#this isn't my first time on tumblr i just haven't used it for ages... now it feels awkward

[azaracyy]

tamersona week post for day 1 & 2, introduction for tamer and digimon. they're more my go-to ocs than self-inserts actually, if it's not clear enough xD

[gatheredfates]

POSES. It happened! ✨

I made a smaller post this morning, but I am super pleased to announce that Tumblr's moderation has approved SEAFLOOR as a Community! We're live, baeby!

If you don't know what a Community is, you can check out Tumblr's post about it here.

If you are interested in joining, I will copy/paste the information contained on the Community's pinned post in the read more below, as you won't see it otherwise (outside of joining). I'd like to kindly request that if you are already a member of the Community to not like this post (it just saves me doubling up) but please reblog it to spread the word!

Welcome to SEAFLOOR! This a Community run by myself, Sea (@gatheredfates), as an offshoot of the identically named Discord server aimed to contain both my personal projects and promote member-created content. If you would still like to keep up to date with my projects, interact with members of my community, and generally enjoy xiv content without the pressure of a Discord, this is the place!

This server has mandatory tags that MUST be used for spoilers. A general rule of thumb is the most recent patch/live letter is considered spoiler content and must be marked accordingly; as well as major spoilers for the most recent expansion. If it doubt, it always pays to tag. Please mind the following:

#dawntrail spoilers

#7.0. spoilers (will likely come into effect for 7.1 to differentiate from general Dawntrail spoilers, but you can tag for both!)

#liveletter spoilers

Much like my Discord, there are some house rules I want to put in place first for first-time users. Please familiarise yourself with the below. This post is pinned; you can't claim you haven't seen it. A lot of these are near-identical to the server rules, but I'll be no-less forceful in implementation if they are not adhered to.

If I'm being entirely honest, moderation past Community maintenance is something I do not want to engage with, so I will be intervening only when it is entirely necessary and will be harsh in my implementation. Therefore, if you don't think you can conduct yourself in a healthy, adult manner, do not join. Some of these rules may seem 'harsh' but are the product of me making clear boundaries in what I will expect, tolerate and foster. I will not hesitate to curate where I feel it is necessary.

I believe in the age-old phrase "Be excellent to each other," and that underpins every rule featured below. If in doubt, refer back to this mantra.

This Community is strictly 21+ only. This is to keep in line with my personal boundaries regarding minors. It's nothing personal, I just don't have time to moderate for a younger audience.

Common-sense rules apply. Do not break Tumblr's ToS, spoiler/content warm where appropriate and sensible, and don't be rude/harass people in the comments. Just because a rule isn't explicitly stated doesn't mean you have full reign to do the thing.

Intolerance (namely racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.) will not be tolerated. If you don't like it, the back button is free.

Due to this being a predominately XIV focused Community, dark themes will present due to subject manner explored in the game. I will not enforce mandatory tags/censors outside of patch/expansion spoilers; I just ask that people use their common sense and consider peoples' safety and mental wellbeing when posting work(s). If you do not warn appropriately or mock/ignore requests for things to be censored/warned, you will be removed.

As Communities are in their infancy, rules may be amended/adjusted to better fit this space's purpose as time goes on. While I will attempt to make these changes obvious, please check back on occasion just in case. "I didn't know," is not a valid excuse.

HOKAY, now that the serious of the rules are out of the way, you might be wondering to yourself, "Sea, what can be posted?" I'm glad you asked! ✨ First and foremost, as I do not encourage secular spaces, please make sure all content has originated from a public tumblr blog. I want to encourage people to reach out, interact and follow other people, not just stick to this space! Beyond that, I accept:

Screenshots (gpose), writing, art, think pieces and other xiv content created by members. You can tag these with #gpose, #writing, #art, etc.

Resource gathering similar to what is featured in the Discord server including resources, prompts, commissions, etc. You can tag these with #resources, #prompts, #WoLQoTD, #commissions, #other, etc. These do not have to be created by members in the community.

Event, character profiles, looking for content/rp/free companies and more! You can tag these with #events, #character profile, #lfc, #lfr, #free company, etc. These do not have to be created by members in the community.

Links to lodestone posts/dev commentary and other official posts provided they are tagged correctly. You can tag these with #lodestone.

Anything you've created in response to my projects! You can tag these as #sea's character questions OR whatever the event is at the time (for example, Down to Dawntrail posts can be tagged as #(count)down to dawntrail)! I will try to reblog anything that I am tagged in if the owner doesn't reblog it here.

Anything xiv related that isn't covered here but you think is in line with the spirit of this community and what I'm trying to foster. Please DM me if you're unsure.

[moonblastbitch]

Yellow card update

Hi ya'll! So I barely use tumblr nowadays, but considering some stuff going on I thought it would be good to do a quick little come back.

So hi! I'm Kit, I write the griddlehark fic Yellow Card with my friend Starr. It's a very silly fanfiction about age difference Harrow and Gideon having an affair and raising a child together. It's pretty well known in TLT fan spaces which I'm super grateful for! It's not an understatement to call this little fic my pride and joy. I've spent the last two years working on it as my little labor of love and it's kinda grown a cult of followers! Really, it's a fun excuse for me and my friend to work on something we care about together. But lately I haven't felt inclined to work on it and I want to talk about why.

Over the last several months I've had some health stuff going on that's resulted in needing two surgeries. Along with that, I moved into a new place and my gf and I are managing some new financial stress. Plus, you know, the general state of democracy in decay all around the world. It doesn't leave me a lot of time or energy to write silly smut fic. Everyone has been very supportive of me taking the time I need to recover and I'm really grateful.

But... this is where I have to address some not great stuff. Today my friend approached me with a fanfiction making fun of my writing. And several posts from someone making fun of the tropes I use in the writing. Now, I want to make this abundantly clear. Absolutely no one is required to like my writing style or fics. I don't write for praise or wealth, just for my own personal happiness. I think everyone is within their right to complain to their friends if they dislike something they read. What I really can't tolerate however is this intense hostility toward myself or my fellow writers. Nor do I appreciate having an entire fic written mocking me or my stylistic choices.

Back when I first joined the TLT fandom in 2020 it was teeny tiny. Now it's a lot less so. It's been so satisfying to see everyone grow and change over the years, and I think I've grown a lot as a writer. Sadly though, I've seen a lot of stupid bullshit. I've seen personal friends of mine targeted in harassment campaigns because they ship the wrong ship. I've been added to public bookmarks complaining about my writing, I've been subtweeted, I've been made fun of. And I think I'm done.

I write for my own pleasure. I write to bond with my friends. I am not writing for homophobic assholes who use my work to mock me, nor make me or my co-writer the target of harassment. So, as a result, Yellow Card and all my other TLT fics are on an immidate hiatus, with the exception of one upcoming commission for the TLT for Palestine charity.

I spent a long time tonight debating if I should even write this post. It seems like by writing this I'd be giving the people making fun of me more ammo. But honestly? I don't care. My feelings are hurt. I am upset. I shouldn't have to hide that because some bullies will take bits of this statement to use in their next bitchy text post.

I want to reiterate something important. I am open to critque on my work. Anyone who has an issue with my writing style is more than welcome to come into my comments and let me know if something isn't flowing right, if there are unfortunate implications of a line I may not have considered, if there is something they personally find a bit distasteful. Sadly, the people doing this skipped right to mockery and ridicule, and that is unacceptable.

What drew me to this fandom in the first place was Muir's openness to her background in fanworks. She clearly takes such pride knowing her book series has spawned into a wild, happy fandom writing crack silliness and serious character study alike. Because that is what fandom is for. Having fun in a big beautiful sandbox, creating art with friends. And I treasure that deeply, even as I am forced to walk away from a space I love.

TLDR: TLT fandom is full of dicks. And not the kind I write about.

Thank you to everyone whose offered me kindness and support over the years! I truly appreciate you all. If you wanna stay in contact, it's easiest to find me over on twitter @moonblastbitch or discord (same name)

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spring Fling

(gif by @pedropascalsx. I've given up using Tumblr gif search)

Pairing: Marcus Pike x virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 19,228. Oops.

Warnings: Significant age gap (almost 20 years), college-age reader, sexual tension, mentions of: strained familial relationships, divorce, unhealthy breakups, stalker(ish) behavior (PAST), therapy. Virgin/inexperienced reader, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected PIV sex and a lot of it, comeplay if you squint, Marcus’s filthy filthy mouth, happy ending

Summary: When you and your friend, fellow pre-Law student Emma, plan to go to Washington DC for spring break instead of the typical beach destination, she makes plans for the two of you to stay with her estranged father for the week to save money on lodging. You never expected Emma’s father, a man she says she’s barely seen throughout the years, to be so sweet, so troubled, and so unfairly pretty. Neither did you expect for what you'd thought was a one-sided attraction to turn into a spring fling... or maybe something more.

A/N: I got an ask asking about 'Best Friend's Dad' Marcus Pike, so I now post a question to you, dear reader: What if Marcus Pike had a college-age kid from his first marriage, one that he'd entered into at a very young age because of an unplanned pregnancy? Anyway to find out the answer read this almost 20k fic LOL

Masterlist

"We should go somewhere for spring break."

Your friend and fellow pre-Law student at the University of Texas, Emma, laughs. "Go somewhere? Like what, the fucking beach? And with what money?"

"No, no beaches. Somewhere cool. Somewhere unusual."

"Like what?" Emma asks, shoving another handful of chips in her mouth.

"I've never been to Washington, DC," you comment thoughtfully.

"I thought every public school in the entire country went to DC at some point," Emma remarks. 

"I had the chickenpox."

"Ew."

"Do you think that would be fun? Going to the Capitol for break?" you ask.

"I guess," Emma shrugs. "It's better than going to writhe on the beach with fifty thousand wasted twentysomethings."

"There's still the issue of how to pay for a trip. For any trip. I think I could cover airfare, but a DC hotel? Ugh," you say with a groan. 

"I could put the hotel on my credit card and work a bunch of extra shifts at Pizza Express afterward to make up for it," Emma says. "But that would pretty much max out my card."

"I can look up the cheapest spots outside the city," you suggest. "And we can take the metro in."

"Outside the city isn't going to be much better," Emma remarks. "We could… nah."

You look up, curious. "We could… what?"

"Well, my uh, my dad actually lives in DC."

"Your dad?" you repeat incredulously. "You've literally never mentioned your dad. I thought he and your mom were estranged?"

"Sorta," Emma says. "The official story is that they married too young and eventually separated."

"...And the unofficial story?"

"My mom found out she was pregnant at nineteen, and my dad wanted to do the right thing, so he married her. But I guess they weren't right for each other, because they were already divorced by the time I was two."

"Do you see him much?" you ask.

"I used to," Emma says quietly. "But my mom was never really enthusiastic about spending much time together, so it wasn’t very often. And then he moved to DC when I was a junior in high school, and I haven't seen him since. He always sends me cards on my birthday and Christmas, though. And…" she suddenly blushes, looking down and away.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What, Em?"

"He pays for my tuition."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I've barely had to take out any loans. It's just for housing and stuff."

"You ass, you never told me that!"

"It's not common knowledge," Emma mumbles. "Besides, no one wants to admit they've got an absent, divorced father paying the bills."

"But you'd want to contact him for this? For a place to crash over spring break for a week?"

"He's nice," Emma says quietly. "I always got the feeling that he wanted to do his best by us."

"I mean, if you're cool with it, it kinda sounds fun," you admit. "Better than Galveston, anyway."

Emma laughs. "Yeah, way better than Galveston."

"Holy shit, Em, you can see the Capitol from here." 

The two of you had emerged from the underground tunnel of the metro station, trailing suitcases behind you, into what feels like the middle of the city itself. The busy street is flanked with large condominiums on both sides, with--unbelievably--a view of the Capitol building in the distance.

"I think it's this one," Emma says, squinting at the address on her phone and back up at one of the buildings. 

"How do we get in?" you ask. 

"He just said to text him," Emma answers. "Hang on." She taps out a message on her phone before sliding it back into her pocket. "And now we wait."

You barely have time to check your email before the front door opens and a man emerges, striding quickly toward the two of you. You think he's about to envelop your friend into a crushing hug, but he stops short, eyes wavering with uncertainty as he looks his daughter up and down. His hand reaches toward her arm, but he hesitates just short of touching.

"Emma," the man breathes, the emotion evident in his voice making you want to duck your head and turn away from the scene. 

"Hey, uh, Dad," Emma says, giving him a sheepish smile. "Been a while."

"It's been six years," the man says emphatically. 

"Yeah."

You watch as Emma's father's fingers twitch toward her. "C-Can I–" 

Emma shrugs. "'Course."

The man carefully steps forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. His eyes close, his eyebrows pull upward to reveal a deep crease in between them as he holds his daughter for apparently the first time in six years. This time, you do look away from what feels like surprisingly tender and private moment. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for your graduation," you hear him say softly. "I was undercover for a case, and… Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. You don't know how badly I wanted to be there."

"S'okay," Emma says cooly. She steps back, and, for the first time, her father seems to notice you. 

"Hi," he says brightly, and his pained, heartfelt expression melts into an easy smile as he extends his hand to you. "Marcus." 

You don't know what you had been expecting. Maybe someone older. Maybe someone less… attractive. Not this frankly gorgeous man, with his boyish smile, pretty eyes that crinkle around the edges, slightly mussed brown hair that falls over his forehead, and the light smattering of facial hair that only seems to soften his features further. Not that he needed any help, in that respect. Slightly stunned, you step forward and take the man’s hand, trying not to trip over the syllables of your own name.

Marcus’s smile widens, and he repeats your name, which does nothing to quell the sudden burst of butterflies in your stomach–and are your palms sweating?

"Thank you for allowing us to stay for the week," you say politely, forcing yourself out of the trance.

"Not a problem," Marcus answers. "What a great destination for spring break! Whose idea was that?"

"Mine," you say with a little laugh. 

"My kind of girl," Marcus jokes. "Keeping my daughter out of trouble."

"Dad," Emma groans. "I'm not a kid."

"Well, last time I saw you, you were fifteen," Marcus says pointedly. "You're gonna have to let my brain do a little catch-up, here."

"Well, to start with, I'm not a beach party kind of person," Emma says. "I'm a nerd–y'know, being pre-Law and all."

Emma's father beams. "So I've heard. Well, I'm happy to host two nerds while they do a little sightseeing in the nation's Capitol. I can even," he adds with a conspiratorial smile, "give you a tour of the J. Edgar Hoover building. If–If you want," he finishes awkwardly, appearing hesitant and unsure again.

"Oh, cool!" you exclaim automatically, without thinking.

Marcus grins widely at your enthusiasm, and you find yourself staring at your shoes, biting your lip as you flounder under his attention. You're being weird. Stop it. 

"Y-Yeah," Emma adds, nodding hesitantly. "That would be nice... Dad. Thanks."

“C’mon,” Marcus says, grabbing both Emma’s bag and, before you can protest, yours. “Come on up. I ordered some pizza for everyone. You can get settled tonight and… go do whatever you two want to do in the morning.”

The two of you follow Marcus through the lobby and into the elevator. You can’t help but keep stealing little glances at him–the way his shoulders fill out the maroon henley he’s wearing over jeans, the way those shoulders taper down to narrow hips, the way he’s got the top two buttons of his shirt casually undone, showing you a hint of collarbone that has you damn-near salivating. Snap out of it. Oh, God, snap out of it. You’ve known the man for five minutes, and you feel like you’re losing your mind. It’s gonna be a long week if you don’t pull it together. 

Marcus opens the front door and gestures the two of you in before him. You stand awkwardly in the living room, looking around at the furniture and at the decor on the walls, looking anywhere but at your best friend’s dad, whose very presence seems to fluster you beyond all reason.

“I just have one spare room, hopefully you two don’t mind sharing…?” Marcus asks.

“That’s fine,” Emma says good-naturedly. 

“It’s just through here,” he says, walking past you. “I’ll set your bags down in there and show you around.”

The room is clearly his workspace–there’s a desk and a chair shoved into a corner to make room for a comfortable-looking guest bed. The side wall is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and you subconsciously step toward them, eager to see what titles this man keeps on his shelves.

“Sorry, it’s kind of an… all-purpose room,” Marcus says sheepishly. “Bit cluttered.”

“I like it,” you murmur absentmindedly, still scanning the spines.

“‘Gardner’s Art Through the Ages’” Emma reads, crinkling her nose. “How many editions of this book do you have?”

Her father laughs. “It’s work stuff, mostly. Although there’s a few thrillers here and there. And some classics.” He approaches the shelves as well, and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck start to stand up on end at the sensation of his body hovering just behind you. You’re so… aware of him. You don’t know if it’s because Marcus seems to naturally command every space he’s in or if there’s something electric that’s pulling you toward him, but either way, your entire body feels as though it’s on high alert.

A sharp buzzing makes you jump comically, making Emma snort.

“That’ll be the pizza,” Marcus announces. “Be right back.”

You glance over at Emma, who is still staring disinterestedly at the bookshelves. “It’s a nice place,” you say conversationally. 

“Mmmhm.”

“You okay?” you ask softly.

“Oh, yeah,” Emma scoffs, waving her hand. “Just been a while. It’s weird. You know.”

“He seems nice,” you say.

“He is,” she remarks. “I told you he was. I just… don’t know him very well. Like he said, I haven’t seen him in six years.”

“Maybe this will be good, then,” you suggest. “Get to know him now that you’re an adult and all that.”

Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

You look back at the shelves. Emma was right; Marcus does have an alarmingly large number of editions of Art Through the Ages. You furrow your brow.

“What does your dad do in DC?”

“Oh, did I not tell you? He’s in the FBI.”

You feel as though you’ve swallowed your tongue, but before you can garble out a response–something like, “Mmmgnnbbllgffnhh?”–you hear Marcus coming back.

“Get it while it’s hot!” he says cheerfully. “You guys must be hungry after traveling all day.”

“Oh wow, Dad, that’s… a lot of pizza for three people,” Emma says, her eyebrows raising in surprise and confusion.

She’s right–there are five boxes sitting on the small kitchen island, along with several options of drink.

“I had no idea what either of you liked,” Marcus reasoned. “So I got a few different options. Cheese, pepperoni, supreme, hawaiian, and some kind of vegan thing, just in case.”

“You know, you could have just texted,” Emma remarks, at the same time that you whisper, “Thank you.”

Marcus looks sheepish. “Wanted to surprise you. Anyway, dig in–there’s obviously a lot.” He laughs quietly to himself, grabbing three plates and setting them down on the counter. You grab three different kinds–supreme, hawaiian, and the vegan option, out of curiosity–and sit on one of the barstools opposite Marcus. Emma grabs two cheeses and sits down next to you.

“So,” he says after a few minutes of surprisingly companionable silence. “I know Emma is pre-Law. Are you pre-Law too?” he asks, looking at you with a friendly, curious smile. 

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, tight-lipped. You hate this conversation–the college-age version of ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Everyone asks the question with good intent, but it always leaves you in an anxiety spiral, an existential crisis, because no matter how many times you’re asked, you have absofuckinglutely no idea. 

“What kind of law do you want to go into?” This question is addressed more to Emma, who immediately launches into an explanation of Environmental Law and the impact of climate change on public health. Marcus nods eagerly, giving Emma his full attention as she talks, watching her with a small smile. 

“What about you?” he asks when she’s done, turning to you.

You gulp. 

“I don’t—I don’t really know. Not yet, anyways.” You brace yourself for the judgmental eyebrow raise, the well-meaning advice.

“That’s okay,” Marcus says, smiling. “No one says you have to have it figured out at… how old are you?”

“T-Twenty,” you mumble, feeling more naive and inexperienced than you ever have before.

“Nah,” Marcus says, shaking his head playfully. “No one has it figured out at twenty. And the people who think they do? They change.”

His eyes go far away for a split-second, and you wonder what he must have been like at twenty. Did he already have Emma at that point? Did he just find out that his girlfriend was pregnant? Was he panicking, trying to figure out how to make things work? You wonder what it was that he had wanted to do, and what he had sacrificed for Emma and her mom. You wonder if he had wanted the divorce, or if she had been the one to suggest it.

“Anyway,” Marcus says, casually waving a slice of pepperoni as he talks, “I mostly work with criminal lawyers. If that’s something you’re interested in, I could arrange a chat with someone this week.”

“Oh,” you say, too stunned to say anything else. “Yeah, maybe.”

Marcus shrugs good-naturedly. “Think about it,” he says, giving you another crooked grin. His eyes crinkle around the edges when he smiles, and it makes your stomach do somersaults. 

“Yeah,” you say again, a little breathlessly. Your next bite of pizza misses your mouth entirely, and you manage to stab yourself in the cheek with your slice, transferring a glob of tomato sauce onto your face in the process.

Emma laughs, and Marcus’s eyes glitter with amusement as you frantically reach for a napkin. 

“So you do, um… FBI stuff?” you ask him clumsily, trying to break the silence.

“Yep. FBI Stuff. Says it on my badge and everything.”

“Why do you have a bunch of art books?”

“I lead an international task force dealing with art crimes,” he answers patiently. 

“What constitutes an art crime?” Emma asks, her mouth full.

“Theft,” Marcus lists, “forgeries, black market sales, dealing in antiquities, looting of archaeological sites…”

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, a dopey smile on your face. Emma shoots you a funny look.

“So it’s like, nerdy FBI stuff,” she says.

“The nerdiest,” Marcus agrees, smiling.

“Do you still have a gun and stuff?”

“I do,” Marcus says carefully, frowning slightly. “It’s in the safe for the week, though, while you’re here.”

Your stomach flip-flops at the mental image of Emma’s dad holding a gun, those warm brown eyes dark with focus as he stares down… an art thief. Or something. 

“Enough about your old man,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “What are you two looking to do tomorrow on your first day in DC?”

“Think we’ll hit the museums,” Emma says. “Get them out of the way first. We want to see the Library of Congress, obviously. Plus walking around to all the monuments and stuff. Oh, and the zoo!”

“Do you want my advice?” Marcus asks, and you both nod. “It’s supposed to be unseasonably warm tomorrow, and sunny. I’d do the monument tour or the zoo tomorrow if I were you. Save the indoor stuff for the end of the week, because it’s supposed to rain.”

“Monuments it is!” Emma exclaims. “Hey, can I… can I use your shower? I feel kinda gross from the travel day.”

“Absolutely.” Marcus hops up, leading Emma over to the guest bathroom. You listen as he points out a stack of towels intended for the two of you during your stay, the extra shampoo he’d bought, the spare toothbrushes just in case… Eventually he returns, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking hesitant again.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You went through a lot of trouble, and–”

“It’s no trouble,” Marcus says quickly. “No trouble at all. I–I have to admit I was surprised when Em–when she called, but I’m–I’m more than happy to host you two for the week. It’s no trouble at all,” he repeats.

“Okay,” you say dumbly. You’re staring again, unable to help the way your eyes are drawn to the way his arms fill out the shirt he's wearing when his hands are in his pockets like that. 

"You alright?" 

Your eyes flit up to his at the question. He's looking back at you, his head cocked to the side as he watches you. And suddenly, you can just tell–you can tell that he knows how flustered you are in front of him. 

You nod rapidly up and down in response, not trusting yourself to answer.  

"Good. Had enough pizza?"

"Mmhmm."

"Anything else to drink?" he asks. 

"Got any beer?" you ask with a quirk of your eyebrow.

"You told me you were twenty," Marcus reminds you. 

"Oh."

"And I work for law enforcement," he says gravely. 

Oh. 

"Oh, f-fuck, I um… I was kidding. Holy shit. I'm sorry. Seriously, I'm not a-a bad… student, or anything. I swear, I–"

As you continue to frantically backtrack, you realize that Marcus’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. 

"Oh, you're funny. Real funny. Ha. Ha."

"Next you'll be saying I should quit my day job," he says, his eyes sparkling. 

"I'm not sure what kind of art… crime… solver… you are, but I have to believe you're a better agent than you are a comedian," you deadpan. 

"You can come to my stand-up show on Tuesday and see for yourself."

Your jaw drops before you realize Marcus's lips are quivering with the effort of keeping a straight face. 

"You're on fire, tonight," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"You'll have to forgive me," he says, a gentle, more wistful smile gracing his lips. "I don't have company often, and it's been even longer since I've seen–" his eyes flick to the bathroom door, and he looks troubled for a moment. 

"Strictly off the record, if you do want a beer, I happen to have some," he says, changing the subject and smiling back at you again. 

"Nah, I'll save that favor for later in the week," you tell him.

"Noted," Marcus replies. He's looking at you again, still. He seems to be one of those people who gives all of his focus to someone when they speak, and the attention is starting to overwhelm you. 

"Hey!" Emma calls from the guest bedroom. "I wanna get started early tomorrow. Those monuments aren't gonna monument themselves."

You laugh and roll your eyes. "That's my cue," you say with a little smile. "Gonna grab a shower myself and call it a night."

"If you need anything, I'm a room away," Marcus says, but it only serves to remind you that this man will be sleeping in the next room.

"Got it," you say, nodding thickly. "Um, good night."

"Good night," he answers softly. 

When you reach the bathroom door, you turn around again–you can't help yourself. 

He's still looking at you. 

"Get up!

"Get up!"

"GET–"

"Okay!" you whine, throwing an extra pillow in the general direction of Emma's voice. "Fuck. I'm up."

You throw on a pair of jeans and a faded tee, scrubbing your hands over your face as you stumble out of the guest room and into the kitchen, where Marcus hands you a cup of coffee, which you accept with a grunt.

"Emma warned me that you weren't a morning person," he says. 

"God, it's both of you, isn't it?" you grumble. "Morning people."

"I guess we turned out alike after all," Marcus says with a soft smile, watching as you take a grateful sip from the mug. "What's the first stop on the list?"

"I dunno, she's got it all planned out," you murmur. "Of like, seeing the farthest place first and working our way back."

"Sounds like a plan," Marcus says. "You two have fun."

"What are you doing today?" Emma interjects, coming into the kitchen, grabbing a bagel off of the counter, and stuffing it into her mouth. 

"Well, it's Sunday, so… grocery shopping," Marcus says. "Any special requests?"

"Filet mignon," Emma says. 

"You got it. Want some lobster tails as well?"

"Mmhmm."

"I was thinking more along the lines of spaghetti and meatballs. Anything else you ladies would like?"

Emma shuffles her feet, and you frown slightly. You've never known her not to immediately say what's on her mind–and clearly, something is. 

"What is it, Emmie?" Marcus asks softly.

"Do you remember that one time that we came to your family's for Christmas–I think I was maybe twelve?–and you made…"

"...Tamales?" Marcus asks, his eyebrows shooting upward. 

"Yeah," Emma answers, her voice smaller than you've ever heard it. "I still remember those. They were really good."

"Jesus, I haven't made those in…" he shakes his head. "I don't even know. But uh, sure. We can do that. Tamale night. It's a deal."

"Thanks," Emma says, smiling. "And… really? 'Emmie?' Dad, I'm not seven anymore."

"My mistake," Marcus says with a playful wink in your direction–which might make your heart stop. "You girls stay safe. Text if you need anything."

Marcus was right–the weather is beautiful today. It’s perfect for walking endlessly from monument to monument, which you do all morning. You try to stay focused–thoughtfully reading the names on the Vietnam War Memorial and not thinking about Emma’s dad, in the plain white t-shirt he had been wearing this morning, in the produce section picking out apples. Even worse, you try not to imagine the sight of him cooking tonight.

He’s becoming a bit of an obsession for you, you can admit it. You want to know everything about him–what his job is like, what he does on the weekends, what he likes to read, what he did in the past to alienate the mother of his child enough that he’s barely seen his daughter–who he very clearly cares deeply for…

As you walk around the Washington Monument, you can’t stand it any longer. 

“Sooooo. It seems like things are going well between you and your dad,” you say conversationally.

“How do you mean?” 

“Less awkward, I guess.”

“It’s not that we don’t get along,” Emma says with a shrug. “We always used to. Like I said, I always thought he was nice. My mom…” 

“She didn’t like him?”

“She didn’t want to be around him. I don’t know why. They tried to protect me from the messy parts of divorce, but part of that means that I have no idea what their history is. She never talked about it. Neither did he.”

“Huh.” You stare in silence at the large white obelisk. “I wonder what happened.”

“I thought about asking my mom,” Emma says. “Lots of times, but I never got up the courage.”

“You should ask him,” you say quietly. “I get the feeling he needs to tell the story.”

Emma gives you a funny look. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

You shrug. “I’m weird.”

“Fair.”

The two of you walk until it feels as though your feet are going to fall off. 

“My feet are going to fall off,” you announce. “Surely there are no more monuments in the entirety of Washington, DC.”

“We’ve still got the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

“Uggghhhh, how important can he be? He’s unknown.”

“This was your idea,” Emma points out. “Go to DC for spring break! Stay with my best friend’s estranged dad! Walk around and see all the monuments and shit!”

“Too many steps,” you groan. “They should all be concentrated in one square mile of land.”

“One more,” Emma promises. “And then spaghetti.”

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” you counter.

“And laying on the couch watching TV,” Emma agrees. “...And tomorrow we go to the zoo.”

“No!”

Marcus chuckles as you stumble into his condo just after six. You immediately collapse onto the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“I’m staying right here for the rest of the week,” you announce.

“It’s been one day,” Marcus points out. 

“My phone’s step counter measures over thirty thousand steps,” you mumble. “I’m done.”

“That’s a lot,” Marcus concedes. “Hopefully that means the two of you are hungry this evening.”

“Fucking starving,” Emma agrees, crashing onto the couch herself and nearly colliding with you as she does so. 

“Well, since everyone is so tired,” Marcus says, the playfulness evident in his voice, “I’ll make spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Tamales are a group effort, so you two better be ready to work for your food.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” Emma remarks with an exaggerated accent, causing you to laugh giddily. 

While Emma’s eyes are closed, you take advantage, watching Marcus–still with that same fitted white shirt–in the kitchen, boiling water, heating the sauce, and adding the meatballs. He must sense your gaze, because he turns, a characteristic crooked smile on his lips as he acknowledges you. 

“I know they’re frozen,” he admits, speaking of the meatballs, “but they always taste the same to me anyway.”

“I can’t wait,” you say, truthfully. “It’s been a long day.”

As if to demonstrate the fact, a loud snore emanates from the body next to you, making you grin.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Marcus says softly. “I don’t often have the opportunity to cook for… more than one.”

“No girlfriend?” you ask conversationally. 

Marcus laughs. “I’m… in between things, I suppose.”

“In between,” you parrot with a laugh. “How long have you been ‘in between?’”

He huffs. “Too long,” he murmurs. 

“How come?” you ask quietly.

Marcus frowns, thinking. “I dunno. No one recently has been… exactly what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” you ask breathlessly.

“Spaghetti,” Emma mumbles from the couch.

“Spaghetti,” Marcus repeats, giving me a slightly melancholy smile. “Exactly. Come and get it, you two.”

Emma stirs, stumbling into the kitchen where two giant bowls of spaghetti and meatballs are awaiting the two of you.

“Holy shit,” she remarks. “Thanks for this.”

“Of course,” Marcus says. “I would never agree for you to stay and then not…” he trails off, unsure of himself.

You’re starting to realize that the bulk of Marcus’s most emotional statements go unsaid. I would ever agree for you to stay and then not take care of you, is what he hadn’t said. 

“Still doing the zoo tomorrow?” he asks, changing the subject, as always.

“Yup,” Emma answers.

He huffs, smiling wistfully. “Been ages since I’ve been to a zoo.”

“D’you wanna go?” you ask, before you can determine that it’s a bad idea.

Marcus looks at you, indecisive for a few seconds before he seemingly comes to his senses. “Nah,” he says, grinning. “You two have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Emma asks. “Apparently there’s a new panda baby.”

“That’s a hard bargain,” he admits.

“You should come with,” Emma decides. “It could be fun.”

“All right,” Marcus agrees hesitantly.

“It’s Monday,” you point out. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I’ll call off,” he answers quickly. “Not everyday one’s daughter is in town for an impromptu zoo trip.”

“Look at the little lad,” Emma gushes. 

“The what?” Marcus asks. 

The three of you are staring at the panda enclosure, watching the newest addition to the zoo cause chaos.

“The chonky boi,” you agree.

“I have no idea what you two are saying,” Marcus admits. 

“The baby panda is cute,” Emma offers. 

“That I can agree on,” he decides.

The three of you, you’ve decided, make a good team. You try not to think about how your heart burns whenever Marcus looks at you, how your stomach does flips whenever he laughs. If you’re going to be a good friend to Emma–and you are–you’re going to have to put this silly crush aside and accept the fact that he’s a package deal with your best friend. 

That doesn’t stop the way the man looks at you, though. 

You think you’re imagining it, at first. After all, Marcus seems to be the type of person who focuses completely on whatever anyone has to say. The more you’re with him, though, it’s hard to deny that he seems to look at you just a tiny bit longer.

You start to notice it all day–when you’re looking at the exhibits, Marcus is looking at you. 

He’s watching your reaction to them–smiling when you smile, laughing when you laugh. You can’t parse out the meaning behind his actions–does it mean something? If so, what? What does it mean? 

You can’t admit the truth to yourself until you’re in the insect house. Emma is giddy with interest, and you… are trying. 

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks softly in your ear–and you try not to shiver.

“Great,” you squeak. “Just don’t love the bird-eating spider.”

“I don’t like them either,” he confesses with a smile. “Do you need to leave?”

“Idunno,” you mumble, slurring the words together. 

“Emmie,” Marcus announces, “we’re going to take a little break, okay?”

“Mmm.” 

You and Marcus escape into the bright sunshine, and you let out an awkward laugh. “I can’t believe they have some of them loose in there–without glass or anything!”

“I’m not going back in that building,” Marcus agrees, laughing with you. “The giant orb weaver was the last straw.”

“That was awful,” you say, nodding.

“Come to think of it, I might be more of a baby panda guy, myself.”

“I’ll take the snakes over this,” you agree.

You sit down on a nearby bench, still giggling together as you wait for Emma.

“Is it weird if I say I’m glad you came?” you ask quietly.

“I’m glad I came, too,” Marcus says beside you.

“I think–” you begin, but Emma emerges from the insect house, grinning ear to ear.

“You think… what?” Marcus asks, but you shake your head and shrug.

“I dunno,” you mumble. “I just… think.”

“Hey, wimps,” Emma shouts. “They let me touch the tarantula.”

Marcus takes the two of you out to dinner at a casual burger spot near his place. While the tension between him and Emma has lessened significantly since the first day, it feels as though it’s been replaced by a thick cloud of tension between the two of you. 

There’s something about the man that speaks to you, something within him that seems to vibrate on the same frequency as something within you. Twin souls, you’d say, if you were in a mind to be romantic, except… it can’t be. He must be nearly forty–and almost twice your age. There’s nothing you have that he would want–nothing you could offer a man who has his entire life together while yours has barely started.

Still, the way Marcus laughs at your jokes and gives you knowing glances–as if the two of you are sharing some type of inside joke that you’ve had for years–keeps you flustered and breathless throughout most of the evening.

The glass of wine he offers when you arrive home doesn’t help, either. You watch the red liquid swirl in your glass and wonder how it would taste from his lips, instead. And, when you’ve reached the bottom of your glass, the fuzzy-headed feeling you get from the alcohol combined with the way your stomach swoops in its place every time Marcus’s eyes meet yours has you feeling dizzy and enraptured in equal parts. 

When he locks eyes with you over the rim of his own glass as he drains the last sip, you freeze, afraid that you’d been caught out–that he can read every dumbstruck expression on your face and knows exactly what he does to you.

But all he does is shoot you a little smile, announce that he’s going to bed– “Back to work for me, tomorrow”–and leaves you in the living room alone with Emma, trying not to look as though you’re checking out her dad’s butt as he leaves the room. 

The next day, you and Emma spend most of the day at the Library of Congress while Marcus is at work. As a result, neither of you are too tired to help when Marcus suggests making the tamales tonight. 

“I’m going to preface this by saying I’m not very good at making these,” he says with a laugh as he struggles with the dough. “My grandma only made these on special occasions, and I’ve done it myself approximately two times without her.”

“Well, the good news is that I’ve got no frame of reference,” you tell him. “So as long as they’re edible, they’ll be the best tamales I’ve ever had.”

Marcus chuckles and ducks his head; you can see the pink tinge on the tips of his ears as he continues to stir the mixture.

“Emmie, do you want to do the dough or the filling?” he asks. 

“Filling.”

“That leaves you with the fun part,” Marcus says to you with a playful wink. “You get to spread the dough out on the corn husks like this–” he frowns as a glob of dough gets stuck to the spatula. “I told you I’m not very good at this. But you get the idea.”

You really don’t; cooking has never been your strong suit. You do your best to spread the dough out, but after just a couple of repetitions, your fingers, your shirt, and the counter around you are sticky with dough. 

“This is not going very well,” you mumble. 

Marcus looks up from the tamale he’s currently folding and laughs joyfully. “That’s part of the process.”

“I really don’t feel like it is,” you shoot back. “It’s sticking to everything but the corn husks.”

“Here,” Marcus chuckles. And suddenly, he’s right behind you, his chest nearly touching your back as he reaches around you to gently guide your hands himself. “Like this.”

You can’t possibly focus on your task, not when you have to remind your body to keep breathing while Marcus’s hands are on you. Your eyes stare unseeingly down at the corn husk until he releases you. 

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you hum, abnormally high-pitched.

“You’ve got some on your cheek,” he remarks with a soft smile. His thumb gently swipes across it, catching the stray dough and wiping it on a towel. 

In the end, the tamales are hideous, but they taste incredible. They might be the best meal you’ve ever had–or maybe it’s just the way Marcus had smiled proudly at you when your technique improved after his intervention.

After dinner, the three of you sit on the small couch and watch a movie.

“It’s in black and white,” Emma remarks, wrinkling her nose.

“Double Indemnity? It’s a classic!” Marcus protests.

“Old movies are always so boring,” Emma says. 

“It’s not boring,” he pouts. “The unhappy wife of a wealthy oil baron starts a dangerous, illicit love affair with an insurance salesman, and they hatch a plot to murder her husband and collect the insurance money.”

“That’s wild,” you laugh. “How have you seen this before?”

“I’ve always been told I’m an old soul.”

“Are you sure you’re not just old?” Emma teases.

“Hush. Watch the movie.”

The film is engaging, but all of the walking around of the past few days starts to catch up with you about halfway through. Before you know it, your eyes are drooping, and your head tips back on the couch cushion as you start to doze off. When you wake, the credits are rolling, and you’re no longer upright on the back of the couch.

You’re drooling on Marcus’s shoulder.

You startle, sitting back up with a frantic gasp and wiping your mouth in horror.

“Shh,” Marcus whispers, placing a calming hand on your forearm. “Emma fell asleep, too.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you babble, taking in the little wet spot on his shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures softly. “You’re tired. You needed the sleep.”

“Still,” you say. “I didn’t mean to…” you trail off awkwardly. 

“It’s okay,” Marcus repeats, even quieter still. His hand still rests on your forearm, his thumb subtly moving back and forth across your skin. 

Neither of you speak for what seems like an eternity, until finally, he breaks the spell.

“Should go to bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll wake up Emma. Go get some rest.”

“Marcus,” you whisper shakily.

“Go,” he whispers back. 

He squeezes your arm once, then releases you, and you reluctantly get up from the couch and cross to the guest bedroom door. You turn again, watching as Marcus gently smooths Emma’s hair back from her forehead as he rouses her from the couch. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes, and you wonder how much different he might be if Emma had been a more constant presence in his life. He seems so lonely–does he have friends outside of work, you wonder? Does he ever date? 

Emma sits up blearily and pads across the living room, walking past you and collapsing on the bed. You take one last look at Marcus, and follow her. 

The next morning, you feel as though you could cut the tension between you and Marcus with a knife. There’s something there–and you both know it. He seems to be doing his best to ignore it, avoiding eye contact with you, and busying himself with pouring a thermos of coffee and messing with his tie absentmindedly as he gets ready to leave for work. 

“Where are you off to today?” he comments lightly.

“Smithsonian,” Emma answers. 

“Sounds fun. I’ve got a deposition this afternoon that’s probably going to run late, so go ahead and grab something for dinner while you’re out. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

The only time Marcus’s eyes fall on you is in the moment just before he steps through the front door. He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and glances back in your direction, dark eyes watching you for a moment before he nods subtly and leaves.

It’s funny how just a simple, seconds-long moment of eye contact with this man can turn your insides to jelly. Your breath stutters as the door clicks shut, and you try to gather yourself again.

“What’s first?” Emma asks. “Natural History or Air and Space?”

You put Marcus out of your mind for most of the day, although he’s never far away; you’re able to call up the feel of his hand on your forearm at any given moment. You can imagine the burn of his eyes even as you walk through exhibit after exhibit.

True to his word, he’s not home for dinner. You and Emma grab sandwiches from a shop around the corner and eat them in the living room in front of the TV. It’s nearly seven when Marcus finally gets home, opening the door and greeting the two of you with a tired smile and a heavy sigh.

“How did it go?” Emma asks.

“Shit,” he answers, shooting her a crooked grin. “But I’ve got leftover tamales to look forward to, so the day is looking up.”

You watch another movie–Emma’s choice this time, and something a bit more current. You don’t fall asleep this time; you can’t, not with the way your body feels on high alert tonight. Marcus is sitting beside you again, as he was the night before, and all you can think about is how much you want to sink into his arms again–and this time, intentionally. You want to lay on his chest and have him wrap his arms around you; you want him to slowly turn and press you down on the cushions, to feel the weight of him on top of you, the light scrape of his beard on your neck, his breath in your ear.

A wave of arousal washes over you, heating your skin and sending a little trickle of damp into your underwear. You wonder if Marcus can feel it–feel the elevated warmth of your skin from where he’s sitting. You wonder if he can tell how much he affects you. 

When the movie ends, you can barely meet his eyes as you bid him goodnight, following Emma to your room. You can’t turn around to see if he’s watching you; you can’t stand another glance at that deep, burning gaze of his. 

Sleep evades you. You’re too hot, so you kick off the covers. Then you’re too cold, so you cover up again. You flip over the pillow, turn from your back to your stomach, and back again. The fantasy plays once more in your head: Marcus’s hand cradling the back of your neck as he kisses a path down your neck and to your chest. You want to feel the weight of him between your thighs, feel him pressing against your core. You’re dripping for him, and he doesn’t even know it. 

No one has ever done this to you, but he has. And he hasn’t even touched you. 

You wonder if he’d be bothered by the fact that you aren’t exactly sure what you’re doing in that department. You wonder if he’d be put off by your inexperience, or if he’d be happy to guide you in the act of pleasure. 

You’ve had a couple of fumbling encounters, rushed, frenzied moments as a teenager with boys who haphazardly stuffed a finger or two into you, but it didn’t feel like anything to you. Not really. No one has ever made you cum–just you, in the safety of your own bed at night, your fingers seeking relief that no one else has been able to provide.

Could he give it to you?

Your past experiences have been with boys; and Marcus is a man. 

Your legs shift, rubbing your thighs against each other as you try to find a more comfortable position.

You can’t find one.

Eventually, you give up–getting out of bed with a sigh. Maybe if you grab a drink of water and sit on the couch for a while, sleep will win out in the end. You pad into the kitchen, filling a cup in the sink and taking a few long sips. The cool water is a relief, so you run your hand underneath the water next and scrub it over your face. Finally sated, you set the cup down by the sink and turn.

To see Marcus sitting on the couch, dimly lit by the glow of his laptop screen.

You nearly double over with shock, the unexpected sight causing a spike of adrenaline to course through your body.

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. “Couldn’t sleep, so I was… catching up on work.”

The mirror image of a popular news site reflects through the glass picture frame behind the couch, exposing the tiny lie.

“Yeah, me neither,” you admit quietly. “Thought I’d sit out here for a while and see if that helps, but… sorry, I’ll leave you to it.” You make to turn back, to retreat to the room again, but Marcus speaks softly behind you.

“Come sit,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Breath caught somewhere in your throat, you hesitantly sink down on the couch beside him. Marcus closes his laptop and sets it down on the coffee table, and the silence stretches out between you. 

“So, are you liking DC so far?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer eagerly. “I’m having a great time. I’ll… I’ll be sad to leave,” you admit. “Is that weird?”

“It’s weird if you’re talking about missing the Washington Monument,” Marcus teases. “Or the traffic.”

“I’m talking about the metro, obviously,” you joke. “The rest of the country could stand for some public transit options.”

“I’m not sure they should be taking their cues from DC,” he chuckles. 

“Pssh, I like it.”

“The novelty wears off, believe me.”

You lapse into silence again. You’re sitting close enough to Marcus that you can feel the warmth from his skin, even though you aren’t touching. You want to sink into him, to have him envelop you, consume you.

You feel yourself unconsciously shifting closer to him. 

Is it just your imagination, or did Marcus subtly lean closer to you?

The pull is inevitable; your eyes flick up to his, and you can almost feel the point of no return pass the two of you by. 

You lick your lips, and his breath catches in his throat.

“I wasn’t talking about the metro,” you say breathlessly. 

“I know.”

And suddenly, his lips are on yours. 

It’s not fast, not rushed or frantic; he doesn’t surge forward to take you. It’s simply that the two of you are close enough that at one moment, Marcus Pike is not kissing you, and then the next moment, he is. 

As with everything this man does, the kiss is soft and tender. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he gently tits his head as his lips move against yours. His mouth opens ever so slightly, and you feel a wave of pure want rush through you at the light flick of his tongue against your lower lip.

You make a ragged sound in your chest as your lips part for him, and your tongues slide against each other for far too short of a time before Marcus pulls back, suddenly, his eyes full of worry.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Shit, we… we shouldn’t.”

This time, you kiss him back. The neck of his soft t-shirt crumples in your fist as you pull him closer, opening your mouth to him, and his protests die at the feel of your lips on his. Instead, it seems to light a fire within him; one hand curls around the back of your neck and the other grips your hip and you gasp softly into his mouth at the feel of his hands on your body. 

Marcus breaks the kiss again, but instead of pulling back to give you more reasons why you can’t, this time he kisses a path across your cheek and down your neck. You’ve imagined the way his light beard would feel against your skin so many times over the last couple of days, but nothing compares to the reality of having him gently scrape his teeth against your neck as you arch your back to him. 

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. “So sweet, honey.”

You whimper at the term of endearment as Marcus gently starts to shift positions, turning and guiding you down onto the couch, just as you’d imagined. 

Now that you’re horizontal, the kisses that started out tender and sweet start to grow more and more lascivious. You can feel the weight of him between your legs and his hot length pressing against you, his hips rocking slightly as he lazily explores you with his hands and his mouth. 

One hand creeps up your inner thigh and slips under your thin sleep shorts and underwear, gently grazing your folds and feeling the obscene amount of slick that’s already gathered there. 

“Shit,” Marcus hisses softly, reverently. “You’re so wet. How are you so wet?”

“You,” you answer earnestly, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

He laughs breathlessly in response, his eyes raking up and down your body, taking in your nipples peeking through the threadbare material of your tank top. His finger explores deeper, slipping inside your tight channel and immediately finding… something… that makes you gasp raggedly. 

“So responsive,” he murmurs playfully. “I’ve barely touched you.” He starts to slowly pump his finger in and out, his thumb pressing on your clit as he rubs against that little spot inside of you every time, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and cling to him as this one little movement threatens to take you apart. 

“Honey,” he whispers disbelievingly as he feels you start to tighten around him. “Already?”

“I–” 

Whatever you had been about to say dies on your lips as you suddenly fall over the edge, shaking as the pleasure overtakes you. Marcus soothes you through it, whispering in your ear as you come down from your high.

“Wow,” you murmur. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”

Marcus pulls back and gives you a funny look. “What’s going on?” he asks, frowning slightly.

“Heh–you’re going to laugh,” you say, giving him an awkward grimace. 

He raises his eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’ve–kind of never done this before,” you admit, pressing your lips together sheepishly. 

“Oh shit,” Marcus breathes, sitting up fully as his eyes frantically sweep over you. “Oh, honey–no. I can’t–we can’t do this.”

“Why?” you ask, wincing internally at how whiny it comes out.

“It can’t–it shouldn’t be me,” he says softly. “That’s more than I deserve to take.”

“You’re not taking anything,” you protest. “I–I want it to be you.”

Marcus shakes his head again, but you can see the cracks in his resolve, the way his eyes are searching you, devouring you with his gaze.

“I don’t want it to be some boy at a frat party back home,” you tell him. “I want you. I want it to feel good. Please?”

Marcus’s expression is inscrutable as his eyes rake over your form, disheveled and sated, underneath him. Your heart sinks when he stands up, shame sinking down into the pit of your stomach, but then he extends his hand to you, and you look up at him, questioning. 

“I’m not going to let your first time be a quick fuck on my couch,” he says quietly and resolute. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to bed.”

Wordlessly, you accept his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet. You wobble slightly, still shaky from the orgasm, and Marcus draws you into his side, steadying you. He guides you forward, keeping you close as the two of you walk to his bedroom. 

Despite the fact that you were more than ready to let this man take you right there on the couch, the change in venue has your heart hammering in your chest. Now, it feels real. It feels intentional. 

“C’mere, beautiful,” Marcus murmurs when he feels your steps falter. His hand slides up your arm and across your shoulder until it curls gently around your neck, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface of your skin. He presses a couple of soft, chaste kisses across your opposite shoulder, and your lips part of their own accord. 

“I need you to tell me if you don’t want to do this,” he says softly in your ear.

“I want–”

“I know, I know,” Marcus interrupts. “I want you to tell me if that changes.”

He gently guides you onto his bed, one hand on the small of your back to keep you from going too fast. 

“I wanna know what you like,” he murmurs as he hovers over you again, his hand coming up underneath the thin material of your top. “I wanna know what you don’t like.” 

“I–I don’t really know–”

“I know,” Marcus grins wolfishly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “That’s the idea.”

He starts to push the material of your shirt up, up, up, until your nipples are pebbling in the cool air of his bedroom. He gently pulls it over your head and casts it aside, looking down at you with undisguised hunger. He trails the backs of his fingers down the side of one breast and underneath. “I get to find out what you like,” he says. He circles one areola with the tip of his finger, making you shiver. “And I get to be the first to do it.”

He gently drags the pad of his finger across the little bud of your nipple, and you gasp for him as if you’d hit a live wire. 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you liked that,” he teases. 

“Marcus,” you whine. 

“Shh,” he whispers again, just before his mouth engulfs your nipple. Your hand darts out unconsciously, tangling in the hair on the back of Marcus’s neck as you squirm under his hot tongue. You can’t tell whether you want to pull away or push toward him, but in reality all you do is whine and take what he gives you. He switches to the other one; lathing and flicking his tongue and pressing down until you whimper.

“So… fucking… responsive,” Marcus murmurs in between kisses as he starts to mouth his way down your belly to the band of your sleep shorts. His fingers dip underneath, poised to pull them down over your hips, but he waits–eyes flicking up to yours to gauge your reaction. 

“Can I taste you?” he asks quietly.

“I-If you want,” you laugh shakily. 

“If I want?” he parrots disbelievingly. “You’re saying that like it’s not a given–like I haven’t been thinking of burying my tongue in that sweet little pussy all night. If I want,” he chuckles to himself again, slowly dragging your shorts and underwear down your legs. “I need to taste you. I need to feel you fall apart on my tongue. The first one was kind of a surprise, and all I want is to feel you shaking again.”

You’re bare before him, but you don’t have any time to be self-conscious, because Marcus is laying back down on the bed, his face inches away from your pussy. He gently guides your legs over his shoulders before lowering his mouth to you. 

You aren’t sure who groans louder at the first touch of his tongue through your folds. 

Marcus makes a pained noise in his throat before murmuring, “So sweet, honey–fuck, you’re so sweet.”

His tongue is delicate, but precise; he flicks it back and forth against your clit, then dips down to lap at your entrance until you’re trembling for him. He’s tireless and patient, cataloging every whimper and moan he pulls from you as the pleasure slowly builds inside of you. In no time at all, you’re dangling on the precipice, your hips locking into place as you start to reach the point of no return. 

“I–I–” you stammer, trying to warn him.

Marcus hums enthusiastically in agreement, concentrating his efforts on your clit until you fall apart with a gasp.

He groans again, licking you through each little aftershock of pleasure until you’re boneless. 

“You squeeze me so hard,” he croons. “Can you feel that? You’re so tight around my tongue.”

“Shit…” you murmur. You’re too fucked-out to say anything else. 

“Gonna have to open you up a bit with my fingers,” he says softly. “So I don’t hurt you.”

You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. He’s still clothed–wearing sweatpants and a shirt, while you’re completely naked, and you frown slightly at the disparity.

“Everything okay?” Marcus asks, seeing your expression. 

“Can–Can I see you? You’re so… clothed,” you say with a little pout. 

He laughs, smiling widely so that the corners of his eyes crinkle, and your heart soars. 

“Of course,” he agrees, stripping off his shirt. “Of course.”

You raise up on one elbow, gazing up at Marcus’s broad chest, the light smattering of hair, and the soft swell of his belly. You can’t help but reach up and touch him, pressing your palm to his sternum and trailing down, tracing the little path of hair until it disappears under the band of his sweatpants. Your fingers curl underneath the band, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

“These, too?” he asks with a teasing chuckle, smiling wider when you nod eagerly. 

His cock bobs free as he pushes his pants down his hips, and your eyes widen at the sight of him, thick and hard and heavy with want. Curiously, you wrap your hand around him, and you’re rewarded with a little ‘hnnngg’ of pleasure and surprise as you touch him. 

You gently trace the little ridges on his shaft, traveling up to the flushed, purple head, where the skin is even softer, and back down again.

“F-Fuck,” Marcus muttters. “Can’t do that too much, honey, or I’m gonna lose it before we even get started.”

“I like it,” you say with a little giggle. “I never realized they were so… soft.”

Marcus makes a broken, choked sound. “Jesus. You’re gonna be the death of me.” 

He falls onto one elbow, giving you a messy, passionate kiss before sucking his fingers into his mouth and gently sinking one finger into you again. His lips stay close to yours, noses almost touching, his eyes watching your face intently as he slowly opens you up. His fingers are so thick, and just like before, he seems to know exactly where to press up inside you to make the pleasure spark inside of you. He adds a second finger, and you whimper–you're already so full. 

"Little bit more," Marcus murmurs. "Doing so well for me–fuck–so tight."

He gently starts to slide a third into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit to offer some relief.

“Is it greedy if I say I want you to cum for me again?” he asks softly. “I want to feel it again. Can you do that for me?”

You nod dazedly–wanting to do anything, everything this man asks as long as he keeps making you feel like this. 

His fingers press up against your walls again, and you sob loudly into the room.

Marcus immediately muffles the sound with a kiss, swallowing your whimpers and cries in an attempt to keep the sound from carrying across the apartment. 

“Gotta stay quiet for me,” he whispers against your lips. 

“S-Sorry.”

“No, shh, don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. “I wish you could be loud. Wish I could make you scream for me. Just–fuck, honey, you’re right there, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing me–fuck, you get so wet. Give me one more. One more, and I’ll give you my cock. That’s it, that’s–yes–” 

Marcus breaks off on a groan as you clamp down on his fingers. It’s so much, you’re so full, and you buck against his hand, your lower back rising up off of the bed as he pulls it from you. 

You slump back down, breathing heavily, as he carefully withdraws his fingers. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, trying to get your attention. “Hey, I should have asked this sooner, but–are you on birth control? Do you want me to use a condom?”

“I-I’m on the pill,” you tell him. “If you… you know, if you didn’t want to. That would be–I’d like that.”

“That’s perfect,” he whispers, giving you a tender kiss. “I’d like that, too.” He pauses, and mutters a soft curse under his breath. “I wish I had some lube,” he remarks. “Just to be sure I don’t hurt you.”

You watch as he spits on his cock and takes himself in hand. 

“This will have to do, though,” he says as he slicks it over his cock and crawls over you. “And I’ll just go slow.”

He cups the back of your neck with one hand as he lines himself up with the other. His lips are inches from yours, but he doesn’t lean down to kiss you–no, he seems to want to watch your reaction as the tip of his cock notches at your entrance. 

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers again.

“You could never hurt me,” you say confidently, and you watch as his lips part in surprise. “Marcus–” you add, as you shift your hips impatiently. “–just do it.”

Your eyes widen as you feel him push into you, his girth splitting you open. It can’t be much bigger than three of his thick fingers, but still, it just feels like more. It’s longer, certainly; he keeps pushing in, and even when you’re sure he’s reached the end, there’s still more. 

“Oh wow,” you hear yourself murmuring again and again. “Oh, Marcus.” 

“I know,” he returns, kissing your cheekbone, your forehead, your nose, and then finally, your lips. “I know, honey.”

He starts to rock his hips, slowly undulating them, letting his cock drag back and forth against your walls. It feels incredible–you never imagined how fucking good this would feel–and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s because it’s him. It’s Marcus–a man you’ve admittedly only known for a few days, but you feel as though you know him already–and you trust him completely. 

“Does it hurt at all?” he rumbles softly in your ear.

“No,” you answer emphatically. “It feels–holy shit.”

Marcus laughs breathlessly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can–can we do this again?”

He chuckles. “We’re currently doing this.”

“I already want it again.”

He starts to go a little harder, his thrusts a little deeper. His hand grips your hip for leverage, the other still cradling the back of your neck. He kisses you, a deep, messy, passionate thing, before burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking a gentle mark into your skin.

“Feels so good,” he murmurs. “I’m not gonna last, not when you feel like this.”

“Like how?” you ask, smiling widely. 

“So fucking tight,” Marcus groans. “And wet, and hot, and–” he brings his thumb to your clit and starts to rub little circles around it. “I need you to cum again,” he says. “Fuck, you–you feel too good, honey, I’m not gonna last.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you murmur. 

“Please,” he says, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Please, baby, you’ve gotta do this one last thing for me. Let me feel it, let me make you feel good. Let me–let me–”

Your mouth falls open as you feel it wash over you. This is better than anything you’ve ever felt before, any relief you’ve been able to seek with your fingers–the drag of his cock along your walls only serves to prolong your pleasure, making each little aftershock feel like a new wave of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus groans. “Fuck.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he shoves his hips into you one more time, emptying himself within you with a deep groan. 

The aftermath is quiet. After gently, tenderly cleaning you up with a damp cloth, Marcus collapses on the pillows and pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around you as you settle with your head resting on his shoulder.

“Was this a bad idea?” you ask quietly as you trace little shapes on his chest.

Marcus huffs a laugh. “Probably,” he answers.

“I don’t care,” you say resolutely, causing his hold on you to tighten. “...Do you regret it?” you ask, feeling unsure of yourself again.

“No,” Marcus says immediately. “No. I was drawn to you from the beginning. I’m sorry, I–I should have tried harder to prevent this, but…”

“I felt it, too,” you murmur. “Maybe we weren’t meant to prevent it.”

The two of you bask in the afterglow, reveling in the feel of your bodies pressed together. You can’t help but think of how tender, how loving he is–not just with you, but with Emma.

“Can I ask a personal question?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Marcus shrugs. “Sure.”

“This is probably weird to be thinking about right now, but… why does Emma’s mom not want you around?”

 Marcus sighs, his lips pressing into your forehead–not really a kiss, just a caress of your hairline with his mouth.

“That story doesn’t exactly paint me in the best light.”

“I want to know. I just… don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asks.

“You’re… you’re such a good dad–a good man. I don’t understand how her mom wanted nothing to do with you. I just don’t get it.”

Marcus nods, pressing his lips together. “I wasn’t always a good man,” he says quietly. “I tried to do the best I could for the both of them–for Emma and her mom–but I’m afraid I fell very short, in the beginning.”

“What happened?”

“We were in college when we found out she was pregnant,” Marcus says with a sigh. “She was nineteen, I was almost twenty-one. We hadn’t been together long; maybe a couple of months. She was terrified, of course–and so was I, but never told her that. I asked her to marry me because I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Did you love her?”

“I cared for her, very much so. And even if we weren’t quite right for each other, knowing–” Marcus swallows thickly, “–knowing our child, my child, was growing inside of her made me feel deeply connected. If you had asked me at twenty-one, I would have sworn up and down that I was in love.”

“But not now?”

Marcus huffs softly. “I know a little better, now.”

“What happened?” you ask, tracing the line of his collarbone with the tip of your finger. “What did you do?”

“Well, the first thing I did was drop out of art school,” he says with a little laugh. “Didn’t think it would pay the bills, especially not with a wife and a baby.”

“You were an artist?” you ask, surprised.

“Wanted to be,” he chuckled. “At least at that time. So instead, I applied for the FBI. Joined the Art Crimes division. And shortly after I completed training… Emma was born.” His eyes are far away, a small smile on his face as he remembers. “And she was perfect. And I remember thinking, all the struggling, all the hardship, all the times Denise and I didn’t get along… it would be worth it, in the end. No matter what happened; because I had her.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “What went wrong?”

“Nothing in particular, at first. We struggled to make ends meet. We were two young parents with no idea what we were doing, and even though I might have known deep down that we weren’t right for each other, I just wanted it to go right. I wanted us to be happy, but in the end we were just too different. We didn’t work–and while I might have been blind to it at the time, Denise wasn’t. When Emma was barely even two, she filed for divorce, and I–” he sighs heavily again. “I went a little off the rails.”

You tilt your head and look up at Marcus. His eyes are stormy, and you can see the remorse etched into the lines of his face. You don’t ask how, you just wait patiently for him to continue.

“I didn’t want to be divorced at twenty-three. This wasn’t–it wasn’t the life I had expected for myself, not what I would have chosen, but because I had Emma, I didn’t want anything else. I always knew I would want a family, and so what if it happened… a little out of order?”

“What did you do?” you whispered.

“I tried to convince her to change her mind. She took Emma and went to live with her parents, and I’d call them every day, asking to talk to her. I wanted to persuade her–I thought that if she could just see that we had plenty of time, we could raise Emma and be good parents and still… still have time for whatever we wanted. That we could still build lives.

“When she never returned my calls, I started stopping by,” he confesses, his voice even quieter. “They’d always tell me she was out, so I started showing up at odd hours, trying to… trying to just catch her one time–I thought if I explained that she could do whatever she wanted, as long as we could just stay together and raise Emma, she’d agree. But the more I tried to contact her, the more she pulled away, and rightly so, honestly. I was badgering her. I tried to justify it at the time, said I was doing it all for Emma, but I, uh… It took me until much later to admit I was actually doing it for me. I was so scared of being a failure, and scared to be alone.

“Anyway, the court didn’t look very kindly on what looked to everyone involved like stalking behavior, and Denise was afforded full custody.”

“M-Marcus,” you murmur, unable to help the water gathering at the corners of your eyes. 

“Broke my heart,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “And I was angry about it for a while, but when it comes down to it, I was just angry with myself. It was my actions that lost me my daughter, and… well, I’ve had twenty years to come to terms with that, now.”

“How did you finally… come to face all of that?” you ask quietly.

“Therapy,” Marcus says with a genuine laugh. “And that is another story for another time.”

“God, what else happened to you?”

“Nothing,” he chuckles, “just another relationship that I fought way too hard for.” He playfully runs his finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin upward for a soft kiss. “And you,” he murmurs, “need to go back to bed.”

Your emotions still running on high alert after Marcus’s emotional confession of his past, you surge forward and throw your arms around his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I’m okay,” he promises. “It was a long time ago.”

“You should tell Emma,” you say softly. “She never knew why her mom didn’t want you around.”

“Not really something you want to tell your daughter,” he says with a sad smile. “That you basically stalked her mom.”

“She’s grown up. She’s older than her mom was when–”

“Believe me, I know,” Marcus groans. “Don’t remind me; it makes this feel very… wrong.” He gestured between the two of you.

“Just trust me,” you murmur. “She’d want to know.” With herculean effort, you extricate yourself from his arms, grab your clothes, and redress. Feeling unsure in the way the conversation ended, you tell yourself not to turn around again when your hand lands on the doorknob.

“Honey,” Marcus calls out softly from the bed. “Good night.”

“Good night,” you whisper back, and then you’re gone.

“Where are you two off to, today?” Marcus asks conversationally over coffee. He’s made it stronger than usual today, and it makes warmth pool deep in your stomach at the reminder of your very sleepless night last night. You’re grateful for the extra boost of caffeine as well, of course–the morning seemed to come far too early after being up half of the night. Sleep had still been hard to come by when you finally returned to the guest room, after all; the conversation about Marcus’s past was still swirling around in your head, and every time you closed your eyes, you could still feel his hands on you. 

You never knew it could feel like this, never knew how good it could be with someone who really knew what they were doing. Someone so giving, so gentle and yet so ruthless in pursuing your pleasure. Someone brimming with passion, capable of both the softest prase and the most depraved filth in the same sentence.

If you had thought your thirst would be sated after finally getting what you’d fantasized about and more, you were a fool. The flame burns hotter than ever this morning, and the sight of Marcus in a suit with not a hair out of place only makes you think about how he had looked between your legs last night–that devilish smirk as he teased about wanting to taste you.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him that way again, or if last night was a fluke. 

Had he noticed when your fingers had trembled around the coffee cup he handed you? 

He had given you a soft, tender stare when you had first entered the kitchen, but that’s the only evidence you can find so far that Marcus is even half as affected as you feel. You can still feel him this morning, a subtle ache between your legs when you sit down, and you wish you could see some outward sign on him that this actually happened.

“Not really sure,” Emma answers Marcus’s question. “Kind of ran out of stuff to see.”

“Impossible,” Marcus chuckles. “Well, you can hang out here if you want, or if you're really looking for a distraction, you can come to the office with me.”

“The fucking FBI office?” Emma asks. “Are we allowed?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you be?” Marcus shrugs. “Plus, I might be able to set up some time for you to talk to someone in Legal,” he says to you. “Are you still interested in that?”

“Oh wow,” you breathe. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies. “I said I would.”

You nod, smiling up at him beatifically. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “Well, if you’re coming, we’re going to need to leave soon. Are you almost ready?”

“I’m ready,” Emma announces, shouldering her bag.

“Yeah, me too.”

Marcus winks at you, and you try not to let yourself react to it.

“Let’s go, then.”

You had assumed that you’d spend most of your day at the FBI holed up in Marcus’s office, doing nothing. You had imagined that, out of necessity, you’d be barred from attending any meetings or hearing about his department’s day-to-day activities, but when you arrive, his team seems enthusiastic to have you and Emma there. Much to your surprise, they even let the two of you sit in the back of the room while Marcus conducts a briefing. 

You listen, enthralled, as he discusses a recent forgery case that the team is working on. His demeanor, as it is at home, is good-natured and easygoing. He’s easy to smile, and engaging when he talks, and as a result, he utterly commands the room. His style of quiet, unassuming authority has you subtly squirming in your chair. Even though you have no idea what’s being discussed, you can tell simply by listening to his cadence of speech that he’s incredibly knowledgeable, and fucking good at his job. It’s clear he loves the work–and when you think back to the night before and his whispered confession that he had once dreamed of being an artist, you find yourself beaming with happiness that he’s clearly found something he loves to do. 

“People change.”

You suddenly recall his words the very first night you were there–his assurance that it didn’t matter that you had no idea what you wanted to do at your age, because there’s no promise that you’ll still want the same things in ten years. After last night, you realize that he was talking about himself in that moment.

You hope he’s happy and fulfilled.

He deserves it.

You watch him wrap up the meeting–delegating work to each member of the team and asking for updates–and every so often, as his eyes sweep around the room, they always seem to land on you.

As he promised, Marcus introduces you to Kimberley Alexander, the lawyer that his department works with most of the time. You’re nervous at first–you aren’t sure what you’re going to talk about, but you end up staying in her office through lunch, spending almost an hour and a half longer than you had intended, talking about potential jobs with the FBI.

Not because you suddenly have the desire to return to Washington, DC as soon as you can, nope. It does interest you–quite a bit, actually–but you can’t pretend that you aren’t excited at the prospect of living in the same city as Marcus. Would he want to see you again? Is he really interested in you, or is it just the forced proximity–because you’re convenient and available? If you had your own life here, would he be interested in a place in it?

When you find Emma and her dad again, they’ve clearly just come back from lunch. Emma thrusts a container into your hands, which you discover, with an exaggerated moan of satisfaction, is pad Thai.

“Must have been a good talk,” Marcus remarks. 

“Yeah, you were there for two hours,” Emma adds.

“It was good,” you nod. “Talked about, y’know, internships and stuff.”

“You wanna live here?” Emma asks, looking surprised and curious.

You try to shrug noncommittally. “Sure,” you say lightly. “It’s as good a place as any, and it would be kind of fun to work for the FBI, right?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an unbiased answer to that,” Marcus says with a wry smile, “but I think you’d be a great fit.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he says earnestly. “And I hate to do this, but I’ve gotta run to do a witness interview, and you guys have to stay behind this time.”

You watch as Marcus gives Emma a quick kiss on the forehead, and your eyebrows raise in surprise at the action. They’ve gotten more comfortable around each other in the time you’ve been here, but neither of them had seemed to be very comfortable with physical affection. Marcus, for his part, is always so hesitant–wanting to reach out, but seemingly afraid that he doesn’t deserve it, or worse, that it won’t be received well. You still remember the first day you saw him–when his hand twitched toward his daughter, seemingly desperate to wrap her in a hug, but he hadn’t allowed himself to do it.

What changed?

Marcus glances at you, and gives you a slightly awkward, stiff nod before leaving for his meeting.

You busy yourself with eating lunch, digging into the container they brought you.

“Tomorrow’s the last day, huh?” Emma says conversationally.

You gulp. You’ve purposefully been putting the fact that your time here has an expiration date at the back corner of your mind. Whatever you have with Marcus, it’s temporary by its very nature, and you know it.

You just don’t really want to think about it right now.

“Yup,” you agree, mouth full of noodles. 

“What do you wanna do? I’m kind of out of ideas.”

You shrug. “We could ask Marcus if there’s anything he recommends seeing that we haven’t already been to.”

“I think we should go as far out as the metro line goes,” Emma says.

“Why?”

She shrugs. “See where we end up.”

“Whatever you want,” you tell her. “Last day is up to you.”

“How’s the pad Thai?”

“Good,” you nod, mouth full. “What’d you get?”

“Calamari,” she answers. “Never had it, wanted to try it.”

“How was it?”

“Chewy.”

You laugh, taking another bite of noodles. “Think I’ll stick to my favorite.”

The two of you huddle together on the small, two-seater couch in Marcus’s office, watching YouTube videos and laughing together until he comes back near the end of the day.

Your eyes automatically brighten when you see him return, drinking in the sight of him–the crisp lines of his suit paired with the slightly unruly hair. You discovered last night how soft it is, and how much he loves it when you thread your fingers through it and tug gently. 

He meets your eyes, but quickly drops his gaze, and you try not to sink in disappointment. Did it not mean as much to him as it did to you? Or is he just better at hiding it?

“You two hungry for dinner?” he asks, putting his stuff back in his messenger back and throwing it over his shoulder.

Emma groans loudly beside you. “Gonna be honest, I’m not really feeling dinner.”

“That was a lot of pad Thai,” you agree.

“Good,” Marcus says with a smile. “Me neither. Let’s go home and have a lazy night eating popcorn on the couch.”

The moment you arrive home, though, Emma makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

“She okay?” Marcus asks you.

You grimace at the faint sounds of retching. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

When she emerges again, Marcus hands her a glass of water with a concerned expression. “Everything okay?”

“No,” she mutters pitifully.

“Was it the calamari?” you ask.

“Please don’t say that word ever again,” Emma groans, flopping down on the couch. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”

“What do you need?” Marcus asks, looking a little lost.

“Distraction,” she mumbles. “Long movie or something.”

Emma takes up the entire couch, so you and Marcus have to sit in opposite armchairs while you watch Lord of the Rings. It’s almost unbearable to you, being so close to him and yet not being able to touch, not being able to look at him for fear of giving everything away. If you two were to lock eyes, you know that you wouldn’t be able to hide your reaction to him. So much so that even Emma, who’s still alternating between running to the bathroom and collapsing on the couch, would have no choice but to notice. 

The pull to him feels overwhelming; the only thing you can think of doing is crossing the living room and sinking into his arms. It makes you feel guilty–your best friend has food poisoning, Marucs is trying to help by refilling her water and encouraging her to drink, and here you are, with nothing to do but yearn for your best friend’s dad. 

When the movie is over, it’s late; Marcus brushes Emma’s hair back from her forehead and suggests she go lie down. As she’s stumbling toward the guest room, Marcus touches you for the first time since last night–lightly wrapping his fingers around your wrist while Emma isn’t looking.

Your eyes meet, and he gives you a coal-black stare, trying to communicate without speaking. He nods subtly, and his meaning is easy to understand.

Come to me tonight.

You come to him in the dead of night. You lie awake, listening for Emma’s breathing to even out, and then waiting another thirty minutes after that, just to be safe. 

It’s nearly midnight when you slip into Marcus’s bedroom, but he’s still awake; his lamp is on, and he’s reading a book.

Waiting for you. 

The moment the door creaks open, Marcus casts the book aside without even marking his place, and rises to his feet. He strides forward and you meet him in the middle, a clash of mouths and hands as you come together desperately. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips. “All fucking day, all I could think about was this.”

“Me too,” you mumble hastily in between kisses. 

“No idea how hard it was to concentrate on giving that meeting this morning,” he confesses, “with you in the corner looking at me with those eyes of yours.” 

He grabs your top and pulls it over your head in one swift motion and ducks down to lathe his tongue against your nipple, making you arch against him. 

“Ah!–Really?” you gasp. “I didn’t–you looked so… calm the whole day. Like it didn’t affect you the same way it affects me.”

“Doesn’t affect me?” Marcus repeats incredulously. “Honey, I am out of my mind with wanting you.” He pulls back, his palms cradling your cheeks as he stares at you with a disbelieving smile. “Do you not have any idea what you do to me?” he asks softly. 

Stunned, you shake your head.

Marcus laughs breathlessly, as he reaches down to encircle your wrist with one large hand and brings your hand forward to press against the front of his pants, where you can feel him, hard and straining against the fabric. “You feel that?” he rasps. “Do you fucking feel what you do to me?”

He shoves your flimsy sleep shorts down your legs and all but tosses you onto the bed. He strips off his own shirt and follows you down. “I’ve been half-hard all day,” he confesses. “I had to fuck my own hand in the shower this morning and still,” he groans. “As soon as I picture your face as you fall apart for me, I’m done for.”

“You thought about that?” 

“All fucking day,” Marcus promises. 

“That all you thought about?” you ask, your voice turning coy as you gain more confidence.

He chuckles darkly. “Thought about a lot of things,” he murmurs.

“Such as…?”

“Just–all the ways I want to have you.” 

“Show me,” you demand.

Marcus chuckles again. “Show you what, pretty girl?”

“All the ways that you want me.”

“That would take a lot more time than we currently have,” he says wryly. 

“Then show me how you want me most,” you say. 

“Let me get you ready first,” Marcus murmurs, starting to kiss a path down your body, intent on his destination. 

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“I want it now,” you say frankly.

“Honey–” he protests softly.

“Consider the fact that I’ve done nothing but think about what happened last night and fantasize about what’s going to happen tonight foreplay,” you tell him. “I can’t–I can’t wait. I don’t want it to be slow. I need–I need—” you trail off, searching for how exactly to find the words for what it is that you need. 

Marcus nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he watches you plead for him to take you now.

“You really want me to show you?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, honey.”

You comply with a shiver, your heart in your throat as you turn around and put yourself on display for him.

Marcus mutters a soft curse behind you as his palm strokes up the skin on the back of your thigh and up over the swell of your cheek. 

You hear him spit in his hand, and you know he's coating himself in it behind you, easing his way in. He does it again, and this time you whimper softly as he cups you, transferring more wetness to your folds. 

"Already so wet," he teases softly. "Tell me if it's too much."

He slides forward, sheathing himself in one fluid motion, and your elbows nearly buckle at the overwhelming feel of it. 

Marcus doesn't wait for you to adjust, this time. He starts thrusting right away, his hands grasping your hips for leverage. He's pressing right on the spot that makes pleasure sing throughout your entire body. Once he's sure that his pace isn't too much for you, he starts giving it to you harder, snapping his hips into you over and over.

Last night was overwhelming in its own way, but this–this is devastating. You thought last night was the most pleasure you could ever feel, but you had no idea that this could wreck you so completely. 

You're crying out with every thrust, each punishing snap of his hips punching little pathetic noises past your lips as you take what he needs to give you. 

"Shhh," he reminds you. "Gotta stay quiet, honey."

You drop to your elbows, burying your face in the pillows to try and muffle the involuntary sounds, but you can tell it isn't enough. 

"M-Marcus," you whimper frantically. "I can't."

"Do you want to stop?" he asks (making you shake your head rapidly), "Or do you want me to help you be quiet?"

You nod frantically, although you have no idea what he means. You'd do anything to keep feeling his cock like this. 

Marcus’s hand wraps tightly around your mouth, quieting your cries and forcing you to breathe through your nose. Something about the action makes your pussy clench violently, and Marcus makes a quiet groan of pleasure above you. 

He fucks you harder and faster, one hand sliding underneath you to rub tight circles over your clit. 

"Cum for me," he rasps brokenly above you. “Fuck, please–” 

The soft plea is enough to end you. You wail into Marcus’s hand as you come undone, and he tightens his grip, muffling the sound. 

It doesn’t take long for him to follow–just a couple more minutes of brutal thrusts that have you whimpering into his hand, oversensitive from your orgasm. The minute he stills, his cock slips from you as he immediately collapses on the bed and pulls you into his arms. You’re both still breathing heavily, but he smooths the hair back from your forehead as he looks you over.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly. “That was a lot, I’m sorry.”

“‘Re you kidding?” you slur. “That was… amazing.”

Marcus laughs and pulls you close again. “I’m glad,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his words. 

“Can I stay here for a little longer?” you ask. “Just a little.”

Marcus pulls back again and looks down at you with an amused smile. “It’s cute that you think I’m done with you, honey.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re not?”

“Mm-mm. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the way you look when you come undone,” he murmurs, tracing the tip of his index finger down the side of your cheek. “You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just once tonight, did you?”

You giggle. “I guess not.”

He fixes you with a fiery look. “Do you trust me?” he asks quietly. 

“...Yeah?”

He raises one eyebrow. 

“Yes,” you answer, with more conviction this time. “Yes, I trust you.”

Marcus kisses you tenderly before sitting back on his heels beside you. His fingertips trail down your chest, over the peaks of your nipples, and down your stomach, as though he can’t get enough of the feel of your skin. One hand travels further down, stroking the soft patch of hair on your pubic bone before he slips one finger gently inside you. 

You cringe slightly at the wet squelch of your combined release, but Marcus shushes you gently. “Love how wet you get,” he teases affectionately. “And I like knowing I’m there inside of you.”

You clench involuntarily at his words, your lips parting as you exhale shakily. 

He chuckles. “You like that? You like knowing that I get off on the idea of you carrying a little piece of me with you?” he asks, as he starts to slowly fuck you with one finger.

“What if I told you that I was thinking about it during that meeting this morning?” he continues. “I kept wondering if there was still a little in there from last night, leaking into your underwear as I talked.”

“Shit,” you mumble. “Marcus.”

“Wanna fill you up again tonight,” he remarks casually. “So it’s still there when you’re walking around tomorrow.” He groans softly. “Fuck–Can I–Can I give you my number? I–I want you to text me. Tell me you can still feel me.”

“Oh my god,” you murmur. “Yes.”

“Good.” He adds a second finger and presses the heel of his hand against your clit, working you up to another orgasm exactly how he now knows gets you off quickly. When you start to clench around him, though, he doesn’t stop. He starts to rub quickly back and forth on that little spot inside of you until something else starts to build. 

“M-Marcus,” you murmur. “W-Wait, I–something is–”

“Shhh.” He keeps going, rubbing harder and faster until he suddenly rips his fingers from you as you gush around them, soaking his hand and the bed.

“Oh! Shit,” you cry out, panicking. “What the f–”

“Fuck, yes,” Marcus groans, the sound coming deep from within his chest. “Oh, fuck, do that again.”

When he notices your expression of utter shock, though, he pauses, a slow smile of understanding spreading across his face. 

“Honey,” he says soothingly. “Was that the first time?”

You stare up at him, mouth hanging open. “I… I kind of always thought that was a myth,” you admit, ducking your head in embarrassment. 

“Oh, baby,” he breathes softly. “No, it’s definitely not.”

He lays down beside you again, gently tucking a wisp of stray hair behind one ear. “That was so good,” he praises softly. “So good to me.”

You smile shakily, but something is starting to nag at you.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asks, noticing your hesitant expression. 

“I just… feel really inexperienced,” you admit quietly. “You know all this stuff, and I–it must be tedious, having someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, or–”

“No,” Marcus interrupts, his voice full of sincerity. “It’s not tedious at all. On the contrary,” he says with a little laugh, “the fact that I get to show you… that I’m the only one who can get you to do something you didn’t even know you could do–Well, shit,” he says with a crooked grin. He reaches down and palms his cock, which is hard and weeping again. “Look at what it does to me, huh?”

“Does that mean you’ll fuck me again?” you ask eagerly.

Marcus chuckles at your enthusiasm. “I did say I was going to fill you up one more time, didn’t I?”

When you wake up (in your bed, next to Emma, after sneaking back into your own room after Marcus was finally finished with you in the wee hours of the morning), your travel companion is decidedly not ready to go. 

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a train,” she grumbles. “And my stomach is still in fucking knots.”

“We can just stay around the house,” you offer.

“I don’t want you to lay around being bored just because of me,” she protests, flopping down on the couch with a groan.

“Not feeling any better?” Marcus asks, coming into the living room. 

“No,” Emma pouts. “I’m gonna stay here and rest.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks, looking over at you.

You shrug. “I don’t really know. Stay here too, probably.”

“How about this,” Marcus says carefully. “I’m supposed to be going to the National Gallery of Art today to give a little talk about forgery detection. If you wanted to come, we could… walk around the museum a bit, afterward?”

You try to keep your face neutral at the prospect of spending a day with Marcus. Alone. 

“Sure,” you say, hoping it sounds nonchalant. “Could be fun.” 

“Great,” he says lightly. “It’s a d–it’s a plan.”

It’s a date.

You’re giddy as you wave goodbye to Emma–who’s watching daytime TV and holding a bottle of Gatorade–and follow Marcus out of the door. 

As soon as the door shuts, he rounds on you, taking your face in his hands and kissing you soundly. “So glad you said yes,” he says breathlessly. 

“Why wouldn’t I say yes to that?” you tease. “Spending the day with you.”

“I don’t know,” Marcus murmurs playfully, capturing your lips again. “Good question.”

“Is this a date?” you ask coyly.

He pauses, lips parting in surprise. “Do you want it to be?”

Taking a big leap of faith, you nod. 

Marcus’s expression softens, and he threads your fingers together. “Then it’s a date.”

After his talk–which you listen to with eager eyes and rapt attention–the two of you stroll slowly through the galleries, talking. Marcus occasionally stops, taking in the artwork, and tells you little tidbits of information about each piece. He seems to be using the quiet setting as an excuse to keep you as close as possible; his arm wraps around your waist as he leans down and talks quietly in your ear, making goosebumps rise on the back of your neck whenever he speaks. He seems to know the effect on you–you had no idea art could be described so sensually. 

You lose the afternoon to each other; having lunch in a small cafe and then walking down the National Mall, hand in hand.

You pick up a sandwich for Emma, just in case she’s feeling better, on your way home. As you get closer and closer, every step starts to feel heavier and heavier. You never want this to end. 

Just before you arrive at his building, Marcus stops and spins you around, cupping your cheek and pulling you to him for a soft kiss. 

“Today was–” he starts, but breaks off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Listen, I don’t–I don’t know what your plans are after you leave tomorrow, but–”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

You’re both dancing around something big–both of you afraid to say what you really mean, and you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to take the leap. 

You had been hoping that Marcus would.

“It was nice,” you say lamely. 

“It was,” he agrees softly. 

Emma is looking a little less green when you arrive back home, and accepts the sandwich eagerly. 

“Sorry about today,” she says, her mouth full. “I don’t know what the hell that was.”

“It was the cal–”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

At first, when you hear Emma start to fall asleep beside you, you're paralyzed. You want to go to Marcus. This is your last night; if you want to say goodbye, you need to go to him this one last time.

You just don't know if you can face goodbye.

You don't know if you can face him. 

You aren't under any reservations about what this is. Marcus is a man, and you're nothing special. You're also nearly half his age. You gave him 'fuck me' eyes for three days, and he when he gave in to the temptation, you came willingly. But this was never meant to be a long-term arrangement. 

It was never meant to be in the first place.

You just wish your first time hadn't been with the total package. Marcus is sweet, kind, attentive, and can apparently make you cum like it was a competitive sport. How are you supposed to go back home, back to being around boys your age, and expect them to measure up?

You debate staying in bed. It would be the easiest thing to do. You could begin tonight: stuffing your feelings down and burying them deep, never letting them see the light of day again. You were on spring break, and this was a fun romp. A fling. You could leave it there and never give Marcus the goodbye he probably deserves. 

On the other hand… 

What's the harm in delaying for one more night?

You slip into his room for the third time in three days, and carefully close the door behind you. Marcus is shirtless in bed, and he beckons you over with a crooked, affectionate smile. 

"Fancy seeing you here, beautiful," he says, drawing the covers back with a playful raise of his eyebrow. 

Despite your heavy mood, you can't help but grin back and enthusiastically hop into bed beside him. 

He takes advantage immediately, grabbing you and turning you, and pulling you back against his chest with a playful growl. You're caged tightly in his arms, and there's nowhere you'd rather be.  

"This is nice," you hum contentedly. 

"Oh yeah? This all you want? Just a little cuddle?" Marcus teases, nipping gently at your shoulder. 

"What if it was?" You wiggle your hips playfully against his hardening cock.

"If that was all you wanted? Then I'd think really hard about dead puppies and my childhood neighbor Mrs. Fitzwilliam in order to calm myself down a little," he answers. 

"Mrs. Fitzwilliam?" you laugh. "Why?"

"When I was a little boy, I was convinced she was a witch. I couldn't so much as talk to her for years."

"Stop it, no you did not."

"I wouldn't joke about that," he laughs. "I was really scared of her!"

"Do me a favor and don't think about her," you tease. "I like how it feels against me."

"Would feel better somewhere else," Marcus says darkly. 

"Have somewhere in mind, do you?"

"I've had it on my mind all day," he says softly. 

"Show me," you murmur. "Show me what's been on your mind all day."

"Wanna know what I was picturing while I was giving that little forgery talk?" Marcus asks.

"Obviously."

"Then sit up, pretty girl."

He loosens his hold on you and you sit up, unable to keep the grin off your face. He sits up too, gently taking hold of the hem of your shirt and drawing it up over your head. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your shorts. 

"Help me out with these," he commands quietly. 

You shimmy them down your hips and kick them off, still kneeling before him, now completely bare. Marcus sits back on the headboard and pats his thigh suggestively, giving you a wicked smile. 

"C'mere."

You giggle and bite your lip nervously as you crawl forward and straddle him.

"Wanna see you just like this," he murmurs. 

"I–I've never–"

"I know," he interrupts with a wry smile. "I've got you. Just wanna see you like this," he confesses, palming your jaw and rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone.

Your eyes start to flutter shut as you feel the tip of him breach you as you sink slowly down. 

"Eyes on me, honey." 

With a shaky breath, you open them again, holding Marcus's intense gaze as you impale yourself on his cock. Your lips part, eyebrows pinching together at the stretch of him–you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of being broken open for the first time. 

"That's it," he whispers. "Just like that." 

You slowly rock your hips, rising up and sinking back down again. You feel so full like this; your lips part and a breathy gasp escapes you as you feel the drag of Marcus’s cock inside of you. 

This is the first time you've chased your own pleasure with him like this; Marcus's eyes rake over your form greedily and as you ride him, you start to feel overly conscious of his scrutiny.

"Do I look okay?" you ask shyly.

Marcus makes a disbelieving noise and surges up, his hands starting to guide the movement of your hips as he kisses you messing, trailing from your mouth to your neck as he flexes up into you.

"Are you kidding?" he asks softly. "You're ethereal. A fucking goddess in my bed. And if you're thinking about that, I'm not fucking you right."

"That's a lie," you say with a lazy smile. "You're very thorough."

"Oh yeah? You like how I fuck you?"

"Mmmhmm," you hum. "Liked what you were doing last night."

Marcus chuckles deep in his throat. "Is that so? Cum for me like this, honey, and I'll put you on your knees again."

When his thumb presses into your clit, rubbing in small circles, it doesn't take you long to start to feel the pleasure growing in your core. You start moving faster, bouncing on his cock, no longer caring if your body is jiggling too much or that your face might look silly contorted with pleasure; all you can think about is chasing that feeling that’s building inside of you. Marcus helps you along, thrusting up into you, and you swear he must get deep enough to feel the very end of you. 

He whispers little praises and encouragements in your ear in that deep, raspy way his voice gets when he’s drunk on pleasure. You can recognize all his little foibles, now–the way he wiggles his wrist back and forth when something’s on his mind, the way he talks with his hands when he’s passionate about a subject, and the way he sounds when he comes undone.

You’re going to carry all of those things with you, now–the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way he raises one eyebrow when he’s being playful, and the way he sometimes mouths along to the words of his favorite old movies.

Is it possible to miss someone so completely after just one week?

You’re so deep in your emotions when you cum, you barely even realize that you’re about to until you’re clenching hard around him, grinding down on his cock as he works you through it, guiding your hips with his fingers pressing hard into your skin.

You’re still in a daze as Marcus flips you over, depositing you on your back and then turning you over onto your stomach on the bed. Rather than pull you up to your knees like the night before, he straddles you like this and sinks back into you, draping himself over your back as he starts to really fuck you.

Oh. This might be your favorite position yet–it’s the same angle as it was last night with the added bonus of getting to feel the weight of this man pressing down on you. His chest is against your back, his ragged breaths in your ear. His elbows cage your face and he entangles your fingers together over your head. It’s a sensory overload in nearly every way, and you’re drowning in the feel of him.

It’s so good that you feel your core start to tighten again.

“So soon?” Marcus teases breathlessly in your ear. “Fuck, I can feel you shaking. How are you so fucking perfect, hmm? You always feel like you were made to take me.”

His words inexplicably cause a lump to build in your throat. Made to take him, but this couldn’t, by definition, last. The statement only makes you wish that your compatibility didn’t have to be so fucking temporary. 

You’re teetering on a precipice–on the verge of both an orgasm and inexplicable tears. When Marcus gently brushes the shell of your ear with his lips and murmurs one last, soft sentence, you finally succumb to both.

“You can let go, honey. I’ve got you.”

You convulse with a wet sob, pleasure and sorrow overtaking you simultaneously. Blessedly, with your face buried in the pillow, Marcus doesn’t notice yet; he starts fucking into you with abandon until he lets go with a deep groan in your ear. 

When he finally stills, and he starts peppering kisses across your shoulder blade, you can feel him stiffen when he realizes that, mortifyingly, there are tears on your cheeks.

“Shit,” Marcus breathes. He carefully slips out of you and turns you over underneath him, quickly brushing the tears at the corners of your eyes. He kisses them away, whispering softly to you.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks frantically. “Honey, look at me.”

“No!” you exclaim emphatically. “No, I–I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Talk to me,” he demands softly.

“I don’t–I don’t want to go home,” you whisper. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Oh, honey,” Marcus whispers. “Really?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m sure this is exactly what you’re looking for–for some girl to get attached to you after one whole week of knowing you…”

Marcus smiles and brushes his thumb against your cheekbone. “Attached to me?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say. “You’re just really nice, and you’re gorgeous, and you’ve been so good to me–”

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Please don’t cry.”

"Sorry," you say again.

"Hey," he says softly, still stroking your cheek. "You know something? You're wrong. You're not 'some girl.' You're sweet, and funny, and cute, and maybe having this girl right here be attached to me after one whole week of knowing me is exactly what I'm looking for."

"What are you suggesting?" you ask bluntly. 

“All I’m suggesting is that we stay in touch,” Marcus answers. “No pressure, no expectations. We talk, and we get to know each other better, and when you graduate, Miss Pre-Law,” he teases, lightly touching the tip of your nose, “if you still feel the same way, come back to me. Go to Law School at Georgetown. Get an internship at the FBI. And whatever it is that you do, I know of a place you can stay.”

"You'd really want that?" you ask, a slow smile starting to spread across your face.

"I'd be a fool not to grab onto this with both hands," he murmurs, stroking his hand down your side. "A damn fool."

"What about Emma?"

Marcus pauses, biting his lip. "She's a grown woman," he says carefully, "and I haven't had much of a place in her life growing up. I would hope that… once we see where this goes–if it goes anywhere–she'd understand."

You nod slowly. "Okay."

"I've rushed into things in the past," he says softly. "More than once. But I'm not in any rush right now. I want to take my time, get to know you, and if you're still looking at me the way you're looking at me right now in a year, I'll consider myself a lucky man."

Your smile is brilliant. "I'd like that."

"I'd like that, too. And that means tomorrow isn't goodbye, anymore." 

"No?"

"Nope," Marcus says with a grin. "Just 'see you later.'"

"Can I still get a goodbye kiss?" you ask.

He shakes his head playfully, but his lips descend to meet yours anyway. 

"Not a goodbye kiss," he teased.

"A 'see you later' kiss," you correct. 

"A 'you are so goddamn beautiful that I can't help to kiss you' kiss."

"You're making this too complicated."

"An 'I'll call it whatever I damn well please' kiss."

"An 'everything's gonna be alright' kiss?" you ask hopefully. 

Marcus smiles and kisses you long and deep. "Especially that."

– – – – – 

One year later…

“May I present: the graduating class of 2024.”

Along with Emma and the rest of the seniors in the auditorium, you throw your mortar-board hat into the air, shrieking happily as someone else’s crashes down on your head, instead. 

“Fucking finally!” Emma shouts beside you, and you grin widely. 

The last year has been a whirlwind for the both of you, and you know it. 

After reconnecting with her dad, Emma made an effort not to lose touch again. Eventually, he had opened up about his past and the circumstances surrounding his divorce, and at her urging, even began the process of making peace with her mom. They even had Christmas together, for the first time since Emma was two. 

And how do you know all this?

Well, Marcus hadn’t lost touch with you, either. 

True to his word, you both took your time and got to know each other from a distance. Talking to him was still as easy as breathing, and you’d spend entire nights at the beginning staying up far too late and talking well into the wee hours of the morning. 

It wasn’t hard to see that the something that was between you was still there and not going away any time soon. And the only thing you’ve found so far that rivals the strength of your friendship is the passion that you continue to have for each other in the bedroom.

Marcus would make trips when he could–some visits ostensibly to see Emma and other, more secret trysts where his only aim was to see you. (And see you he did; on most occasions, he’d barely let you out of his hotel room.)

Your beginning may have been a meteoric collision–two people forced into proximity that had no choice but to fall into each other–but the growth of your resulting love was slow and careful.

Eventually, you’d need to tell Emma, but it didn’t feel like the time was quite right, yet. Of course, when she visits you at Georgetown next year and you give her not your own address, but her father’s, the two of you will have to come clean. 

Right now, though, as you and Emma weave through the crowds of people looking for Marcus, you’re content to keep things the way they are. Everything is slowly falling into place, and that piece of the puzzle will fit into the rest when it’s ready.

“There she is!”

Emma beams as she hears Marcus call out, waving his hand frantically to catch your attention among the sea of people. 

She lets herself be crushed into a hug, her father grinning proudly and murmuring something unintelligible into her ear. After a few minutes, he releases her and turns to you.

“Congratulations,” he says–perfunctorily, but warmly. 

“Thank you.”

After a couple of beats, Emma rolls her eyes.

“Would you just kiss her already? Honestly, it’s more weird that you’re not.”

Two sets of eyes swivel to her in alarm.

“You… you knew?” you exclaim.

Emma gives you a disbelieving look. “Okay, the fact that you two both think you were being subtle means you might actually be meant for each other. Wow.”

“How?” you choke out.

“Are you serious? You two had bizarre energy when you met, and ever since, I see you smiling at your phone all the time,” Emma says to you. “And after that week, whenever he’s come to visit, you both act weird around each other.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly.

“Plus, you had a hickey on your neck one morning,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Real subtle.”

Oops. You shoot Marcus a look, and notice that he’s as red as a tomato. 

“Em,” he starts, looking pained.

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “Look, it’s not like we had the closest of relationships when I was a kid. I'm getting to know you as an adult, and it just feels different than it would be if you had raised me. I’m not going to say it doesn’t make me feel fucking weird, and I don’t ever wanna know details about your sex life and I am not calling you ‘mom,’ but I guess I’ll just say… I get it. You two are oddly similar, and I wouldn’t want to stand in between you and happiness. Because I… you know. I love you.”

“Emma,” Marcus says, his smile turning watery for a moment. 

“Don’t… make a big deal out of it,” she grumbles.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughs, and gives her a sweet kiss on the forehead. “I love you too, Emmie.”

He pulls back and looks at you, his eyes sparkling, and you feel your insides start to heat up just from his gaze alone.

Those words are still new, between you–the first time was whispered softly in his ear in the darkness after spending all night wrapped around each other just a couple of months ago. Marcus whispered them back immediately after; he was achingly patient and careful to take his time with you, even though you’d felt that emotion emanating from each of you for months prior.

It was just–you didn’t want to rush things. Love was new to you. Everything was. And if Marcus was going to be your first experience with all of it, you had a feeling that you were going to want to savor it.

You know he feels the same.

Stepping forward, Marcus gently tips your chin up to meet him in a gentle kiss. The shape of his lips are so familiar now, you could probably draw them in your sleep. You know the way they move against yours. You know how it feels when he smiles against your mouth–which he does often, and right now.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs again. This time, the word is dark and full of underlying emotion–love, affection, friendship, pride–and you grin back as you kiss him once more.

“What now?” you ask with a little laugh.

“I have a few ideas,” he husks in your ear, inaudible to anyone else, before pulling back. “But right now?” he shrugs. “Anything you want. Everything.”

“What if I said that all I wanted was you?”

Marcus’s eyes soften. “Well, honey,” he says gently, “you’re in luck, because that’s the one thing I can give you.”

The end.

[fanttasttica]

Running into stranger

Rhysand x reader

During your first Calanmai you meet someone new, male who you don't know, but at the same time it feels like you know him. What could that feeling mean? How will your meeting end?

A/N: Hello and welcome to my first fanfiction here on Tumblr :D At first I would like to warn you, that english isn't my first language, so there will be some mistakes. But I know you aren't here for me, so now to the story.. Warnings: smut (only indicated) Word count: 2570

It was finally here, you came to age and your first Calanmai was waiting for you. Your family lived in Spring court your whole life and you honestly don't remember, when did you hear about this tradition for the first time. Well.. right now you couldn't even remember how did you get into this white dress and when did your aunt finally left your room, after many hours during which she tried to tame your hair and complete your makeup to perfection. You were staring at yourself in the mirror and you couldn't decide if you loved your new look or hated it. Your aunt did good job, she styled your hair, so they looked like a crown and she even added some flowers from the garden. Your makeup was very light, nothing monstrous, it didn't just feel like you. You looked down on your dress, that was the thing you hated most on your look tonight. Maybe it was because of that deep neckline, which you were not used to. Maybe the fact that you feel like precious porcelain doll in them. You sighed, while shaking your head. It was just for one night. One night and then, you will be free. Well.. until the next year, when there will be another Calanmai and Highlord will be picking another girl, which he wants to fuck, so he can release the magic that will spread through the lands and allow crops to grow. You were just hoping, that the next year, you will not attend. Right now, you were just a single and pure Maiden, an ideal option for tonight's ceremony, as well as a couple of other girls. And your family wanted you to go. Actually, they were even hoping, that you might be the Maiden, who will be picked by Highlord tonight. They probably seemed it as a great opportunity to climb higher in the eyes of society. Saying that their daughter was pretty enough for Highlord to pick her tonight would also ensure plenty of attention and possibly even marriage proposals. You already had some, but not from males your family approved and you didn't mind, because not a single male who wanted to marry you was someone you would want to marry. Maybe you should start coming to terms with the fact that you will probably not marry someone you will love, because that was something your family didn't care for. You were brought up to be a perfect lady, elegant, always polite. Your were expected to hold your tongue and have as many children possible. You hated it. You hated the life your family wanted for you and you haven't even experienced it yet. "Y/N what are you doing?! I was calling for you for the past five minutes." said your mother, while standing in open door to your room. Her foot was tapping impatiently as she waited for an answer, you were going to give her one, but before you could speak, she interrupted you: "It's time to go, or you will be late."

You were relieved, High lord didn't pick you, his eyes were watching you for a while, but then moved to the girl standing next to you. Maybe he saw that you didn't really wanted to be here? You tried to mask your emotions, because you knew how important it was for your family and even though you hated them, you loved them and didn't wish to disappoint them. But since you already had, there wasn't a reason for you to stay. Some people would probably find tonight's festivities interesting, but the only thing you wanted right now was disappear into thin air, so you wouldn't have to watch tons of people have sex, while you were still innocent and insecure about this. Hiding in the shadows, you tried to avoid as many people as possible, which was quite hard, since there were so many of them. Smell of sex was starting to fill air and your lungs, holding breath was not a long-term solution, so you decided to try run faster, but after a fex meters you run into something, or rather someone. Preparing for fall, you closed your yes, but in the end, your body never met the ground. Instead, someone's hand manage to catch you saving your dress from getting dirty, even though you wouldn't mind. You would rather celebrate. Still holding breath, you opened your eyes meeting purple ones, which looked at you in surprise.

"You probably should start to breathe, darling" he said, smirking slightly and you obeyed. "I am sorry," you start pulling away from him nervously and finally looked from his eyes. Your gaze travelled across his handsome face, his neck and to his body, which was covered with clothing, very expensive clothing. "Don't be, I am actually used to girls, who are throwing themselves at me", you replied by raising eyebrows. "You have a very high ego", he chuckled at your words. "Why shouldn't I? Just look at me," your eyes travelled all over his body, once more and you again meet his eyes, which reflected his smile. He was handsome, more than all flowers in this court, no.. He was more handsome than stars on the sky. And since you couldn't denied his words, you rolled your eyes, forgetting good manners for a while. "Sorry", you immediately apologized, after you realized what have you done. "There is no need to apologize, you didn't do anything. Actually, this was probably the mildes reaction I got after boasting myself. My brothers would laugh at me for sure and my cousin would probably start to insult me" you didn't know him, but you still believed him, so you nodded, not knowing what to say. There was silence between you, the only sound was from drums and since you ran far enough, it wasn't that loud either. "Are you okay?" he asked suddenly. "Yes, I am, shouldn't I be?" you straightened up, trying to gather your thoughts. Why are you even here? You should just carry on your way, after apologizing to him, but.. You couldn't. Something was holding you back. Your brain was protesting, when you started thinking about going home. "Well, maybe because you ran into me, like there was a beast following you? I try not to visit Spring court and Calanmai so often, but I know this isn't normal behavior here.." He was clearly not buying your lie, you sighed before replying "I just.. don't like Calanmai so much. And I wanted to get away, before things get out of hand." It looked like he accepted this explanation, nodding his head, "Then why are you here? If you don't like this traditions, you should be home. It's not.. save for you." You knew that, of course you did. This night wasn't only for High lord to find a Maiden and have sex with her. Many others were here to have fun and some males, could be very brutal, if they were refused, mainly those visiting from Autumn court. "Well, you know.." you cleared your throat, embarrassed because of your situation. "My family wanted me to go, they were hoping that High lord Tamlin would pick me tonight", you were whispering, not wanting to say this out loud, because it would make your situation with your family even more real, than it was. Male before you clenched his fists, while his eyes darkened, because now he understood, what were you almost forced to do. It made your heart ache, this stranger already cared more about you, than your own family did. "Were are you going now?" he asked after seconds of silence. "Home," you replied honestly and he shake his head in disbelief. "You are going home after your family forced you, to this? You couldn't possibly mean that," it was understandable that he didn't want to believe you, who would? "I don't have a choice, I don't have anywhere else to go," you shrugged. Of course you didn't want actually to go home. But it seemed better and definitely saver than being outside this night. "You can come with me, to my home" you smiled at his words, not thinking he meant them seriously. "I am serious. I understand that it probably sounds.. well creepy, but I assure you, I don't mean any harm. Maybe I don't know your family, but I am surely better than them, just because I wouldn't ever forced you into anything." Something in your heart was telling you, he meant those words. He seemed actually determined persuading you into going with him. "This is crazy. I don't know you and you don't know me, I.. I shouldn't even be thinking about this," and you still were. "You definitely shouldn't, not that it matters because you're not going anywhere with him or anyone else."

Your family was here. Well, not everyone, just your father, uncles and cousins, standing behind you. You quickly turned, so now you were facing them, stranger came closer to you, so you could almost feel heat coming from his body. Your breath quickened, this wasn't good. They clearly heard you two and because of your word, they knew you were thinking about leaving, about running away from them. Maybe they didn't love you, but they still wanted you to stay, so you could be a puppet in their game. "I.. I am sorry." you looked down, trying to focus on your shoes, instead piercing gaze from your family members. "Don't apologize," strangers voice was kind, well to this moment, now it changed, drastically. His voice was dangerously low and there was something forcing you to shiver, bus it was not from fear. You were confused. "She should apologize. For many reasons and mainly because she failed her job tonight" your father clenched his white teeth furiously. "And because of that, we are here, trying to find her, before she does something stupid, like leaving," your cousin added with venom in his voice. "Thank you for catching me, so I didn't fell and for asking me, if I was okay, but.. I should go." you said, turning your head to stranger, before you could go to your family, he grabbed your wrist firmly but gently. "You don't want to go with them. You shouldn't go, if you don't want to.. And I know you don't want to go with them." His eyes were staring into yours, his gaze was intense, you almost forgot that your family was here, until your father spoked once again. "You have no right to tell her what she can or can't do. I am her father, what she do is my decision, until she gets married." Stranger looked at him and laughed, "Well.. I don't care. I say, that she can decide for herself, what she wants. And if I were you, I would shut your mouth and behave well, before I make you." this wasn't just a threat, it was a promise. At this point, you wanted to cry from happiness, but on the other hand, you were still sceptical. How could you go with him? How could he take you away? One man against five. He looked very strong, but was he strong enough? You didn't want him to end up injured just because of you. As if he was reading your thoughts, he looked at you, and suddenly, you felt a huge way of power, which was coming from him. To this time, he was hiding his powerful aura, but now it was surrounding him. Confusion and fear was visible on the faces of your father, uncle and cousins, but you were calm, you felt safe, for first time in your life. And exactly at this moment you felt it. You felt the bond between you and the male, who was standing beside you and holding you, know protectively around your waist. He smiled at you kindly, "This makes a lot of things easier." It was surprising that you were able to recover from the shock so quickly and you even manage to respond, "You.. you knew." More than a question, it was a statement. "From the moment you crashed into me, but I didn't want to scare you." he sounded honestly, so you nodded and smiled at him once again. "I didn't dare to dream about finding you," your words were quiet, so only he could hear them. In the response, he brushed his lips against your ear, before whispering "And I was dreaming about finding for almost five hundred years, my darling." This romantic moment was interrupted by your uncle, who tried to step up to you, he wanted to grab your hand so he could pull you away, fortunately, he wasn't successful. Stranger was keeping his promise, in a second your uncle was before you on his knees screaming from pain. "Don't you dare to touch my mate." You looked at your mate, stepped closer to his embrace. It worked, your uncle stopped screaming and after he could move, he ran to other males from your family, who were now more terrified than ever. It gave you a sense of satisfaction, but you didn't want to look at them longer than it was needed, "Can we go now? Please." You asked your mate, he replied by giving you the brightest smile you have ever seen and nodded.

You didn't glance back at your family and he didn't too. Your mate was powerful and they knew it. They weren't dumb, it was clear that at this point, trying to stop you would be a dead wish. You left them in the dark behind you, as you followed your mate hand in hand to the little hill. "Even though I plan on calling you my darling for the rest of our lives, can you tell me your name?" you almost slapped your forehead, after all this and you still did not introduce yourself. "My name is Y/N.. What's yours?" you asked, as you stopped on the small hill, where were you headed. "I am Rhysand," your breath hitched. "Rhysand? Isn't that name of the High lord of the Night court?" it was all logical. He wore expensive clothes, he was very powerful.. You were surprised that it didn't occur to you earlier. You were once again shocked and your mate, Rhysand, smiled gently at you. "I know it is shocking. I probably should have said it to you, but honestly.. I didn't know when, this all happened so fast.." after he said that, you started laughing, Rhysand was looking at you, not quite expecting this reaction, but you shrugged and kept smiling. "I just find it funny. My family wanted me to get High lord to fuck me tonight.. And know they don't even know my mate is High lord himself." And he is not only High lord, he is the strongest High lord, who was ever born. "When I think about it now, I regret not introducing myself more properly." you couldn't agree more with him. "Well. they will find out, I suppose. But honestly.. I don't want to think about them more right know. I just want to go to your home." tiredness started to take over you. "To our home," Rhysand corrected you with happiness in his voice, winnowing you away. To your new home.. to Velaris, city of starlight.

[rorywritesjunk]

the buggy with a older sister reader was so cute . when i was reading i thought to my self what would buggy's reaction be if he finds out marco has a crush on his sister.

Disclaimer: So Imma be honest here, I'm still getting through One Piece and haven't seen Marco yet but I know who he is because of fanfiction and spending half my time on Tumblr.

Ok now that's out of the way.

So this would happen when Buggy is under age 15 because I imagine once he passes 15 he won't care what his sister gets up to because she's an adult at that point. So let's say he's 12, she's 17, this guy shows up and she's gonna look at him and think his head reminds her of a pineapple. She kind of just shrugs and Marco maybe tries to flirt with her.

Buggy's going to feel extra protective because one, his sister survived nearly dying two years prior. She's got scars now all over her body. And two, her nose is like Buggy's, y'know, and if Buggy had those scars as well as his nose he'd feel self conscious, but his sister doesn't.

And maybe that's why Marco gets a crush. Nothing really bothers her while living on the ship and he likes that in a woman. So he tries flirting, bringing her a snack when she's working, tries to use flowery words to say how beautiful she is, and she just figures he's had too much heat exposure or something because why is he comparing her hair to kelp, it's not the same color at all.

And here's Buggy, anytime they're alone he butts in, wanting to be there if his sister needs help lifting anything or moving boxes because y'know, Buggy is a lot stronger than his sister (he isn't tho) and has beat up suitors before (she hasn't had suitors before, the crush Shanks had on her when he was 11 doesn't count). And she's kind of oblivious to the whole thing while Marco wonders why this kid keeps butting in.

And when Marco finally says something to her, Buggy is right there, he heard this guy say he thinks his sister is beautiful and wonders if they could do some kind of date, and Buggy hates the idea because what if his sister falls in love and decides to leave him behind? And to Buggy's horror, his sister just shrugs and agrees to it. Now he's certain his sister is going to fall in love and leave him behind, which is the last thing he wants.

Except she doesn't. She goes on a date (onboard the ship because she doesn't care to get off the ship when they are at a port (that's a lie she's not allowed off the ship because she keeps rescuing cats and Rayleigh won't let her off the ship unsupervised)). It's fine. She doesn't really care. Marco talks to her and she kind of just eats her food, listening, but how is this different from just sitting with the crew and eating?

And maybe Buggy can't handle it and comes to join them. Marco really would rather he didn't, this is supposed to be a date between the two of them, no little brothers allowed, but you let Buggy sit between the two of you with his own plate and you ask Marco what he wants in life besides piracy, because you love animals and have been spending more time with Crocus learning how to take care of injuries and you wouldn't mind eventually settling down somewhere to help out animals.

But of course you had to make sure Buggy was okay, and you wouldn't be leaving until you knew your little brother would be fine without you. He was your responsibility and future suitors needed to know this. And Buggy looks at this guy, kind of smug, because hearing that assures him that his big sister won't go anywhere any time soon, and that pineapple headed guys have to understand who comes first when Buggy is involved.

[kukuma-kit]

Club Night

Ao’nung

┯━━━━━━━━━━ ●●● ━━━━━━━━━━┯

☆: * parings: human!Ao'nung x curvy! human!reader ☆: * warnings: AGED UP! 22 characters, maybe oc Ao'nung?, attempted proofread, cursing, mentions of Ao'nung and readers body, maybe some flirting? not rlly fluff or angst ☆: * Na'vi glossary: skxáwng- idiot ☆: * word count: 5,971 ☆: * Note(s): I was just experimenting with this and how tumblr works, feedback would be really helpful! I haven't wrote in a while but I've been wanting to write and I use to, so this'll be my first one. Not really proud of it but we'll see:) credit to the person who drew Ao'nung as a human! by @CrazyTom0712  on twitter!

┷━━━━━━━━━━ ●●● ━━━━━━━━━━┷ ✧* Summary: Having to be stood up and accompanied by the rain isn't exactly an ideal introduction of meeting a new possible friend..

The sound of raindrops falling on a quiet night would have been a soothing and peaceful experience, if it weren't for the fact that you had just left a noisy strip club and were stood up by a blind date set up by a friend. Frustrated and grumpy, you shouted into the empty sky, "As nice as it would be to enjoy the rain right now, now's not the time!!" You knew deep down that the guy wasn't going to show up, but you were still angry at the wasted effort and the terrible weather conditions that made it impossible to get a cab or any other transportation.

You cursed yourself for not checking the the hours of transportation properly before leaving, as you quickly pulled out a spare jacket from your bag, thanking yourself for checking the weather. The thin material of your dress was no match for the cold rain, and you rushed to find a chair to sit on one of the bar's patios. As you sat there shivering, you couldn't help but think of the friend who had dressed you in the black dress that didn't provide any warmth, putting the jacket you brought around your shoulders. While skin tight clothing was never really your thing, your friend convinced you to slip into a black dress that reached down to your mid-calf. The dress had a subtle slit on the side that reached right below your panty line and hugged your curvy hips. Although the fabric was stretchy, it still felt snug in all the right places. The thin material was perfect for your sensitive body heat, and you appreciated how it was loose enough to allow for easy movement. Despite all of this, you still cursed 'Otxä for forcing you into this dress and for having the nerve to dress you!

As you sat there lost in thought, the door to the patio opened and out walked a tall, muscular man with a tanned complexion and a thick accent that immediately caught your attention. He let out a sigh of relief and stretched his broad shoulders, revealing the outline of his muscles underneath his shirt. Ao'nung wasn't fond of his co-workers and their silly antics, he wanted some space so his headache would go away.

"ah..finally, some fresh fucking air" You couldn't help but notice the way his accent slipped off his tongue and melted into his words, making you feel a little more alive and a lot more turned on. Thighs clenching instinctively to put some sort of pressure on the throbbing that happened in between your legs, you pull out your phone to distract yourself from the man. The sound of your sigh fills the air as you look at your unanswered messages, left on delivered. Making said man avert his eyes to your screen, not realizing someone else was there with him. The impatience within you grows and you stand up, almost colliding with the man.(why he so close?) You feel his hands grip your biceps, causing your jacket to fall as your phone slides off to the side. As you stare up into his ash-blue eyes, you gulp, taken aback by his sudden rudeness. "Do you not look where you are going?" he huffs at you. You snap out of your daze and remove yourself from his grip, irritated by his behavior. Furrowing your brows, you create a crease in between which he can't help but notice.

"Well, excuse you. You were the one near me, why are you even that close?" you cross your arms underneath your breasts, making them pop out as you lean on one side of your leg, your hip poking out as you stare at him. He's surprised by your response; no one has ever spoken back to him like that before. You were also very pretty, even gorgeous, causing him to feel flustered and intimidated. His eyes scan over your figure, lingering on certain parts for a few seconds. "R-right, are you alright?" he asks, briefly regaining his composure. You chuckle before sitting down at the nearest table, facing him. He picks up your phone and jacket, walking over to you and setting them on the table.

"You aren't the best with words, huh?" you say, observing him as he gruffs. He feels bad about getting your jacket wet and sees you shivering, unable to resist a glance at your breasts as they pop out more. "Uh- yeah, something like that," he stammers, handing you his blazer. You inspect it, leaving him speechless before he blurts out, "It's like it's dirty! Why're you- just put it on or give it back, woman!" You laugh and put on the blazer, sighing at the warmth it provides. "I was only kidding. Thank you…uhh?" you trail off, realizing you don't know his name. Ao’nung, a member of the Metkayina clan, leans on the table as he introduces himself. You're left wondering about his clan, but before you can speak, you accidentally say out loud, "Metkayina..? As in one of the clans from Pandora, the reef people?". Ao’nung confirms your suspicion, grinning at your knowledge and causing his face to glow in the moonlight. As you continue to chat, you can't help but notice his earrings reflecting the moon, giving him an almost ethereal glow. When you inadvertently stare, Ao’nung asks why, and you quickly come up with a silly excuse. "why're you looking at me like that, woman?" "well that's one way to address me, fishface. besides no one's looking at you with that attitude" you huff out in annoyance at his rudeness. Taken aback he quickly defends himself before you burst out in laughter, Ao'nung wasn't having it as he yells at you. You both engage in some good-natured teasing, sharing laughs and quick insults that lead to a competition. As the night grows late, he offers to give you a ride home. Seeing that he was your only way of transportation, you accepted. The ride was surprisingly comfortable, and you both enjoy chatting and getting to know each other. You end up exchanging numbers with the promise to hang out again soon. As you step out of the car, he warns you not to wear certain clothes in a club where guys might stare at you, but you tease him about having a "fishface". You say goodbye and head inside, collapsing on the sofa and falling asleep with a smile on your face.

[cartierre]

'04. she/her. pisces. bisexual. ferrari enthusiast. english isn't my first language.

ⅰ. masterlist. ⅱ. crisis management. (my inbox) iii. choose your driver. (list of who i write for)

⟶ my latest work.

find my driver!oc series on @motomam1

requests are closed!

who do i write for? i mostly write for f1 and some of the f2 boys. honestly, i just write for whoever i feel like, there's no pattern or anything. whenever an idea strucks my mind i just look for who would fit best and that's about it.

what do i write? at the moment, i settled for social media!aus because i think they're fun to do. i used to write fanfiction on various websites (mainly tumblr and wattpad) but i'm currently not comfortable with posting whole fanfictions because i haven't written anything coherent in ages. maybe that will change in the future, who knows, but now i'm just sticking to social media!aus.

can you request? my inbox is always open for new ideas, inspiration, criticism, basically anything. however, i do this just for fun and whenever i find the time, please don't be mad when i don't immediately pick up your requests. expect some inconsistency in my posting schedule.

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

i need to hear your reasoning on janet coming back and also what you think will / want to happen when she does

Oh boy. Okay, to be completely honest based on Finknoriams' writing, in my heart of hearts I don't think she is going to come back. From a narrative perspective by all rules of how to write a plot, she should, but Fink and Cranor haven't been interested in following the rules of plot for a long time and Brie Williams only became an official writer after that season was already over. And they also said on Patreon that Janet Varney was only booked for a limited number of voice spots as Lubelle. So don't expect her to come back again based on one dyke on Tumblr saying she should. If she does ever return it will likely be years from now when they bring back older material, like what's happening now with Kevin.

However, they SHOULD bring her back, and here's why and here's what I want to happen.

Buckle up.

Narratively, the University of What It Is arc was just unsatisfying. The first time they were ever mentioned was all the way back in year three, when a faculty member named Sylvia Kayyali came to Night Vale while Carlos was in the Desert Otherworld. She told Cecil that Carlos had been missing for several decades. At the time, this seemed to fit into the whole idea of "time doesn't work in Night Vale", especially with the later reveal that time doesn't work in the Desert Otherworld but like, even more so. Except when Janet arrived, she didn't seem to think Carlos had been missing for years. She didn't even seem that interested in Carlos when she first arrived.

Janet's introduction came in the form of a post-credit voicemail, where she said that Kareem Nazari got in touch with the UOWII to tell them about Night Vale. Why would Kareem need to do that if they already knew what Night Vale was? Secondly, when Kayyali came to town over seven years ago, she said that her University had no science department aside from Carlos and ever since he left there were no scientists on staff. So how could Dr. Janet Lubelle, a dedicated scientist with a huge research team, have not only materialized in the University's staff but also become interim dean of their new branch over the course of just seven years?

In writing, there's premise and then there's plot. Sometimes the two don't line up. Take something like Repo the Genetic Opera as an example. The concept of that musical is a world where people can finance their organs from a large corporation called Geneco, which will repossess those organs if the lender doesn't pay. That's a really interesting premise, and the story could use it to talk about Capitalism and the insurance industry. However, the story isn't interested in those things, and it uses its premise as more of a backdrop for the actual story, which is a family drama and a coming-of-age. Just because a writer sets up a premise for their story doesn't necessarily mean that the premise needs to be explored in great depth.

Or, to use another example, take Breaking Bad. When Walter decides he'll start cooking meth for Gus Fring, there's already a lab built, and Gus already has a huge distribution system that he can easily plug Walter into. How he built that lab and got connected to this system isn't really important to the plot, because the plot can't continue if he doesn't have it. He has it because he needs to have it. But the story carefully gives us enough glimpses into Gus's past, his connections with the cartel, and his operation, that it makes sense for him to have this lab and network. It doesn't feel contrived, it feels realistic.

I mean, Night Vale itself sort of follows this idea, at least for the first few seasons. It's a town where every conspiracy theory is true. Why is every conspiracy theory true? Who knows! Here's the weather. Of course, by now the show has been going on for so long that the how and why have been fleshed out a little more, but it's ultimately not important to the story how Night Vale works. Until Doctor Janet Lubelle, who wants to know why everything is the way it is.

That's how she was presented, at least. But again with premise versus plot: the story says that Janet wants to understand why everything is the way it is, the reality shows that she wants to just explain everything away. As such, her motivations are really unclear. And like I've already said, you can have a premise that raises questions without needing to answer them all. The problem is that this season introduces so many questions to the point that they sometimes conflict with each other and ultimately the story of the season just doesn't make sense. This is all wrapped up in "Carlos, Explained", to a degree that doesn't actually make sense.

Q: Why did Kareem Nazari call the University of What It Is?

A: Doesn't matter.

Q: How did Janet get hundreds of scientists to come to Night Vale with her anyway, if Carlos was the only science professor seven years ago?

A: Doesn't matter.

Q: Does Janet want to understand how everything in Night Vale works?

A: No, she's just going to explain things away.

Q: Then does she not care how things work?

A: No, she just wants to prove a point.

Q: What is the point she's trying to prove?

A: That her version of science is better than Carlos's.

Q: And why is she trying to prove that?

A: Because Carlos took away all of her funding years ago.

Q: Then why didn't she come to town years ago if she knew Carlos was here all along?

A: Doesn't matter.

Q: Then why did she wait an entire year to explain Carlos away?

A: Because she wanted to destroy Night Vale first.

Q: But why did she want to destroy Night Vale?

A: To fuck with Carlos.

Q: Then why did she seemingly not care about Carlos at all for the entire year she was there or the entire seven years before that?

A: Doesn't matter.

Q: Then why did her team entirely abandon her if she'd brought them out here for the express purpose of fucking with Carlos?

A: That's not why she brought them out here.

Q: Then why did she?

A: Doesn't matter.

And the problem is that you can continue these circular questions forever. No, we don't need to know exactly how Janet recruited all her scientists or how she became Interim Dean, but her motivations and the story as a whole don't have enough internal logic. The only way to successfully conclude this arc would have been to give it way more time, and that just didn't happen.

But at the end of the day, what was the story of Janet Lubelle actually about? We've talked a lot about concept versus execution. Repo! the Genetic Opera is about taking people's organs for an insurance market, sure, but at the heart, it's about family. Breaking Bad is a story about a meth kingpin, but at the heart it's a story about change. Spirited Away is about growing up. American Gods is about religion and memory. Night Vale is a Jewish folktale and a love story.

What is the story of Janet Lubelle? Is it a revenge story? If it is, it doesn't set up the motivations for revenge, because I'm sorry but one episode where Janet says Carlos stole her funding is not enough of a motivation. Is it a story about how power corrupts? Then you have to give us some inclination of where her power stems from. Is it, as some people have suggested, a story about how a rigid system of conformity tries to erase queerness? Yes, this sounds right at first, but the text doesn't hold that idea up enough when we barely know anything about the University as a whole or Janet as an individual. Is the story just that some people are bad? To be honest, that's not a very interesting story.

I like all of these concepts individually, but they don't come together enough to create a satisfying narrative. Janet Lubelle as a character has a lot of potential, especially since she's the first person to permanently kill off some Night Vale regulars like Sarah Sultan and the Glow Cloud. I think her relationship to the town as an enemy is interesting.

What I would like to see, if she comes back, is exploring her relationship to the town as someone who can't leave. Carlos was a scientist who came to Night Vale with wide eyes and fascination, who fell in love with it easily and decided to stay in spite of his skepticism. It's also strongly implied throughout the show that if the town wants you, it's not going to let you go. I'd love to see Janet coming to terms with the fact that she's stuck in a town she tried to destroy. How could Night Vale challenge her worldview? How could it deradicalize her from her idea that anything unfamiliar needs to be destroyed? Could she accept that Carlos has won again, or would she be a permanent minor antagonist like Kevin, someone to come up and be foiled ever so often?

There's a lot left to explore with Dr. Janet Lubelle. It probably won't be, but I'll happily talk about her anytime someone wants me to.

[bil-daddy]

hi mr bildad um im just gonna dump this here since i have no one else to talk to

as someone who has always praised in their ability to be friends with anyone (i also need human interaction to survive btw) ive been feeling very lonely, especially since now are the school holidays.

my best friend (who is one year older than me) is barely online and doesn't take me seriously enough. and when i ask my friend group (with 2 other people my age) if they want to go out nothing happens. ive asked so many times but it's like they just don't want to hang out. and i keep seeing them post everywhere of them having fun with their OTHER friends (i don't know them bc they're from their primary schools; we are in secondary school now). and the obvious solution is to hang out with my primary school friends, right? well awesome news I DONT HAVE ANY.

and like ive just been feeling really really lonely especially today. i don't even text anyone except for my best friend, and even then she doesnt really respond properly because its like i dump a lot of messages and 4 hours later she skims through them, rinse and repeat.

(also side note i used to have another best friend but he ended up having a crush on me and didn't give me space so i kinda ended the friendship bc i wasn't comfortable with it)

during my entire TWO MONTH school holiday i haven't gone out with friends. not even once. while i see everyone else my age having so much fun and enjoying life while i just rot at home scrolling through tumblr.

so yeah im not really having a great time. hopefully when i get back to school in january things will be better

sorry for the long rant

Hey, kid (human). No need to apologize for the long rant. Actually, I've got a lot to say about this topic, too, so take a toilet break, grab a beverage and a snack, then sit down with your deal old Bildaddy (platonic, metaphorical) for a chat.

First off, sorry you're going through this. It hurts a lot when friends start fading away, and you realize they no longer consider you as close and you consider them. Feeling left out and like you don't have any real friends seriously sucks.

But it's actually something every single person goes through at some time or another--though most of us aren't brave enough to admit it like you have, because it feels embarrassing and shameful. Like there's something wrong with you.

There isn't.

There is nothing wrong with you.

Friends come and go, and 99% of the time it has nothing to do with you, or anything you've said or done. It isn't your fault. That doesn't mean it hurts any less, but it isn't your fault.

But that being said, I promise you, for every person you see pictures of having so much fun and enjoying life, there are twenty--probably even more--at home like you, scrolling tumblr, or tiktok, or reddit, or whatever the kids are scrolling these days.

And even those people you see posting pictures, that isn't their everyday life. They post pics of the good times, not the bad ones (well not usually) or the boring ones. Especially not the boring ones. I bet they do more sitting at home and scrolling than you think. They're just not advertising that for all their followers to see.

But that's not the point. The point is (dolphins! goats!) your current friends aren't fulfilling your need for socialization. And that means you need to find some new friends, anon.

You can still stay friends with your best friend and that old friend group. As in, don't send them a message officially ending the friendship, and don't delete and/or block them everywhere. You can still talk to them in school when you see them.

(Do unfollow them on social media if seeing them hang without you is upsetting--or better yet, pause on using social media entirely--except for tumblr, of course--until you're in a better place, mentally and emotionally. Bildaddy deleted instagram five years ago and never went back.)

But starting today, back off on asking these friends to hang out, and sending long text messages to your best friend that she only skims through. They're not matching your energy, so you need to start matching theirs. Either they'll notice the difference and start making more of an effort (no, not that kind), or they won't and they won't. But either way, you'll stop wasting your time.

Next, you take all the energy you were spending on your old friend group and start looking for new friends.

While you're still on winter break, there might not be as many opportunities, but there are some possibilities. Do you have any cousins around your age who might wanna hang out? Or maybe there are local events aimed at teenagers you can attend? Check libraries and community centers. Or on New Year's Eve, there might be some sort of Parents Night Out event you can volunteer for and help babysit a group of little kids, along with other teenagers that you could befriend?

Then, when winter break ends, look around your school for other students who might be in your same situation--and trust me there are others in your same situation. Is there someone who always sits alone at lunch? Or what about that kid in class who's too shy to speak up? Is there someone getting bullied or ostracized? Someone new to the school who hasn't made any friends yet? Look for the ones who might need a friend as much--or even more--than you do and try to befriend them.

It won't always work, no, cause nothing always works. But it will work sometimes. And you only need it to work enough times to make a couple friends. And if you make the right friend, they might have a friend group that you can join.

I know it's really scary to put yourself out there and make the first move. But you'd be surprised how receptive people are, especially the shy ones who are too scared to say 'hi' first, and rely on the braver ones, like you, for the human connection they need. Because we all need it. (Even me. Because I'm totally 100% human.)

Other ways to make friends are clubs, in school and out of school, which is probably what adults will suggest if you ask them, so I'm not going to spend much time on this. But they're right. If you're not already in clubs--academic, sports, art, books, music, anime, whatever your interest(s) is--join some! If there's nothing of interesting at your schools, churches and other local organizations might also have youth clubs and activities, too.

Shared interests in a sure way to make friends. I see it happening all the time on Tumblr. Those mutuals you wish didn't live so far away? Well, you can find mutuals just like them IRL! (Especially if you start or join a book club that reads Good Omens, or a tv show club that watches Good Omens)

Another option is getting a part-time job at a place other teenagers work. If this is something you can do without disrupting your schoolwork, try it. Fast food restaurants, cinemas, places like that.

You say you're someone who has the ability to be friends with anyone? Well, prove it! This isn't a threat, by the way. This is encouragement. I'm encouraging you.

Now go out there and make some friends, kid! I know you can do it! I believe in you, and everybody here is rooting for you.

And, as always, have an ox rib (platonic)

[hils79]

Thanks for tagging me (ages ago I'm sorry I suck) @puppy-phum

-

1. why did you choose your url?

I am so boring I almost want to apologise for it. My url is just my nickname and the year I was born (yes, I am old).

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them.

I don't really use my sideblogs much. I've got one that I haven't used for years that I used to post some of my photography on @hal-photography. I've got one for an old UK convention that folded during the pandemic but that I used to do the marketing for @writerconuk and I've got a whump blog that I use to reblog my favourite whumpy gifs so that they're easy to find. Not sharing that one because I do not wish to be Perceived.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

My original blog was set up in 2010. I had to nuke it after some unpleasantness in the Supernatural fandom (isn't it always SPN) and I've had this current once since 2011 I think

4. do you have a queue tag?

Nah, I don't queue things as a general rule. I do a bunch of reblogging first thing in the morning while I'm scrolling in bed and that's more or less it

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

I was looking for a new home after Livejournal finally properly died and most fandom folk were here at that time

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

It's a piece of DMBJ art that my housemate comissioned as a Christmas present a couple of years ago. I love it, and it was made specifically for me, so I made it my header and my icon

7. why did you choose your header?

Same as above

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

This RDJ/Paul Bettany exchange I ripped from Twitter. I have no idea why it ended up with 20k notes

9. how many mutuals do you have?

I honestly have no idea. Lots.

10. how many followers do you have?

Argh now I'm going to have to go and look. 2421. Wow.

11. how many people do you follow?

Wow this thing is really exposing me. 1908. I generally follow back so long as I can see that the person is an active fandom blog where we have at least one fandom in common.

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

I mostly shitpost in the tags

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

Generally for an hour in the morning before I get up and then however long it takes me to liveblog my next drama episode in the evening

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

No, I don't think so. Not that I can remember anyway. I generally try and avoid conflict and if someone is annoying me I just block them and/or vent about it in a safe space with friends I trust.

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts

Makes me less inclined to reblog them tbh. Don't tell me what to do in my own house.

16. do you like tag games?

I am so bad at remembering to do them when I get tagged (see above about only really being on tumblr for an hour a day) but I do appreciate it every time someone thinks of me

17. do you like ask games?

Yeah, same as above. I love them but I am crap at remembering to answer the asks. I'm very sorry.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I'm not sure I could name anyone who is tumblr famous beyond the actual celebrities who hang out here (like Lynda Carter)

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

I have mutuals I admire and wish I was brave enough to talk to more but I wouldn't really call them crushes. As an aroace I don't really do crushes.

20. tags?

I'm going to tag a few of my newer mutuals so I can get to know them a bit better. Absolutely no pressure though @prolestari @queenbeyondthejudge @fangirl-bookaholic @huzzzah @life-is-all-about-perspective @loving-that-officey-feel @greenyball @hwasfeatherduster

[magical-mistery]

Why is Chase Young alive in the timeline where Jack won?

Why didn't Chase Young die in the timeline Jack came out on top? He doesn't seem to be able to drink his soup... Does he really need it to remain immortal? Did Jack force him to drink it everyday?

Did Chase really need to drink that soup everyday to keep the deal? If he had already sold his soul the first time he drank the soup, then why keep drinking it? Does he need to constantly keep drinking the Lao Mang Lone soup even if he already has no soul? What would happen if he stops drinking it? Would th deal be off? Would he get old and die? Would he not?

This opens the space to speculate that maybe the reason Chase keeps drinking the soup is because of an inability to keep himself from drinking it, and keeps craving more. The soup also must help him from not deviating his mind from the pursue of evil, and keeps him on check- We can see when good!Chase drank the soup, he immediately started attacking the children without any other reason other than for the sake of evil, when a moment ago he would have never done that.

Chase himself told Omi evil isn't something that came naturally to him, he said it's an "acquired taste". It's very possible, as @grasshopperdoingdogpaddle mentioned once in one of their posts (I would link the post but using Tumblr on mobile is already hard enough, but I may edit this to add the link later), that the Soup™ played a big role on keeping Chase on the side of evil when he was with Hannibal.

So, in the timeline where Chase is tortured, he may not have had access to his soup, but it wouldn't affect him on his ability to keep himself from ageing.

And although he may not have the soup to keep himself from distancing from the side of evil in the Jack timeline, we have to consider:

He has been drinking the evil-no-good soup for like a millennia from now, it wouldn't make sense for him to just change his ways. He is probably still very influenced by that thing.

He is trapped on the same place where Hannibal and Wuya are. Although we haven't seen them interact with eachother that time, I think it's safe to assume they do not really get along.

Chase is constantly tortured by Jack, being called a coward and tortured with cold water on his head. Prob doesn't help at all. I think he also has short hair now. Yup. No good.

And most importantly, Omi is not there. The one person Chase cares for more than anything, and is the closest he got to another being as equals in like a thousand years or so, disappeared one day without trace. The single person who avoided the contempt of the beast Chase turned into, and made the other side of him appear at times. We can even argue, considering how pleased Chase was when Omi finally came, he might not have been as evil as before, but without Omi there, he wouldn't really change his perception of things, and keep being evil.

My point is: Kids, don't drink soup.

[27dragons]

Quiz Meme thing for people over 50 - via @gilajames

1. Name one body part that doesn't hurt: my elbow (who gets that reference? but really mine doesn't hurt. at least not today.)

2. Were you able to answer #1 because you have taken ibuprofen recently? Nope, I haven't been able to take ibuprofen at all for a few years now because I'm prone to ulcers. (I also haven't taken any tylenol/paracetamol, because it straight up doesn't work for me for pain relief. It lowers fevers, but that's it.)

3. Name one activity you are greatly relieved you don't do anymore because fuck that shit: change diapers and otherwise deal with any (literal) shit that isn't my own

4. Have you gotten at least eight hours of sleep in the past five days. (Not each night, just total.) Oh yeah, I average about 6.5 hours a night and on the weekends sometimes it stretches to seven!

5. Name one song that is NOT forty years old, what the fuck. The 1980s were, like, twenty years ago. Fuck you, the 80s were like, five years ago at most lol. That said: The Hamilton soundtrack, and also "Panic" by David Ford. Those are only like 10-15 years old.

6. Do you remember the last time you got carded (not counting 'we have to card everyone' places.) If we're not counting "card everyone" places, then I have never been carded. When I bought booze legally for the first time on my 21st birthday, they did not card me. Apparently I radiate an aura of "yeah she's old enough."

7. Name one musician that you keep hearing their name but have no clue what their music is. My Chemical Romance, I guess (I have a general idea what the music is but I don't know that I've actually heard it. I could be wrong about that I suppose but I definitely didn't know it.) I'm not really a music person, this is a lot of music questions for me.

8. Have the celebrities you loved as a kid started dying of old age? A few but not too many yet.

9. Have the celebrities you loved as a teenager started dying of old age? Same.

10. When did you start listening to the Oldies station? Another music question? I mean, I listened to the oldies station when I was in frickin college because I don't care about music and that was the station my boyfriend at the time liked. I really only listen to music in the car, and after I dumped that guy I switched to listening almost exclusively to tapes, CDs, and music downloaded to an iPod/phone.

11. Have you told a younger co-worker any form of the phrase "wait until you're my age/older/hit your 40s, then you'll..." Not really, though I've done the "wait until you have kids who are [age] thing to younger co-workers, and commiserated with co-workers of similar age about all the shit that hit us after 40.

12. Do you seek out older co-workers so you can quote something at them that they will get? Nope, because I am a work-from-home introvert. :D

13. Would you rather just stay home? At least 85% of the time, YES.

14. Have you reached the point that for birthdays, other gift-getting events, you say "I just don't need more stuff"? No, because I love getting gifts. When I was young, my mom told me she didn't care what was under the Christmas tree for her, she just loved opening presents. Seriously, one year when I was like 14 I got her a 6-pack of socks and wrapped each pair individually and she LOVED it. I thought she was crazy then, but I get it now. Anyway the only people who get me actual gifts these days are the Things and I'm not going to discourage them because they're so fun.

15. Do you often find yourself saying "I remember when" and you describe something so completely foreign to Life Today that you wonder if you made it up? All the FUCKIGN TIME

16. Did you look at this list at the beginning and hope it was a short quiz because you don't have time for those 50 item lists? Lol no because this counts as social interaction for me these days.

My fellow "old" tumblrs, join in the fun! (Or don't, I'm not the boss of you.)

[curio-queries]

Hi I'm reaching out re. your post on the bts-polls blog, since you redirected people to contact you here. I'm not the same anon who sent the other ask. I understand your reasoning for personally choosing to continue engaging with HP fandom, that's your choice and it's fine as long as you don't contribute to JKR financially. I guess I'm just adding one more trans ARMY voice to say that seeing casual references to HP and other Rowling works immediately gives me a bad feeling and makes me feel unsafe and alienated in the community. I'm also Jewish, so JKR's recent holocaust denial and her support of neo-nazis like Kellie-Jay Keen-Minshul add to this feeling exponentially. This issue is related to so much trauma and ongoing abuse that it's honestly triggering to see 'fun' references to that material as if nothing's happening.

I know it's probably 'not that deep' to most people, but small things like this mean there's one more space where the majority can be comfortable, but I automatically can't take part... in the end it's your choice, but since that blog seems to be aiming to be somewhat of a 'community' space rather than a personal blog I thought it might be relevant for you to hear how people feel.

You seem like a thoughtful person, and I appreciate the arguments you made in your other post. I hope this doesn't come across as attacking you or trying to stir up drama, these are just my honest feelings. Also I'm not saying you should personally cut HP out of your life, I understand there are ways of engaging in a fandom that don't involve supporting the original creator. Thanks for listening!

Hello Anon,

I apologize that this has taken me ages to answer. I haven't been able to spend much time in tumblr-land recently but this topic deserves more than an off-the-cuff response.

For any of you that are not familiar, anon is referencing this post. I'll put the rest of my response below a cut so that anyone not up for further discussion on this topic can bypass:

First, I want to thank you for reaching out. The only way most of us learn how deeply affected by events is if we share, but I know it can be a very difficult thing to do. I don't know if I'm the right person to really do anything specifically on this topic, but I can absolutely share a little bit more about my thoughts.

So, professionally, I'm a technical systems subject matter expert. And it's impossible for me to hear about something without trying to narrow it down to the root cause to resolve there. Yes, there are also actions to be taken to fix the immediate problem, but if the source is left alone, it's going to continue happening.

So, if that won't resolve the problem, what will? In my mind there are two possibilities:

To me, the root cause of the issue isn't this specific woman, it's much bigger than that. Because if we were to remove her specifically as an issue, there would just be someone else spouting the same junk, maybe with less of a following, maybe more.

1. Not allowing people to form and share their own opinions on issues like this. After all, if we HAD to comply to a collective moral standing, then we'd all be on the same page and there wouldn't be all this suffering, right? Hopefully everyone reading this knows why that would be a BAD IDEA even if was possible. I'm not going to go into detail here but if anyone reading this has any doubts, we definitely can!

2. Stop giving power to the words of people that have no authority. This is honestly one of my biggest issues with celebrity culture. Period. Why on earth do the opinions of someone who has absolutely no expertise on an issue carry so much weight in our society?

I'll give y'all an example: Let's say BTS states that they enjoyed seeing the purple streetlights so now we should repave all roads everywhere in the world purple. Not only would this be a logistical nightmare there would be significant ramifications regarding safety and economically. BTS has no expertise in city planning or road safety. 'But they've been all over the world and seen how happy people are when they're surrounded by purple, we should listen to them!' No, we shouldn't correlation is not causation. If there is to be any benefit gained from such a change, it would need to be researched and trialed by actual subject matter experts. Idk, this example is pretty convoluted but hopefully you get my point?

Anyway, now that we've established that fame is not a good enough reason to give weight to someone's opinion, it just becomes a skill issue of recognizing when to listen/disregard and how to implement it on a large scale. Let's face it, both are difficult issues to tackle. The lines definitely get blurry about who has valuable contributions vs who is just the loudest voice. Especially with the ease that anyone can have access to a platform, there's very little threshold to finding countless individuals sharing 'facts' about issues of which they have absolutely no knowledge. I think all of us have seen that first hand in the BTS fandom so I won't list any examples.

So, the first challenge is how we discern the value from the noise. I am personally a huge believer in non-traditional education, so you can't just rely on the alphabet soup of degrees list after people's names either. The next hurdle is getting the majority to start doing this as well so that value is attributed to the correct people and not those who have no business with it. And that is what SHOULD be society's goal overall (in my opinion).

I truly believe that everyone is entitled to have and share their views and opinions but that doesn't mean we have to continue to listen or give value to what they say once we've realized they don't align with what is actually good for us.

To finally circle back to this before-named woman and the hateful ideas she shares, I genuinely don't understand why anyone continues to listen to what she's spouting, with one exception. When a creator shares a viewpoint that is malicious of intent, I think the created work should be evaluated to determine if there is an ulterior influence that can be gleaned from new audiences. Like I said in my post before, personally the effect that the Harry Potter world has had on me and the people in my immediate circles has done far more to foster overall inclusion and understanding of marginalized groups than pretty much anything. It was one of the few things to get past the heavily conservative religious viewpoints in the community that became a gathering point for those of us who didn't conform to the norms.

The great irony in all of this is the parallel that can be drawn between the author and the main villain who literally went insane breaking his soul apart for the gain of power. Perhaps she should spend more time reading her own work?

Anyway anons, I hope both of you are able to find some healing from the trauma these issues keep bringing up. I'm grateful you've entrusted me to share your concerns. I do think it's important to keep learning and growing from each other's experiences in a positive way rather than the heavy handed 'how dare you not comply to my specific viewpoint and conclusions on a nuanced issue' approach.

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

how does anyone say this guy isn't gay look at that FACE

I KNOW YOU sent this as a joke but HONESTLY some of the DEEP DENIAL I have seen in *coughing* some communities regarding him and the other characters is TRULY astonishing. It ends up being so pathetic and rooted so deep in homophobia, biphobia etc that it just cycles back to being pathetic and kinda sad.

I'm not intending to turn this into a rant, but to me-and to pretty much any queer MGS fan (or LGBTQAI if you dislike queer) it's....obvious. He doesn't fool (us) for a hot second. It's not even a debate. Yet to deeply toxic dudebro *and other toxic het communities, or just the same 'uber masculine' gaming communities that haven't left the mindset of the 90's yet that used to print naked women in magazines just to appeal to them (Link to a video from Caddicarus here that goes pretty good into how atrocious some of this shit got in regards to magazines) he's gotta be ANYTHING but gay.

I genuinely didn't think it was still going to be an issue-but I have seen it still up for debate as early as 2022 and people so desperate they will argue against Vamp being bi even tho Snake LITERALLY SAYS SO in the text. But Snake could've just 'been joking with Raiden'.

We've all seen the posts, we've all seen the stuff, and while it's largely so pathetic it's not worth dwelling over except for amusement-it's kinda sad too.

NO, we never just plain old get "Ocelot is gay" In text but I wanna explain something else too.

I'm *for tumblr anyway* an old man. I'll be 32 years old at my birthday this year. When I was in HS, meterosexual was still a thing. "Gay" was the biggest insult you could be called. A friend had to TELL ME I was bi because I HAD NEVER heard the term.

Gay marriage was legalized in Canada when I was 14-the same year Brokeback Mountain came out. I remember watching the first legally married gay couple on tv and my uncle gagging. When I was much younger, and a teenager, the 'gay character' wasn't called 'gay'.

Instead, they didn't like the opposite sex. Instead, random jokes were made about them being 'abnormal' or 'eternally single'. Instead, incredibly subtle nods were put in to make references to things you would generally only understand as 'this character is gay' if you were an adult with at least SOME exposure to it.

Ocelot, is *in my opinion* absolutely written that way. If you go through the series, there are as many 'hints' and 'nods' and little references that all point in that direction. Is it a cop out? Depends on how you look at it (keep in mind gay marriage still isn't legalized in Japan) I'm not here to discuss another culture though that I'm not a part of-I'm a white Canadian man; I have no say on what is or isn't appropriate for Japan. But I DO remember how homophobic the world used to be-and at times can still be.

The dude bro's making arguments against Ocelot being gay-denying it so hard they turn blue, are usually guys my age or older. I am NOT excusing them-we've got the internet now, 'gay' stopped being an insult a decade ago, it's time to grow up. But I do know how gay characters were written at the time-Ocelot's a perfect example.

Sure, Vamp is stated to be bisexual in 2001. THAT WAS NOT THE NORM AT ALL. And Volgin being Raikov's lover was made obvious in those textual clues-but still only ever stated outright in the original MGS4 Encyclopedia.

I wish these dudes would open their minds a bit (I'm also generalizing a bit, it's not just men in denial). But at the end of the day, it will never not be interesting to me how obvious Ocelot is to us, but not to them.

(THIS GOT OUTTA HAND SORRY-)

[aibhilin-atibeka]

I just saw an ask game :D and I do have a question that I think would be fun for you.

What actually interested you in learning multiple languages in the first place and what draws you to a language that makes you want to learn it?

Oohhhh, now that's a fun one! :D

Well. I learned my first "real true" (no, seriously, honest) foreign language at the age of 9 and I felt absolutely neutral towards it.

Meh, 'twas another subject at school, so what? XD younger!me was not specifically very interested in languages at all. I had the world to explore, after all! What's languages compared to manga? Compared to anime? Compared to books?

Compared to the real world? Darn, no, I sure am not throwing time at something I might never use again at a later date in life, see me go "nope" at languages and "yes" to life experiences.

And then my sister went and learned to fluently speak five languages somehow. It seemed very much like "all of a sudden she can speak five languages" to me. Dammit all, I had to learn at least as many, didn't I?

That - along with my school offering languages as their educational focus - helped. Still wasn't ideal, but I'd gotten that certain nudge into this direction then. And at that point my love for Japan was noticeably not fading, so I got gifted a Japanese language class. And... sort of haven't stopped learning Japanese since. Whoops?

At the same time my school offered French and in a choice between Italian and French? Sure, I'll choose French (the language sounded nicer at that time and the teacher kinder). I can learn Italian later on, once the school offers another language choice two years into the first one, right?

Right?

Wrong. Had to choose between Spanish and computer science, so no Italian for me back then. But Spanish is basically Italian on crack, isn't it? (pls don't dunk on teenage!me, teenage!me was a bit of a teenager back then) They're 1:1 understandable to one another, right? Right?

Also wrong.

But that didn't stop me from starting Italian on my own at university.

And a friend offered to teach a class of Turkish right in-between school and university, so there we went~

And university itself offers language classes too, how could I not check them out and study Hindi for a bit?

... somehow, without even consciously being aware of it, I'd accumulated a starting vocab for about twenty languages before I was twenty (how do I know that exact number at that exact age? I had to do a language autobiography collecting, chronologically listing and presenting all my language studies and some of the knowledge I'd obtained in detail for a class shortly after turning twenty).

By now it's probably stayed *roughly* the same in number (... maybe I added five to ten-ish languages since then? no clue), though I couldn't say whether or not that's simply because of where I live or what opportunities I had or what little time I've had to spend on accumulating more languages since. Life's a busy bee, sometimes, and the life of an author/linguist/leisure-social-media-scroller (tumblr I'm looking at you) feels even busier. Never mind any other engagements I have ended up in so far.

I have an ongoing interest in languages cause I find it fun to be able to communicate with the world in whatever language I can. They're a means to reading, listening and interacting with people and there's wordplay to consider. ;) In short, I find it fun.

To answer your questions:

What actually interested you in learning multiple languages in the first place

I stumbled into them like Winnie the Pooh might stumble into a pot of honey XD there was no definitive moment of "Oh, I'm interested in becoming a polyglot now" - at the point in time that I had that realisation I already was one.

and what draws you to a language that makes you want to learn it?

Depending on the language, I have different motivations for learning them:

Japanese: "stopping now makes just as much sense as a prisoner breaking out might stop in front of the 9th out of 10 walls they'd have to climb", also "I've got manga to read in Japanese just to get all the jokes in them" and "I bought and imported books from Japan that I still have to read"

French: "I still haven't read all of the Arsène Lupin series" and "from time to time the Frenchspeakers release funny movies that I wanna watch in the original language"

Italian: "darn, originally I was in this for the bit but I'm committed to learning it now with whatever means necessary"

Spanish: is "just sort of there" and "Sometimes I find articles and news pages and books I want to read that just so happen to be in Spanish, so why not read them in Spanish, I don't even need a translation"

Korean: "I want to be able to read you at one point, darn it all to hell"

etc. ad infinitum. I didn't even mention all the ones I'm fluent in here, never mind all the ones I started to learn at one point in my life, so yeah.

I love the challenge? I love the way learning languages open up a whole new world view to you as you go along? I adore being able to read yet more books by just learning a language? I love word games?

All of these and more count towards my interest in languages. :D Gotta say, languages rock. Polyglottism ftw.

@stereden cause I can

@a-knight-owls-curse thanks for the interesting ask!