashes. his lips were parted slightly in surprise, like he'd just come to the same realization that the other man just had. chase's breath hitched, and his stomach suddenly dropped fiercely.

and it hit him that they were in a public space with everyone's eyes able to turn to them at any moment and what was he doing, getting so close to a guy like this, he wasn't supposed to, anyone could see him and he couldn't fucking stand it -

"i'm sorry!" chase yelped. he shoved himself away, heart racing so fast he thought he'd pass out. he didn't dare to turn and look at the rest of the room. "shit, i'm - i should - i have to go!"

"wait!" lucas cried, startled. chase ignored him, adrenaline hitting him all at once, leaping from his place on the booth and darting around the table. "chase, i'm - i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, i'm so sorry!"

chase couldn't look at him or he was going to be sick. "it's ok, i just have to - i'm sorry," he managed. "i'm sorry, i'll call you later, i'm -"

he ran from the building as quickly as his legs would allow him. lucas didn't follow.

chase wasn't sure when he'd started crying. he was certain everyone was staring at him as he speedwalked down the road, both hands clamped over his mouth. fuck, it felt like being a kid again, like he was twelve and his mother was telling him that it wasn't right for boys to like other boys, and chase would nod and agree because it was all he knew, and then he grew up and married a woman and was so relieved it was her he fell in love with and not him, not a boy, not anyone else -

god, he was just so fucking angry.

-

henrik hated the sound of doorbells.

it was such an anticipatory sound; the sound of knowing you were about to have to interact with someone. it automatically made him tense up, back straight, poker face on, hands in his pockets because he didn't know what else to do with them. eyes clenched shut for just a moment as he heard someone walking to the door on the other side. maybe this hadn't been the best idea.

the door clicked open.

"henrik?"

ok, she didn't immediately sound like she wanted to kill him. that was a good start. he cracked his eyes open, and flashed a small, sheepish grin. "hallo, ellie."

ellie just blinked. white teeth peeked out from behind her lips, strands of loose dark hair falling into gingerbread eyes. her voice was clipped and professional. "it's good to see you."

a breath fell from henrik's mouth. "i'm sorry," he immediately blurted out. he couldn't stay still, shifting back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his heels. "i shouldn't have dropped you the second i thought i couldn't handle it anymore. you deserved better and i was the dickhead."

a brief moment of thick silence passed over them.

"let's walk," ellie said eventually. "around the city, or something. i've been meaning to go out anyway."

a smile cracked on henrik's face. "yes! yes, let's do that," he said enthusiastically. ellie held up a hand, eyebrows drawing together over narrowed eyes.

"first," she said cautiously. "i have to ask. we're not doing the - the romance thing anymore, i take it?"

henrik was briefly stunned. "uh, i - no, i wouldn't think so, no," he stammered awkwardly. he swallowed, a hand rising to the back of his neck. "yeah, i feel like that maybe wasn't working out for us."

to his surprise, she laughed. "thank goodness for that," she breathed, sounding relieved. "i didn't think that was working either, yeah. but…" her eyes met his again. "i'm glad you came back."

a sudden warm feeling took over him. "me too," he murmured. "me too."

-

henrik had never had many friends.

that was just fact. from his creation on, he simply had "colleagues" and "acquaintances," people he tolerated when he had to. after his wife left, chase had been his only friend - and then they'd discovered they were brothers by blood too, anyway, so there had been a lack of choice in that department. he'd been content like that. content without any kind of social life. it had just been easier that way.

but ellie was so warm. like a soft flame. it was cliche as all hell to say, but it was the closest way to describe her that henrik could manage. from the day he'd met her on her first day in the surgery, he had taken a liking to her. everything about her stood out to henrik, like she was the only colour in a crowd. like a rainbow. henrik hadn't felt anything close to that in years.

they were both at the hospital on and off. henrik was allowed more leeway with his absences, maybe because no one ever died on his operating table, maybe because he was one of if not the best surgeon on the ward. ellie was not given leeway. neither of them were a hundred percent certain why, but they had a feeling it was definitely gender related. they knew ellie was just as good as henrik was, despite henrik's secret healing abilities. she didn't deserve any less.

they had somehow started dating. henrik hadn't dated anyone since emolie, and in the beginning, it had been terrifying. for both of them, actually; ellie's ex was an awful person, and it had been hard for her to trust him. it was only after henrik gained the courage to tell her about his ex wife and what she had been like that they managed to properly communicate. that had just helped them bond more. it felt good.

and then it had all gone downhill. ellie left work entirely for her mental health, leaving henrik with just his bastard colleagues again. he began to be filled with that same old overwhelming fear again, the same distrust and paranoia his ex wife had given him. and he'd started ignoring ellie. that was how it had went. he had been an asshole.

he told ellie all this as they walked through the darkening streets, keeping his gaze down towards his blue trainers. despite usually being good with eye contact, he didn't dare to look at her. maybe he was afraid to. he didn't know. in any case, he should have done this months ago.

once he'd finished, everything went very quiet. henrik, in the sensible parts of his mind, knew ellie would never hurt him. he knew she wasn't anything like emolie, despite the similar names. but even knowing all that, he still flinched when she finally spoke. "henrik, you should have told me."

"i know," he mumbled, kicking a rock into a gutter. "i know. i've been an idiot."

ellie placed a gentle hand on his arm. "hey. i understand. i - i often had some of the same… the same thoughts. even though robert was - everything with him was years ago."

"it's the same for me," henrik said softly. a dog barked in the distance, and two shopkeepers talked loudly as they rolled down the shutters for the night. "emolie left a long time ago too. yet i still - i thought it was just me that had this paranoia."

ellie shook her head. "no, no. i get it. i've been going to therapy, and my therapist says that's perfectly natural for people who've experienced abuse."

henrik flinched.

ellie noticed. "are you ok?"

henrik licked his lips, which were suddenly very dry. "mm. i don't know. yes."

ellie giggled. "you don't sound sure."

henrik was about to respond, but someone across the street caught his eye. black jacket, red beanie, blonde hair. henrik furrowed his eyebrows. "chase?"

the man looked up, and yes, it was definitely him. he caught henrik's gaze and stopped, eyes widening visibly. he was crying. then he turned and raced down the street even faster than he was going before, face burning and arms crossed over his chest.

"is that your brother?" ellie asked. she'd only met him once, but chase was a hard man to forget. "is he - is he ok?"

"no idea," henrik muttered, then waved at her apologetically. "i'll - i'll be right back, i swear. chase!" he began to run after his brother. "chase, what - chase!"

"fuck off, henrik," chase spat. he stopped, but didn't turn round as his brother caught up to him. "please, i don't want to talk."

"well, can you at least tell me you're ok?" henrik asked. his mind was going a hundred miles an hour, trying to figure out what could have upset him. he tapped his shoes against the floor. "weren't you out with lucas?"

chase scrubbed at his eyes. "i was, yeah." he glanced up, wincing at henrik's expression. "he didn't do anything, hen. i'm just a fucking idiot. please just go. seriously, i don't fucking want to be around people right now, ok? i don't - just go."

henrik hesitated. "are you sure -"

"yes!" chase suddenly cried. he clutched at his head, sobbing. "fucking shit, henrik, i'm fine, just - ugh!"

he ran off down the road again, the only sound being the slapping of his shoes against the concrete. henrik didn't follow him.

ellie was right where he'd left her. "what happened?" she murmured softly. she looked genuinely worried, too. henrik's heart clenched.

"i don't know," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. he was so tired. but he also didn't want to pressure chase at all. "i'm - look, ellie, i'm so sorry. whatever happened to me in my past didn't excuse how i treated you, and i swear i'll message or - or visit you again. i'm…" he shook his head. "i'm sorry it took me this long."

ellie took his hand, the contact making him gasp softly. "i'm sorry too. i never thought about what you wanted or how - or how you were feeling. a sick part of me was convinced that i somehow had it worse. and i know how fucked up that is, i know -" she paused, her laugh slightly hysterical. "i'm gonna shut up for now. go after your brother. i'll see you soon, henrik."

he had a lot more he wanted to say, but he knew it could wait. chase needed him more. so with an awkward nod and a trip over his own feet, he began to jog down the street to where chase was going.

-

marvin was a fucking idiot.

he couldn't believe he'd trusted anti as much as he had. henrik had outright laughed at him when he told his brothers what had happened; how he'd spoken to anti late at night, how he'd asked him if they could talk in the morning, how he'd fallen asleep in front of him instead of keeping watch. and yeah, maybe he was a fool. maybe he should go out and buy himself a new phone to replace the one anti had stole, along with a new table to replace the one anti destroyed, since that was his fucking fault too. like everything was lately. maybe he should do that.

instead, he'd spent the day in bed, half asleep and fucking miserable. he was well aware that now wasn't the time to be wallowing in self pity, but he'd honestly stopped caring. anti could do what he wanted. jackie could do what he wanted. marvin apparently had no bloody say in anything anymore.

he got up once to get a glass of water for his slowly worsening headache. of course, it was then that chase came in, slamming the door shut behind him.

"can you not do that?" marvin snapped, whipping round to face him, but he softened when he saw chase's tear stained face. "oh hey, what's wrong?"

"don't start," chase hissed. his eyes were red from crying, and they were blazing with anger. "i'm fine, don't start with the p-pity."

marvin crossed the room to stand by his side. "did someone hurt you?" he asked, concerned. chase pushed him away, shaking his head.

"no, they didn't, ok? i'm just a fucking idiot and it's my own fault," he said angrily. "it's not always to do with you guys, for fuck's sake."

marvin felt his face heat up. "hey, don't get mad at me. that's helping nobody here. what happened, man?"

chase wiped his face roughly, more tears escaping. "shut up!" he demanded, wrapping his arms around himself. "you don't have to know everything just cause you're big brother now, you don't get to -"

"jeez, chase, what the hell got into you?" marvin shouted over him, taking a step closer. chase scowled and stepped back. "did i do something? if i did, just tell me -"

"i said it was my fault!" chase screamed. and there was something in his voice that made marvin stop and move back, blinking rapidly. "ok? my fault! let me take responsibility for my own actions f-for once, fucking hell, you don't have to be jackie! you can go back to not noticing shit if you want, we'll be fine on our own!"

marvin's chest tightened painfully. "chase - what are you talking about?"

"did you even notice - did you even notice the time when henrik had that panic attack where he hurt his hand because he was trying to get out of a lift?" chase asked, laughing without warmth. "you didn't! you spent that whole weekend out of the house with some guy, didn't you? did jackie ever bother telling you? do you remember the aftermath at all?"

marvin tried to catch a breath. "no," he whispered, mouth dry. "no, but - you can't expect me to -"

"were you - were you th-there for my last relapse?" chase spat, and marvin's heart dropped. "no! you weren't! i doubt you - ha, i doubt you even know it happened! are you surprised? stupid, fuckup chase, ruining all good things for himself yet again!" he laughed, running his fingers through his curls underneath his beanie, which slipped back and fell into his hood. with his hair pulled back, marvin could more clearly see the bald spot where chase's old scar lingered. "you didn't care then, so why should you care now? stop trying to be jackie! you will never be jackie!"

marvin's breaths were getting quicker, blood pumping in his ears. "chase," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "chase, i've never been -"

"you have!" he cried. "you have, you're trying to replace him and it's not working, you're just making everything worse!"

marvin's fingers were burning, his whole body tingling with grief and magic. "stop yelling, please -"

"just stop trying to fix everything! i want things to go back to how they were before! stop changing, just because jackie changed -"

"chase, shut up, shut up -"

"i want jackie and jamie back, god, i hate this, i hate you, i hate myself -"

"stop it, chase, pl-please, i can't -"

"this isn't fair, just leave me alone -"

"shut - up!"

marvin wasn't sure what happened. it was a rush of anger, self hatred, of leave me alone i want you to stop because you're saying everything that i know is true and it hurts so bad make it stop. then chase and marvin were both on the floor. marvin's head was spinning from the crack to the floor it had taken, his hands burning with unrestrained magic. chase sat up, groaning, rubbing his head. the door behind them clicked, and marvin knew immediately who it would be.

"what the fuck?" came henrik's cry. marvin scrambled to his feet, chase following. "marvin, shit, what did you do?"

"wasn't his fault," chase said quickly, wiping the tears off his face and grabbing the counter for support. "i was being a dick, i shouldn't have -"

henrik whirled on marvin. "you - you used magic on him?"

"it just exploded, it w-wasn't intentional!" chase fretted, waving his hands to get the doctor's attention. "please, hen, i was saying shit 'cause i was upset, i -"

henrik gently pushed past him and faced marvin, anger darkening his face. "after what's happening with jackie, you turn on us too? are you going to hurt us next? what the hell is wrong with you?"

"henrik!" chase grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away from marvin. "please, stop, i swear he wasn't doing it maliciously -"

"maybe jackie didn't start hurting maliciously!" henrik shouted. "i have to keep us safe! marvin already wants us letting murderers into our house -"

"you agreed -"

"and look where it got us!" henrik shoved chase behind him like he was shielding him, glaring up at marvin and pushing him onto the ruined table, riddled with stab wounds. "look at us! i thought - i thought we could handle this ourselves, but we can't, this is pathetic! look at us!" his voice broke, and he suddenly backed down, clamping both hands over his mouth. "oh mein gott, look at us."

he slumped down on the floor, leaning his back against the oven. chase crouched down in front of him, glancing helplessly up at marvin like he hadn't been screaming at him minutes prior. like he hadn't revealed exactly what he thought of marvin, like he didn't think he was just a copy of jackie. but then again, "copy of jackie" was the best they had. maybe marvin was a better copy of jackie than he was a brother.

slowly, numbly, he stepped over his brothers towards the door. his ears were ringing, though whether it was his tinnitus, anti, or the angry echoes of his own magic, marvin didn't know. his head was spinning like he'd been hit, which, well - he had hit his head off the floor. that was his fault. just like everything else.

he left and didn't turn back.

-

ok, getting as drunk as he was when he was so upset had, in fact, been a terrible idea.

he laughed to himself in spite of it all. yes, he was laughing out loud by himself in the middle of a club, sitting on the sidelines and knocking back his fifth lemon vodka of the night. he was at his favourite nightclub, cheers - the nightclub that had a reputation for an incredible amount of stabbings. it was also the most fun to hang out in, even by himself. though it appeared he wouldn't be alone for long; a dark haired man with a green bandana and a half unbuttoned dress shirt was sidling up to him, glass in hand.

"haven't seen you here before," was how he introduced himself, a smirk on his face. marvin barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't see how new this guy was to this kind of thing.

"y'must be new round here, then," marvin smiled, voice only slightly slurred. he raised an eyebrow at the man's flushed face and shifted aside in his booth to let him sit beside. "i happen to come here quite often."

marvin was never sure what he wanted anymore. did he want to go home with a random guy to help him think of anything else but his out of control magic, his brother's horrified, furious faces, his burning hands and spinning head? he didn't think he did. then again, maybe it'd be nice. maybe he didn't care. fuck, this was awful, but here he was anyway.

the other man sat down, too close to marvin, his fingers brushing against his thighs in a way marvin normally wouldn't allow so soon into a hookup. he didn't say anything. he just tilted his head, leaning closer to the man's face. "what's your name then, stranger?"

"matthew," he murmured. his eyes were brown, his face pale. marvin searched him for any interesting features, anything that he might remember him by afterwards. there was nothing. "and you?"

marvin didn't even hesitate. "adrien," he lied, and turned his head to sip his drink. the world was spinning. he wanted it to stop. "'m adrien. who you with? anyone here?"

matthew shook his head, biting his bottom lip in the most unsubtle way possible. "nope. just me, myself, and i." he grinned, showing gap teeth. marvin stared. he suddenly realized that he absolutely couldn't do this, not tonight.

someone was standing behind them, blocking the light.

"hey," came a deep voice. "leave him alone, asshole."

marvin and matthew both turned. a tall, muscled man with chin length black hair and a thick beard was behind their booth, glaring at matthew. "fuck off away from him," the man said. "can't you see how drunk he is? bloody dickwad. get the fuck away."

matthew opened and closed his mouth, eyes bulging. like a fish. marvin giggled a little at the image, and the tall man helped marvin to stand as matthew scurried off to a different corner of the club, only looking back to sneer at them angrily.

"hey," marvin protested as the stranger led him away. "i wanted to sleep with him."

"no you didn't," the stranger said. he kept a firm hold on marvin's arm as they walked, steering him towards the door and out into the cold autumn air. the sudden lack of lights and loud music made his head clear slightly, and he yawned, thinking. the man kept talking. "you have a girlfriend, anyway."

"naomi's not my girlfriend," marvin said loudly, stumbling on the front steps. "she's my best friend. i set her door on fire once. i also made her really sad, sent her into a breakdown, d'y'know? who are you? i don't know you."

the man visibly rolled his eyes. "you know, for such a smart man, you're not very bright when you're drunk," he muttered. marvin noticed that the more he spoke, the more irish the man's accent became. "do you always use such bad coping mechanisms? christ, and i thought i was bad - actually, wait, i'm one to talk. especially about - shit. you know what i'm saying."

marvin actually had no clue what he was saying, but he listened to the man ramble anyway. he couldn't seem to stop talking. "i thought i could leave you alone for five bloody minutes, but no, you flip out and decide the best way to cope is to fuck some guy in a sketchy ass nightclub - what is wrong with you, man? go to therapy. do you go to therapy, kitty? you definitely should. swear to god, you lot are like a bunch of kids. i could kill you right now and you wouldn't stop me, would you? pfft, you're not even gonna remember this tomorrow morning. fuck's sake."

it was a while before marvin realized he had no clue where they were. "where're we going?" he slurred. his hands were empty. how long had they been empty? "i lost my drink."

"you didn't lose it, i took it. this body can actually handle alcohol, you know that? how weird. and i'm taking you the fuck home, asshole. you're lucky you're not as much of a dick as your brothers."

his brothers? marvin's head shot up, and he gasped loudly. "i can't go home!" he cried. "henrik'll kill me! man, i can't - don't have your name, sorry - can't go home, i can't, i can't."

the man groaned loudly. "oh, fuck's sake," he grumbled. "gods, i'll call us a taxi to take us to the nearest hotel. christ on a goddamn bike, i hate you..."

marvin leaned his head on the man's chest while they waited for said taxi to come. the man cleared his throat. "ok, i know you're a clingy bastard, but can you get off of me? i don't like being touched without permission."

"you're warm, though," marvin mumbled. "'m tired and you're warm. my brothers all hate me now, they do. i have - my big brother, jackie, he's gone all evil 'n shit now. i wasn't good enough for him. my other big brother stabbed my table. stole my phone. henrik laughed at me for it."

the man hissed through his teeth. "yikes, your big brothers sound like right douchebags," he said, sounding like he was holding back a laugh. "especially that second one. who stabs a table? what an asshole."

marvin nodded sleepily in agreement. "yeah. i trusted him but he let me down 'n my little brother laughed at me for it. i wanted to ask him about m'other big brother. his name's jackie, i love him so much, but he was so horrible." the other man visibly flinched. marvin obliviously kept going. "i wanted to know what he did. you know he - he cut off my brother's t-tongue? he cut it right off. i can't believe he'd ever -" marvin's stomach lurched. "i'm gonna be sick."

not a second later, he did exactly as threatened. the man yelped and jumped away, making disgusted noises. "oh, kitten, gross," he groaned. "fuck's sake. look, the taxi's here, thank the stars. mind your step, don't stand in the vom - ok, here we go."

marvin laid his head on the man's shoulders the whole drive. some part of him screamed at him to not be an idiot, don't get in a taxi with a stranger, especially as drunk as he was now - but another part of him felt like this man was familiar. it felt right. he wasn't sure why. "what's your name again?" he managed at one point, right as the car began to pull over.

"doesn't matter," said the stranger. he unbuckled his seat belt. "we're here. get out, asshole, come on."

"have a nice night," the driver told them. the man didn't say anything in response, just helped marvin up and onto the pavement on shaky legs. he squinted at the building in front of them.

"i don't have the money for a hotel like this," he said. he swayed on his feet, his stomach roiling. "i need to go somewhere else."

"i'll fucking pay," the man said. he was rifling through a wallet, making faces at the contents. "apparently i'm bloody loaded, fantastic. come on, magician, act like you're not drunk for two minutes."

"i'm not drunk," marvin announced loudly.

the man clapped his back. "that's the spirit," he said cheerfully. as they went inside, the bright lights of the hotel made marvin's eyelids feel even heavier. he closed his eyes and clung to the man's arm tightly, yawning.

it felt like only a second later that he was being shaken awake again. "i didn't know it was possible to fall asleep standing, but here we are," the stranger joked. "i got you a room. here's your key. room 146. now go."

marvin blinked. "huh?"

the man heaved a sigh. "oh, boy." then he cleared his throat, speaking in a much louder voice, like he was talking to a child. "i got you a hotel room so you don't have to go home and face the consequences of your own actions. go inside before i change my mind and gut you."

another yawn ripped out of marvin's throat. "mm. ok." he was too tired to question it. he took the key from the other man's hands and inspected it. "ok. so what… what's your name again? i think you told me, but i have a bad memory. i think. i don't 'member."

the man facepalmed, dragging his hands down his face. "my fucking gods. the fact that i haven't murdered you yet astounds me. my name is... berlin, if you really must know. although you'll definitely forget that in the morning. now get to your room, i'm not standing here forever."

marvin just nodded. the night had been so weird already, this might as well be happening. he wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings, just letting himself be guided and eventually, somehow, collapsing on a bed and falling asleep.

-

anti wasn't sure why he'd done it.

maybe it was just the euphoria of realizing that out of all his powers, he'd been left with possession. he'd been following kitten around for days, just to keep an eye on him. partially because he felt very slightly bad about stabbing his table and stealing his belongings, partially because… the magician had been kind to him in a way that literally no one else had for so long. anti wasn't entirely certain of why he did anything anymore. it was kind of annoying, actually.

he'd taken the body of some man smoking in an alleyway and spent about ten minutes talking out loud to himself as he paced and finished the cigarette - might as well, didn't want to waste it. anti swore he'd almost forgotten how to talk after so long the way he was. drinking and eating without pain was so weird, so strange. it had been amazing. he'd been so caught up in exhilaration of being able to speak that he almost completely forgot about kitten, who had apparently decided that hooking up with a stranger would solve his problems. anti decided to spare him the embarrassment and scooped him out of there, even renting him a hotel room using the money he'd been planning to nick for himself. see, i can do nice things! he thought to himself. take that, doctor!

it was only afterwards that he really questioned why. this wasn't just something he did for no reason; when anti did nice things, it was always for his own personal gain. he hadn't gotten anything out of this but a fucking headache. what had been the point?

a year ago, anti would have been delighted at the thought of kitten suffering, of him hurting, crying, drunk and alone in a sketchy nightclub. now… anti didn't derive as much pleasure from the thought as he normally would. not that he was getting attached to kitten. he'd already formed something like that with one person, and anti liked to keep all his eggs in one basket, thank you very much.

he was just waiting, he told himself. waiting for the right time to strike. waiting for the perfect opportunity. waiting for…

he knew he was lying to himself. but he closed his eyes and resolved to let himself just a little longer.

[maydaymemer]

Reviewing every Hitman level - Part 2: World of Assassination

Part 1 here: https://maydaymemer.tumblr.com/post/635416983034380288/reviewing-every-hitman-level-part-1-the-ps2

WoA1 (2016):

ICA Facility - 3/5

Both Freeform Training and The Final Test are okay. There’s just enough there to be enjoyable, but I wish Freeform had Contracts mode since I think that would bolster replayability. As infamous as Final Test is for newbie Contracts some of them provide more interesting gameplay scenarios than Jasper’s basic route.

The Showstopper/Paris - 4/5

In most of these reviews for WoA levels I’m judging both the mission and location at the same time. As for Paris there’s level design when it comes to the geometry itself but I think the targets leave a lot to be desired. I’m a little harsher on Blood Money and WoA because their rating systems are a lot less flexible than previous games, so they have to make up for that with highly manipulatable targets. Sure I can kill either target anywhere I want but due to Victor standing in a lot of crowds that’s not going to get my SA unless I use accidents, which even then can backfire if a non-target gets caught under them. Victor and Dalia are likeable assholes but I couldn’t find many good ways to manipulate them and break their scripting. There’s still ways sure, the coin is a godsend, but not as many as say Robert Knox in Miami. If IO brought back the escalations this could be bumped up to a perfect score based on level design alone, but right now it’s way too simple and reliant on doing what the devs want. It was their first true attempt at this new style so it’s understandable they were a little squeamish at giving total freedom.

Holiday Hoarders - 3/5

This is a fun little distraction. Unfortunately Harry and Marv don’t react to distractions but their routes are long and they’re alone most of the one which makes up for it. It’s easier to get SA with these guys without using opportunities than it is with the main mission targets. The challenges are also fun, requiring you to stop the targets from stealing from the palace then becoming Santa to kill them.

World of Tomorrow/Sapienza - 5/5

The first masterpiece of the new style. Highly manipulatable targets, great level design and great potential for Contracts. I’m still finding new things about this level, from kills I’ve never done before two areas I didn’t know I could go to. It took a while to grow on me but it’s definitely one of the best maps IO has ever made.

The Icon - 3/5

This bonus mission relies a little too much on scripted kills. There’s still ways to break that scripting but the level is really pushing them as something you need to try. Not a bad thing, they are fun kills, but it’s not a level that holds up and gets better on replays like the main mission. You’ll still find ways to kill Bosco without the Rube Goldberg routine, but not as many as the near limitless possibilities of Francesca and Silvio have.

Landslide - 4/5

This is much better, less of a reliance on the mission stories/opportunities and the scripted moments themselves have lots of variants. You can snipe Marco in the graveyard from afar rather than setting up the electrocution kill, you can drop a chandelier on him as a bodyguard while he meets the lawyer rather than becoming him yourself. You can also just hit him with the Sieker and plant an explosive on the toilet and book it. Great bonus mission.

The Author - 3/5

Getting the targets to meet is a good way of creating your own kills, either partaking in the meeting, watching from afar or letting Craig Black flee. But the routes themselves around up to snuff. Akram stays in his tiny apartment until you ring the bell and Black spends way too much time reading.

A Gilded Cage/Marrakesh - 5/5

This level has really grown on me. I used to say “it’s okay but it is a bit of a disappointment compared to Sapienza”, then “it’s a pretty good level it’s a little unfairly maligned” to “this is one of the best maps in the series and I don’t understand why people don’t like it.” The map does have the big problem of its middle section being pointless but the routes of the targets themselves, their synergy, how manipulatable they are and how easy it is to kill them in all kinds of different ways suit only is an absolute treat. You can snipe Zaydan in his office and no one will find him, you can lure him into the room next to the prisoner and strangle him and you can lure him into the toilet and push him to his death. With Strandberg you can electrocute him sure, but that’s intended, instead you can follow him into his office (keep in mind, in the suit) and when he’s in that area no one goes in you can strangle him, or you can toss a coin into the toilet and if he hears you can drown him. The mission is criminally underrated and I think it’s on par with Sapienza.

A House Built On Sand - 3/5

It’s alright but it suffers from a lack of suit only options for manipulating targets via Mission Stories. The rooftop meeting is actually good for getting non-story related kills like dropping the cafe sign on Kwang, or you can just strangle him when he gets there. It’s neat. You can do something similar with getting rid of the guy the fortune teller is talking to, enabling a suit only kill by distracting the fortune teller when he talks to Mendola. That’s what I like about the scripted kills, when you can do shit with them the devs might’ve not directly intended, or are just secret ways to do them. I love missions that give me a lot of either that or ways to create my own kills, which you can do with AHBOS but since it’s a bonus mission and one set around the crowd it’s a lot more difficult with the rating system we have currently, so having more ways to use mission stories/opportunities for the purpose of getting different kills they weren’t meant for would’ve improved this level.

Club 27/Bangkok - 4/5

This level is really poorly designed but I like it anyway. I think it’s the atmosphere but also Jordan Cross as both a character and a target. He’s really interesting but he’s also fun to manipulate and try to take out suit only, of which there are multiple ways to do so without using stories. Even then I do like using the USB story occasionally for suit only runs because it’s so cool. Ken Morgan is a pretty terrible target, not that manipulatable, personality wise he’s really generic and his short route is out in public a lot so it’s a bitch to get him. I’ve gotten an SA kill on him in that little table he phones at but it wasn’t easy. Jordan makes up for it, however, even if getting to him is overly linear due to a lack of climbing in this very vertical location the options you have for actually killing him are numerous and you can really make a suit only run your own with him.

The Source - 2/5

This mission, on the other hand, is just bad. Every time you start you have to jog up flights of stairs to get to the targets, and while they have decent routes good luck intercepting them before they do that ritual that takes ages to finish and come back down. The targets also suffer from being too close to eachother, it’s almost pointless. At least there’s some cool challenges, I’m pretty sure you can use a sniper rifle on a gas canister from the other side of the hotel and get SA but don’t quote me on that.

Freedom Fighters/Colorado - 1/5

The entire location is garbage, I’ve played some pretty neat contracts but overall it’s a boring place whether you’re in the main mission or not. Rose and Graves have decent routes but Berg and Parvati are terrible targets. Sure you can manipulate them if you’re doing suit only but that requires a lot of movement and stealthing via an area that’s hostile to you without a disguise. Almost everything interesting is given to either Rose or Graves, which makes me think this would probably be a lot more fun as a mission if Berg and Parvati were just used as people for those two to interact with as part of their route or mission stories. It’s a very flat map with lots of walking, WoA 2’s maps have a large amount of movement too but they have shortcuts and verticality to remain engaging. Easily the worst map of the trilogy.

The Vector - 3/5

The map lost a lot of its flow with the WoA 2 changes to explosions, but it’s still a pretty fun, frantic mission with random targets to spice things up. It’s also go bushes and accidents everywhere leading to a lot of flexibility, even if you use up a kill there’s always more nearby since the targets can be pretty much anywhere - even clumped together - which is randomness done right considering the short long of the mission.

Situs Inversus/Hokkaido - 4/5

Pretty good mission and a great location. Erich has tons of ways to kill him despite not even being an NPC and more of an objective according to the logic of the engine, and Yuki has a pretty good route with lots of variance, my favourite kill method being sniping her in her private area of the restaurant. I discovered it recently, usually no one sees her. I would say the level design is better than the target design, which is good because Hokkaido is a great jumping off point for secondary content.

Patient Zero - 4/5

This is a great experimental mission. Like Vector but on a larger scale this mission could go different every time. The Virus means anyone in the mission could become an additional target and your playstyle can vary from subtle and sneaky to panicked to mass murderer depending on how much you fuck up or don’t handle the virus effectively. I’d say that WoA 1’s version was a little bit better, I think WoA 2 changed something about like guard placement or just general glitchyness which can make it a pain sometimes. Hopefully H3 fixes it.

Hokkaido Snow Festival - 2/5

This was a free mission made for WoA2 so I’m not going to shit on it too hard, but it’s not very good. It’s overall way too easy to finish this level in under a minute by starting as the ninja, going to the helicopter, shooting an icicle over the target and leaving immediately. That creativity I love about Hitman isn’t really encouraged here, which is a problem with bonus missions in general but it’s at its most pronounced here.

2 God-tier Levels 2 Missions

3 Good-to-Great Levels 5 Missions

1 Average-to-Good Level 6 Missions

0 Bad-to-Mediocre Level 2 Missions

1 Really Bad Level 1 Mission

0 Horrible Missions

For the WoA games I’ve split up levels and missions in the totals. I think it gives a better indication of the quality of each game. WoA part 1 is a good start for this new style but I feel it suffers from inconsistent level design. While Part 2 can feel like they played it safe by basing the design philosophy off of Sapienza for almost every location, WoA 1 has some levels with outright sloppy design like Bangkok, wasted space or locations that are just plain bad. Something the sequel fixes and more.

WoA2 (2018):

Nightcall/Hawke’s Bay - 3/5

Hawke’s Bay really suffers from one exit and a mandatory objective. If you could exit via a car or if some guards were posted at the house before you got in it’d make the rest of the mission up to par with the actual assassination of Alma, which is great but unfortunately a small part of the mission. It’s a neat little puzzle box location ruined by some forced tutorialisation and sloppy story integration.

The Finish Line/Miami - 5/5

The perfect Hitman level. Everything from the geometry to the target routes is perfect. Hitman levels have a problem where sometimes one target is better than the other, this is one of those rare exceptions where both targets are equally fantastic with a balance between scripted kills and having a route that’s ripe for manipulation and creating your own kills even without doing so.

A Silver Tongue - 2/5

As good as Miami is it can’t save this boring target. His route is a small triangle which is a giant missed opportunity when he’s right next to bar area which is mostly unused in the main mission.

3-Headed Serpent/Colombia - 4/5

I’ve made an effort recently to play this level a whole bunch because it used to be my least favourite. I think after really getting familiar with it this is one of the times the rating system used in Blood Money and the new games really lets down a great location. There are cool ways to snipe the Rico and Jorge, poison Jorge with a cocaine brick, blow Andrea up and kill Jorge in the bushes that make this level so much more fun to play, but the rating system discourages bodies found or collateral accident which instead force you to do a lot of walking to each target to get up close and personal. I like how interconnected and intricate everything is, but I don’t like being forced to use that every time I play. It should be a rare luxury rather than a require part of dealing with the level.

Embrace of the Serpent - 1/5

Terrible terrible terrible. A target with a shit route in a small area that’s “repurposed” by just covering it in guards. Not to mention the missed opportunity of making the target a poacher but not giving us a way to make an animal kill him, when there’s an animal in the main mission that can kill a target. For shame, IO.

Chasing a Ghost/Mumbai - 5/5

Another God-tier level and an atmospheric masterpiece. The Maelstrom has one of the best routes in the series and the other two aren’t so shabby either, with ways to get them out of their fortresses for manual kills like the smoke and the laundry foreman. Having a target not locatable via instinct is so cool, and the Maelstrom goes places I don’t expect him to sometimes. It fits his character that his behaviour is as mysterious and varied as he is, leading to lots of ways to kill him. The only problems level design wise I have other than the rating system is the fact that there’s no big area you can climb up to survey and snipe the whole area due to its weird horizontal layout, and there’s lots of disguise swapping that doesn’t make sense. Why can’t I go into the Crows’ hideout as Vanya’s guard? They’re on the same side. The mission also has mission stories with lots of variance and experimentation, which wouldn’t save the mission if it did have bad routes and experimentation without that but it’s the cherry on top to have scripted kills that can feel unscripted with how you do them. Like suit only Kashmirian strategies, poisoning Dawood’s glass as the actor or using the script opportunity to blow him up in the bathroom. And not to mention that Dawood Rangan is one of the best targets in the series personality wise. He’s so awesome.

Illusions of Grandeur - 2/5

Basil Carnaby’s route is actually not bad, making the chawed a hostile area is kinda neat but all that is thrown out the window when the dude offers to hypnotise you. He takes you upstairs alone, you jab a poison syringe in his back then you leave the level. I don’t know what IO was thinking. What a waste of a pretty reskin of Mumbai.

Another Life/Whittleton Creek - 5/5

A brilliant sequel to A New Life. The clues thing can get old but I won’t let that get in the way of two fantastic targets. Nolan’s route is filled with accidents whilst Janus can be lured out of his home with a couple of coin throws, even then I would say Janus’ house in general I would single out as being one of the best single areas of gameplay in the trilogy. Guard placement, security cameras and enforcer choice is perfect.

A Bitter Pill - 3/5

This mission’s okay. It’s basically just a full level version of Janus’ house but security is way too easy to get past. If they just locked the basement door this mission would be so much better.

The Ark Society/Isle of Sgail - 4/5

Mediocre targets let down some fantastic vertical level design. Sgail is very fun to stealth through and explore but the Washington twins are kind of boring compared to Janus from the previous mission. They’re not outright bad, there’s lots of non-story kills you can do since they’re highly manipulatable, but their routes are usually taken through crowds and take to long to get to those areas. It’s great for Contracts mode however, with the most markable NPCs of any level, in fact the Constant has a pretty good route which is unfortunate since the whole point of the level is NOT to kill him.

Golden Handshake/New York - 3/5

Great level geometry that’s fun to sneak around, this level is also great for Contracts mode, but I feel the actual objective while fun is mostly there to make up for a mediocre target route. You can kill Athena anywhere anyway with some knock outs or items so manipulating her to go someplace else to try new kills isn’t that attractive an option. Plus her route is very short.

The Last Resort/Haven Island - 4/5

This is one of my favourites level design wise, all three targets have enjoyable routes with even Tyson being manipulatable via coins to get him out to his balcony. However what kills the levels for me is the viewcones. To give some context IOI decided to change sightlines for NPCs just for this level in order to accommodate the wide beaches of the map. As it wouldn’t make sense for a guy not to see you jogging on an empty beach you’re not supposed to be if he’s looking into the distance. This was a terrible idea and means you’re never sure when you’re going to be seen doing something or not. I understand the reasoning but some areas like the villa were clearly designed for smaller viewcones, and I think consistency of mechanics trumps realism any day.

The Last Yardbird/Austria - 3/5

The first of WoA 2’s three sniper missions. It’s decent but due to it being the first they made it’s a bit too simple and becomes very repetitive on replays. Most target manipulations are cryptic and slow, and a larger problem with Sniper Assassin is due to it being a shooting gallery you tend to just pick one strategy that works and stick with it, you don’t tend to experiment like you do the main game.

Pen & the Sword/Hantu Port - 3/5

This one is my least favourite of the sniper maps. While manipulations this time are faster and simpler the map being so wide and open means you’re going to get caught when you don’t think you should’ve. I played all three sniper maps again recently and this was the one I gave up getting silent assassin with. The strat I usually used for grinding just didn’t work consistently like the ones for Himmelstein and Siberia

Crime & Punishment/Siberia - 4/5

This is the one where they finally go it right. Crime and Punishment is a legitimately great mission, sniper or otherwise. The riot mechanic gives way to a lot of variance and experimentation that actually consistently works, there’s lots of ways to change target routes in subtle ways that make sense (like killing a guard that was meant to get someone for the target, so the target walks over there himself) and the design isn’t so wide bodies are getting found left and right. Whether you’re starting a riot or playing it quiet it’s an excellent Hitman-style shooting gallery.

3 God-tier Levels 3 Missions

4 Good-to-Great Levels 4 Missions

4 Average-to-Good Level 5 Mission

0 Bad-to-Mediocre Level 2 Missions

0 Really Bad Levels 1 Mission

0 Horrible Missions

As you can see where Hitman 2 excels in pure level design it flops hard when it comes to the bonus missions. Hitman 2 is still my favourite game in the series, I’m very biased towards it and its specific levels, but I’m not close minded and I hope IO can take the little failures and huge successes of Hitman 2 and deliver the magnum opus of the series with upcoming third part of WoA.

And that means the totals for the whole franchise are (and if you want to correspond this to a tier list it basically means S, A, B, D, E, and F, respectively):

12 God-Tier Missions

29 Good-to-Great Missions

21 Average-to-Good Missions

8 Bad-to-Mediocre Missions

5 Really Bad Missions

1 Horrible Mission

[lovelylogans]

booyah! (emphasis on the boo)

TOUR GUIDE GARRETT: Now, I'm gonna tell you something a little spooky. The morning of October 25, 1894, Sir Aldridge awoke furious when his breakfast was not waiting for him. So, he called to his servants, but none of them responded. Why? Because, during the night, one by one they had each been stabbed to death in their sleep. It was later discovered that they were murdered by his eldest daughter, Gertrude Aldridge. Sir Aldridge once wrote in his diary, 'I know God makes no mistakes, but I believe he may have been drunk when he built Gertrude's personality.'

-ghostbusters, 2016

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: recreational drinking, mention of homophobia, murder mention, absolute fucking disaster gays, claustrophobia maybe (stuck in a closet while anxious, not specifically because of the closet) 

pairings: logicality, eventual prinxiety

words: 2,244

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is ghost hunting! i am essentially rewriting a premise i once wrote in an old fic of mine, so. here we go. let’s see how my writing stacks up a couple years apart.

They’re all drunk on shitty wine for one of their intermittent wine-and-whine nights when Virgil brings up his haunted apartment. 

When Virgil says it, Logan heaves a massive sigh from where he’s got his head pillowed on Patton’s lap, where Patton’s playing with his hair—Logan swings between sleepy drunk and ranty, rambly drunk, and he’s landed on sleepy tonight—and grumbles, “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Now, Logan, let’s hear him out,” Patton says. “Virgil is, after all, one of our best friends in the whole wide world who should be cherished and loved because he is one of the bestest little boys.”

Patton, on the other hand, solidly embodies the whole “cuddly-complimentary-drunk-girl-in-the-bathroom” stereotype.

“Yeah, yeah, I wanna hear this,” Roman says, from where he’s sprawled out on Virgil’s rug, grinning loose and easy, making Virgil’s stomach flip-flop. “You’ve been living here, what, a year, and you’re just now talking about how it’s haunted?”

“I know,” Virgil says, “I know, I know, but—but I basically have proof, this time, all the other stuff seemed, y’know—creaking furniture and things not being exactly where I remember and whispers in the night, that kind of thing.”

“Proof,” Logan sighs, and rolls his eyes. “All right. What proof is there.”

“It locked me in a closet.”

There’s a brief, thoughtful pause.

“So, like, the ghost is homophobic?” Roman says. Patton nearly snorts wine out of his nose as Virgil feels his face heat—well, even warmer than he already is, from the alcohol—and he sets down the novelty Thanos-glove-themed cup of wine with a thunk.

“I mean, probably!” Virgil says heatedly. “If you look at, like, all of historic times—”

“Homophobia was fairly frequent, yes,” Logan says, musingly. “But it’s not as if you’ve particularly shown off homosexual activity in this apartment.”

Roman starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch, and Virgil fights the urge to chuck a pillow at either Logan or Roman.

“You didn’t have to at him like that, L, oh my God,” Roman says, and snorts, giggling still, and Virgil wishes that it didn’t practically melt away all of Virgil’s irritation at him—it does heighten the embarrassment, though, because he’s been single because he’s been hopelessly pining over Roman. 

Logan glances up at Patton, confused, and Patton explains, “It kind of sounded like you were saying there wasn’t much reason for a haunting because Virgil’s been single for so long, honeybear.”

“Thanks,” Virgil grumbles. “All of you, great, thanks so much, I’m painfully single, we get it, can we get back to the ghost that’s bullying me into going back into the closet and managed to trap me there for two hours—”

“Two hours?!” Roman exclaims. “You were stuck for two hours and you didn’t, like, slam your body into it until it flew off its hinges or something?!”

“I tried, but it wouldn’t budge,” Virgil says. “It swung open again after I, like, learned my lesson, or whatever, and then I spent all of last night not able to sleep and with all the lights on and now I’m wondering if I’m going crazy.”

“So that’s why you called for a wine-and-whine night,” Patton says, which is mostly true. He’d been planning on calling one because he’s going grocery shopping sometime this week and he wanted to clear out the remaining dregs of his bottles of three-dollar wine now before he goes and gets new, unopened bottles, but it’s been rushed up the line because Virgil’s hands won’t stop shaking and he can’t really look too closely at the closet that he’s got propped open through all the means he could think of, and sage burned, and he’d been researching the paranormal all day, which made him even more anxious. So he just says—

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “Just in case something else happens.”

And nothing else does—well, Logan falls asleep pretty quickly after that, and Patton goes on a tooth-rottingly sweet ramble about how much he loves them all and how much better his life has been since they all came into it and how he thinks Logan is The One for him and he’s so grateful they’ve all been with him on this life journey, and Roman wraps an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and leans his cheek against Virgil’s hair and lets out this soft, content sigh that makes Virgil kind of absurdly happy—but ghost-wise, nothing happens.

At least, not until a couple weeks later.

They’re all at Virgil’s apartment again—this time, they’re all doing separate work time, Patton settled under Logan’s arm as Logan read a book and as Patton flipped through a notecard set, and Roman with a script strewn about the floor, Virgil taking notes on a reading he has to do—when there’s a loud noise. Virgil freezes.

There’s another noise—like someone slamming their fists against the floor. Like someone trapped underneath, trying to get out.

Roman glances up from his script. “What was that?”

“Gertrude,” Virgil says through a dry mouth.

“Gertrude?” Patton says, curious.

“The ghost.”

Logan scoffs.

“It’s not funny, Logan, I’m being serious,” Virgil says, and decides fuck it and then digs out his printed-off pages of research. “There used to be a manor here and this lady named Gertrude Aldridge apparently killed all the family’s servants and then her dad locked her in the basement to spare the family public humiliation and she died down there, so—“

Roman makes an interested noise, reaching for the folder, and Virgil hands it over. Roman’s a big fan of true crime and ghost stories and also Buzzfeed Unsolved, so he really probably should have roped Roman into this earlier. Also, ghost research wasn’t even the most pathetic excuse he’d tried to use in order to spend time with Roman alone, he really should have used it.

“So you think Gertrude,” Logan says, voice dripping with disdain, “is going to... kill you.”

“Well, now I am.”

Logan heaves a massive sigh, and sets aside his book. “Look, Virgil, I can understand that you are anxious, and I can understand the popular narrative of ghost stories offering a simple explanation for various noises and occurrences, though there are dozens more logical explanations for—”

He’s cut off by a distant, feminine howl of outrage.

Logan pauses, before he says, “Your neighbor.”

Logan’s book then proceeds to pick itself up and throw itself from his hands.

Logan looks on the verge of saying still not a ghost, but Roman howls “holy SHIT!” before he can, nearly falling backward off the couch in his quest to scramble away, grabbing Virgil’s hand and tugging him back before planting himself in front of him, arms spread wide, like he’s guarding Virgil, like he’s shielding him, and if Virgil wasn’t so scared shitless right now he’d think it was noble or sweet or something, but as it is, Virgil’s legs are trembling underneath him and he distantly, hysterically, imagines himself swooning into Roman’s arms like some kind of southern belle.

And then the floor starts rumbling, and then Roman grabs Virgil’s hand, and Patton yelps, and Logan grabs Patton—Logan shoves Patton down and rolls underneath Virgil’s dinner table—and Roman hauls Virgil closer to his bedroom, and before Virgil can say wait, don’t—

—the door swung shut behind them, and, in the dark, Roman said, “Ah.”

“We’re trapped,” Virgil said. “In my closet. Again.”

“Well,” Roman said, breath a warm puff against Virgil’s neck, “It’s my first time being trapped in your closet.”

Virgil giggles, a bit hysterical because the fucking ghost started shaking his whole apartment, and Roman huffs out a laugh, and Virgil can feel the hot air on his neck, and wow that sure was a strange mix of emotions, adrenaline and fear and a hint of embarrassment at being so close that he can feel Roman’s fucking breath on his neck and a twinge of heat deep in his stomach.

“So,” Roman said, and swallowed audibly. “Should I try slamming against the door?”

Virgil shuffled aside as much as he could, stepping on a pile of what’s probably dirty laundry and trying not to trip directly into Roman as he wobbled for balance. “Sure.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

That repeated a few times, before there was a voice outside the room. “Roman? Virgil?”

“Hey, Logan,” Virgil called, trying not to wince.

“Your closet again?!” Logan said, exasperated.

“It’s not like we chose this, Ego-ist Spengler!” Roman snapped. 

There’s the sound of someone trying the handle, then someone more enthusiastically trying the handle, then a huff.

“It’s stuck.”

“Yeah, Logan, we know,” Virgil said. 

“Is that them?” Patton’s voice sounded.

“Yeah, it’s us,” Roman said.

“I think I’m going to go find some kind of toolkit,” Logan said decisively. “Virgil, do you have one?”

“One, a toolkit won’t work against a ghost, two, no, what do I look like, Bob the Builder?” Virgil snapped, and Roman snorted—he must have been equally pressed against the other wall of the closet, so that they’re as far apart as they can be.

Logan sighed, irritated, and said, “Well, you should have one. Do either of you have your phones?”

“I’ve got mine,” Roman said.

“Fine. Virgil, where are your keys?”

“You’re leaving?!” Virgil demanded.

“Yes, to procure the tools necessary to free you,” Logan said. 

“At this point, you should maybe take the door off the hinges, kiddo,” Patton suggested.

“That won’t work against a—! You know what, fine, yeah, go, my keys are on the kitchen table.”

“Patton and I will be back shortly,” Logan announced. “I’ll ask your neighbors first and if we have to visit a store, I’ll text.” 

There’s the sound of footsteps, and the even more distant sound of Virgil’s front door closing.

There’s a long pause.

“Well,” Roman said. “We’re stuck here because of your homophobic ghost.”

“Gertrude. Yeah.”

Virgil tried to take in an even, good breath. 

“Hey, you okay?” Roman asked, all soft and concerned, and Virgil’s breath hitched as Roman’s hand gently closed around his wrist, fingers grazing delicately along the veins there, the soft skin above them, the tendons standing out stark, and if Virgil’s heart started racing a little faster, well. Roman wouldn’t be able to tell why.

“Fine, mostly,” Virgil said, a little strangled. “Just—y’know. Ghost in my apartment. Even stronger than I thought it was. And now I’m trapped in a closet” with you, my unrequited maybe-love but I haven’t even gotten close to unparsing those feelings and I’m freaking out about enough right now “with no way to really get out, so. I’m just peachy.”

“Right, yeah,” Roman said, still soft, almost uncharacteristically so. “D’you want me to count, or—?”

“Just—“ Virgil said, and swallowed. “Distract me?”

And then Roman does something entirely unexpected.

Roman’s hand slid to cup his cheek, his hand sure and warm, and then he leaned in and pressed his lips against Virgil’s. Virgil’s mouth parted in surprise, and his eyes went wide, but he couldn’t see in this stupidly dark closet, the strip of light from the door only enough to dully illuminate the gold stripes running down Roman’s jacket sleeve. Roman kissed him harder and it felt like finally, finally, and Virgil was grateful now for only that little strip of light as they parted because he was sure he was gaping like an idiot.

“Like that?”

“I,” Virgil said, fumbling, “I—”

“I’ve liked you,” Roman said, stubborn and a little shaky, just around the edges. “I’ve really liked you, for a really long time, and I think you—I think you maybe like me too, or at least I hope you do, and if you don’t this is so embarrassing and I’m gonna spontaneously combust and also never talk to you again just to save you from the—”

Roman couldn’t say anything more, though, because Virgil’s fumblingly grabbed at the lapels of Roman’s jackets and hauled him close, and just like that the kiss went from finally to scorching, Roman biting hard at his lip and Virgil letting out a startled, gasping, embarrassing noise at the sensation of it.

“Fuck that homophobic ghost,” Roman growled. “I’ll show her—”

“Roman, shut up,” Virgil said, sounding closer to a wheeze than anything, and then Roman did shut up, quite tidily and for quite a while, until—

There’s the sound of Virgil’s front door opening, and Virgil pulled back from Roman, who made an incredibly ego-boosting noise when he did, and he attempted to quickly finger-comb his hair into some semblance of array.

Logan’s voice rang out, “One of your neighbors had a toolbox, so we were able to borrow it from them for a bit, if you’ll just—”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, sure,” Virgil called, avoiding the gruffness to his voice as he heard Roman similarly, hastily, making sure that he’s in order, and then the door swings open.

“There we—“

Logan fell silent. Virgil cleared his throat, tugging at his hoodie, making sure it covers any part of his neck that Roman had touched, or kissed, or bit. Logan and Patton looked between them.

“You know, when someone experiences physiological responses related to fear,” Logan said, sounding absolutely exhausted, “people often mislabel those responses, it’s called misattribution of arousal—”

Virgil, cheeks burning, leaned down to grab a t-shirt at random, balling it up and hurling it at Logan.

“It’s not just,” Virgil began heatedly, but then he saw Patton beaming, all gleeful and delighted, and talking about arousal in front of Patton is a bit like talking about arousal in church or something equally awkward and slightly taboo.

“You two,” Patton said, “you two—”

“Yeah, we—yeah,” Roman said, and looked to Virgil. “I mean, we—we are. Yeah?”

“—yeah,” Virgil said, and couldn’t stop his grin. “Yeah.”

“How romantic,” Logan said dryly.

Identically, Roman and Virgil reach out and shove at Logan’s shoulder.

[addictedforbooksquad]

B O O K  R E V I E W

╙ T H E  Q U E E N  O F  N O T H I N G  B Y  H O L L Y  B L A C K

genre: fantasy, young adult

publication date: 19th November, 2019

rating (1-5 scale):

writing:   ★ ★ ★ ★

characters & character development: ★ ★ ★ ★

could-not-put-it-down factor: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

general rating: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS!

 “By you, I am forever undone.”

Exhilarating. Feels-inducing. Heart-attacking. I didn't just read this book. I devoured it. Inhaled it through my pores. Drank it in with haste and thirst as if indulging in faerie wine after a year-long fast. Perhaps from a storytelling point of view, this wasn't as good as “The Wicked King” but nevertheless, I revelled in every single page. I read it in one go, from cover to cover, and all I can say is that it was absolutely worth a sleepless night. And then it left me so satisfied and full of reflections and feelings, then I just cannot stop thinking about it. And aren't those books, which leave us content and sated, and yet somehow yearning for even more of a good thing, just the best? Now, onto the details, the good and (despite 5-star rating) the bad: I. the sister thing Anyone who knows me, knows that I absolutely hated Taryn in the first two books. Betrayal of her sister aside, I just found her utterly and unforgivably...boring. In "The Queen of Nothing" though, I was happy to discover depths to her character that weren't that fleshed out before. From killing Locke (YASSS!!!) to standing up to Madoc, side by side with Jude and Vivi, Taryn finally showed with her ACTIONS, not words, which side she is on. And look, this perhaps doesn't erase what she did to Jude in “The Cruel Prince” but I liked how the story unfolded between them in this last installment. This is not a series about pure-hearted good characters. They all did awful things. They all did some of those awful things to each other. So in the end, I'm glad there was no "grovelling" on Taryn's part, no act of "official" forgiveness. That's not how things work in Faerie. More than that, all the sisterly moments! Loved them! Whether it was Taryn trying to gossip about Cardan with Jude or the three sisters united against Madoc, it was great to see a positive sister relationship in a fantasy for once. I definitely prefer them together than apart and set up against each other. II. the trick thing I had lots of theories after finishing "The Wicked King" about Cardan banishing Jude from Elfhame and damn, do I have a satisfaction of getting it at least partially right. I know a lot of people hated what Cardan did in TWK but personally, I loved that plot twist. I thought it evened out the playing field between them and I always knew there was more to it anyway. And would you look at that, it was indeed a trick! When Jude and Cardan reunited and he was so utterly confused that Jude WASN'T proud of him for pulling one over her...priceless. He did it to impress her. He did it to protect her (and his kingdom). He did it to, let's face it, get back at her. It's so wonderfully twisted, my pitch-black heart rejoices and flutters. Added to that delicious cake of dark and twisted is a cherry of irony on top which is the fact that Jude did realize that she could pardon herself...and didn't. She, who is usually so smart and devious and quick to pick up on other people being smart and devious, wasn't able to see through the smoke screen and guess Cardan's true intentions. Which isn't that surprising to me, because when it comes to feelings, my daughter Jude is the most hopeless and oblivious person in that fantasy realm. That lack of trust in Cardan cost her and it only underlined what needed to change - to be able to rule together, Jude and Cardan need to lower their defences when it comes to one another. But more on that in the next point. III. the love thing Jude and Cardan's dynamic has been one of my very favourite things about this series from the start. I love them both as characters and I love them as a ship. I was happy to find out that what unravelled between them in this last installment was utterly (with some minor mishaps) satisfying. Their reunion, untangling the coiled web of mistrust and misunderstandings, learning to trust and be trusted...it was everything. I longed to see them as allies and a team, rather than enemies and reluctant/forced co-operators from the start (not that it wasn't fun to see them as enemies and reluctant allies, IT WAS SO MUCH FUN) and here I got what I wished for. Love scenes, their talk of lowering their shields, those that had been kept up for so so long, melted my heart. Cardan's love confession? Perfect! And so fitting for him in my opinion. Only he would say ILY in such an off-handed manner.

Basically:

"Hi you probably already know this because you're so smart (and I love you) but I've loved you for a long time, OK we got stuff to do BYE" Perfection 😍😂 Cardan was also, quite obviously, Jude's first stan, and I just live for relationships like that. And the longing between them was so palpable. Especially in Cardan's letters to Jude, I could feel how much he missed his Queen *ugly weeping* I'd say that Jude's confession could've been handled better, as in, there could've been even more build-up to it, considering how good she is at holding on to her walls and defences. Still, I loved it in its own way. IV. the character development thing I know there are some who were dissatisfied with the plot twist and the ending. Personally, I thought it was very fitting though. The decision that Jude faces? Between love and power, between her own humanity and the possibility of utter control over Cardan? That dilemma was the best way to capture the character development she had gone through throughout this series. Ever since the beginning, Jude had been wondering about one thing - where will she draw a line? Is there a line that she won't cross to get more power? She got her answer in this book. As Jude was making her choice between killing Cardan or killing her chances at ruling Elfhame, I was crying heavy tears of someone who had witnessed a painful yet utterly satisfying journey. Jude had always been scared. Jude had always resented being weak and human. Jude had always craved power and security for herself. Jude had always hated being vulnerable and relished in the control she gained over Cardan. And with her choice, she embraced so much of what she had once resented. She chose hardship and uncertain future and opened herself up to being hurt. She chose love. She chose being human and weak and what-the-hell-I'll-deal-with-it-because-I'm-not-weak-at-all. She chose Cardan. *this reviewer took a 5-minute break at this point to wipe off all the tears from her keyboard* The point is, I loved the character development this choice represented and yet, Jude also remained very much herself by doing this. V. the loose thread thing Not to be overly sweet on this book, there were also some loose ends, all right. For one, I wish the relationship between Cardan and his mother was explored more, same with more insight into Jude's biological parents, especially her mother. It seemed like it was teased a lot in two previous installments and yet, I didn't experience nearly as much delivery as I expected on those subjects. I just wish there was more on this. VI. other things

Cardan calling Jude his wife, THE FEELS ARE REAL

the not-so-subtle hinting at the possible Taryn-Ghost romance, I dig it

loved the conclusion to Jude and Madoc relationship, he got exactly what he deserved

onto punishment topic, I also loved that Cardan left that responsibility solely within Jude's power

underlining the fact that Cardan is very stable in his feelings, very un-faerie-like was very much appreciated, I love one (1) Faerie boy

Vivi and Heather getting their HEA as well, YESSSS

the symbolism of Cardan creating two thrones from one, my heart stopped

Cardan in the mortal world (P.S. I NEED MORE OF THIS, approximately 483949 pages more)

I could go on and on but there was just so much - and in such a (relatively) short book too. What I will say is this - The Folk of the Air had been shaping up to be one of my favourite fantasy series, and "The Queen of Nothing" made it into a fact. Which it could have very well failed to do, as it often happens with final books in a series. Because ever since I finished "The Wicked King", I've been holding my breath, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop and for this final book not to live up to the very high expectations I've had for a conclusion not only to a great series, but also some of my very favourite characters and relationships. But after reading this, "I feel as though I can finally breathe again."        

[momonetmoproblems]

Virtual Identities & Oversharing

The Spammer & The Paparazzi: How much is too much?

Social Media has fashioned a space for persons across the world to depart from the realities of their average lives and enter a world in which, with an email address or cell number and a few abstract characters strung together to create a password, they can be whomever or whatever they like. Sometimes these personas are an extension of the true self or they may be fictitious and misleading characters to disguise a user’s genuine identity. People develop various personalities across social media platforms to suit their audience “like a chameleon that changes colours to suit its background or settings, so the online personality can change to adapt and fit in to an online community” says Stacey Koosel in The Renegotiated Self: Social Media’s Effects on Identity. This can range from the Perfect Christian on Facebook for the approval of familial onlookers to Miss #FlewedOut on Instagram for the admiration and acceptance of other IG “baddies” to the I Hate Men posse for the recognition of Feminist Twitter. Social Media is a performative space where users carry out a balancing act, never breaking character and executing top notch shows in exchange for rave reviews in the form of Likes, Retweets and Comments. 

From the impersonating of famous celebrities to World Record Eggs, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook among other platforms are breeding grounds for Virtual Identities, most of which, arguably, are false in nature. These concocted personas are often the manifestations of who one thinks he or she is or wishes he or she could be. The Spammer and The Paparazzi, as I will affectionately call them, are two of the foremost personas plaguing the internet, shifting perceptions of reality subtly but unmistakably, often through oversharing, and the repercussions can be grave.

Jaron Lanier, Chief Technology Officer at Microsoft, in the 2020 docudrama The Social Dilemma, states that social media causes a gradual, slight, imperceptible change in people’s behavior and perception altering what they do, how they think and who they are. Social Media, by nature, can turn users into “oversharers”, it is to be expected.  Afterall, Facebook prompts its users with “What’s on your mind?” and Twitter with “What’s happening?” And as more actors join these performative spaces, it can be observed that the more outrageous the spectacle, the more interactions, engagements, and impressions it will receive as it “[inspires] the passive audience to become more active, interactive and creative” avers Koosel. Gradually, there is more and more competition for the spotlight. So, what do people do? They generate more content in the hopes of finally or repeatedly going viral. Who wouldn’t want to see themselves on Good Morning America for their viral #VogueChallenge or get their artwork of Nicki Minaj acknowledged by the rapper with over 123 million followers and potential customers on Instagram? Unfortunately, not everyone is talented in these traditional ways, thus the performance becomes one of improvisation with very personal, provocative or pretended anecdotes, pictures or videos to spark a controversy. But it is imperative that we ask ourselves “How much is too much? 

The Spammer

The ultimate oversharer that will leave you screaming “T.M.I.” to your screen at least every other minute is the Spammer. Their tweets are often extremely personal and frequently appear in quick succession of each other. This type of user’s downfall is most likely that one post that the world did not need to see (believe it or not, the first tweet from the screenshot above is very real). This piece of information regularly falls in the hands of the worst person imaginable - an employer, parent, significant other or worse. This is the reality on the popular platform, Twitter. 

Take the case of Deputy Director of Public Prosecutions, Adley Duncan, for example. The series of tweets below has forced the DPP to establish a social media policy after backlash ensued on the timeline in response to Duncan’s unnecessary and inappropriate confession. He has since deactivated his account.

Twitter user and YouTuber, Niakumi, is another oversharer. Unfortunately, in her case, it cost her a little more than her Twitter account. YouTube has become Oversharing Central and has cost several vloggers their careers, accounts and fanbases because of a Storytime that never should have left their hard drive or a tweet that should never have left their drafts. 

The same can be identified in the case of the young JMMB employee who tweeted a “rape joke” which was quickly escalated to the JCF, Digicel and JMMB. The employee has since lost his job. 

The Paparazzi

Erving Goffman in The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life postulates when individuals interact with others, they attempt to police how they are perceived by constructing a certain image of desired impressions. Goffman illustrates that these individuals choose their own stage, props, and costumes for specific audiences. Though Goffman was referring to real life interactions, as the world becomes increasingly digital, these performances are most appreciated on social media. Enli and Thumim, in Socializing and Self-Representation Online, posit that users meticulously select the best information to convey to their respective audiences which may establish a certain status for that user based on popularity. And where can one find the best arena for a popularity contest? If you said “Instagram”, you are absolutely correct. 

The Paparazzi, best represented on IG, generates his or her “digiSelf” as Mark Federman used in The Cultural Paradox of the Global Village, by snapping a shot of every second of the day. This often includes: 

Their outfit (the costume)

Who they are with (God forbid the person is even minutely famous)

What they are driving, and the music played

The journey

The scenery

The destination (the stage)

The food, drinks – bring out the top shelf liquor – and the bill (the props)

Cyberstalking is now birthed from oversharing in the establishing of these virtual identities as this user is not only a danger to themselves but to those around them as they enable stalkers and others with ill intent to live-track their location making them an easy target. Several Jamaican women find themselves being plagued by their very own Joe (don’t say you haven’t watched You on Netflix) which the above Jamaica Observer article speaks to as six men summarize the ways in which they kept tabs on an ex using social media, while international artistes, Tay Way and Pop Smoke, have fallen victim to this habit and the repercussions were fatal in both cases.

Users must be cognizant that their Virtual Identities or digiSelves, so long as they are associated with their governmental naming, are a reflection of whatever entity they find themselves employed, even if they do not intend it. These brands have worked tirelessly for years to maintain their image and will not hesitate to shed dead weight tainting their brand identity. Moreover, the savages viewers on social media are out for blood and will not hesitate to pull out the pitchforks and torches when someone missteps, #CancelCulture. Other users will not give the benefit of separating one’s real self and the digiSelf, they are far more likely to take one’s content at face value. Therefore, think upon what you want people to see when they type in your name or “handle”, what should they take away from your profile? 

Furthermore, social media, when overused and abused, leave users vulnerable to the ill-minded lurkers in the shadows. Tactics like keeping a low profile, utilizing privacy settings by being specific about who can view one’s content and the follow or friend requests accepted, reducing the amount of personal information associated with one’s account and, if one must snap, posting the content when safely home enable users to lessen the likelihood of being cyberstalked.

To be safe overall? 

Next time Twitter asks, “What’s happening”, or the next time you hit the road for a night on the town, ask yourself “How much is too much?”

References

Dazio, S. (2020, July 10). Police: Pop Smoke's social media led killers to LA home. ABC News. https://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/wireStory/police-arrested-los-angeles-death-rapper-pop-smoke-71695053

Enli, S & Thumim, N. (2012). Socializing and Self Representation Online: Exploring Facebook.

Federman, M. (2006). The cultural paradox of the global village. Keynote Speech at McLuhan Programme in Culture and Technology, University of Toronto.

Gartrell, N. & Bouscher, D. (2020, September 18). Richmond rapper Tay Way gunned down minutes after posting Instagram video that revealed his location. Mercury News. https://www.mercurynews.com/2020/09/18/three-shot-one-killed-in-richmond-drive-by-shooting/

Goffman, E. (1959). The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.

Knight, C. (2019, April 29). All Woman Relationships Stalker mode: 'I would dial her number just to listen to her voice'. The Jamaica Observer. http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/all-woman/stalker-mode-i-would-dial-her-number-just-to-listen-to-her-voice-_163249?profile=1263

Koosel, S. (2015). The Renegotiated Self: Social Media’s Effects on Identity. Alfapress.

Zaman, M. (2020, September 2). The People Who Created Facebook & YouTube Are Sorry. Refinery 29. https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/2020/09/10002175/social-media-effects-the-social-dilemma-netflix-documentary