#word count: 1831

[snowballseal]

Insecurities - Rafayel

Summary: Here is the portion of Rafayel reacting to your insecurities. And you best know this man goes big to prove a point. Much fluff.

Here is the original with the other LADS boys

Word Count: 1831

Notes: Reader has insecurities about they way they look, so just keep in mind. It ends fluffy and happy though.

---

“Rafayel, do I look okay?”

The artist immediately drops whatever he was doing, twisting around to peer over the back of the couch as you step into the studio.

His iridescent eyes scan over your figure, his voice lilting with teasing affection, “I’m not sure I even want to go if this is what you’re wearing. I think everyone would think you’re the art and ignore my hard work.”

You wrinkle your nose. Partially because he’s being ridiculous. Partially because you don’t really believe him. The dress is gorgeous of course, he did a great job of helping you pick one out, but it doesn’t change the way you’ve been feeling for the past few days.

Before you met Rafayel, you never paid much attention to how you looked. Not in a bad way, you kept yourself neat and dressed up whenever you went out for special occasions, but it was never on your mind much. But now…You don’t know. It’s not Rafayel’s fault, the man has never been shy in complimenting you, but you can’t help but notice the type of women that like to approach him. All gorgeous enough to be models, with the confidence to match - seeing as they always have to gall to flirt with him even when you’re holding hands.

And you wish it didn’t get to you. It shouldn’t. Rafayel doesn’t even bat an eyelash at them, always focusing on you or making more obvious shows of affection to chase them away. Still, the more it happens, the more you find yourself caring about how you look, or not liking the way you look. 

And wearing a lovely dress only seems to highlight your self-perceived flaws.

“Do you really think it looks okay?” You ask again, fiddling with the satin self-consciously. 

Rafayel’s brow furrows a little. He tilts his head, looking almost like a confused puppy, “What is it? Do you not like the dress? Do you not want to go anymore? Please don’t make me go alone. These galleries are sooo boring without you, I hate them.”

“They’re your galleries,” you point out, shaking your head with a small smile, “How can you hate them so much? It’s your work, they deserve to be celebrated.”

“Why go stare at my own work when I can spend the night staring at you?”

Heat creeps up your cheeks. Usually you’d have a witty comeback to his flirting, but you can’t find anything tonight, not with how you’re feeling. So you just ruffle his hair fondly, avoiding the intense affection in his gaze.

“Come on, Thomas will be mad if we don’t show up. We need to go.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow. Before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist, keeping you anchored to where you are. Your heart jumps to your throat at the serious expression he suddenly gives you.

“What’s wrong? You’re acting strange.” 

Being an artist, Rafayel knows you, your face, your body, better than anyone. He’s always looking at you, holding on to every new detail he finds. Like the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How the tip of your nose turns rosy when you’re even a little cold. Or how your lips twitch before you lie. Like they are now.

“I’m fine, Raffie, just…tired,” you sigh, tugging against his hold, still trying to avoid him, “Now come on, we should go.”

“Hmmmmm…no.”

You squeak as Rafayel unexpectedly gives your wrist a sharp pull. The momentum sends you tumbling over the back of the couch, right into his lap, and before you can escape, he has you wrapped in his arms. Stuck.

“Rafayel-! Let go of me,” you growl, squirming around hopelessly. The man is surprisingly strong, and with your feet still tossed over the back of the couch, you can’t get enough leverage to escape.

“Nope, not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he hums, arms tightening around your waist.

You huff and give him a solid glare, “This isn’t funny, Rafayel.”

“And neither is hiding something that’s obviously bothering you,” he snips back softly, “You’re a horrible liar, miss bodyguard.”

“I just…” You cross your arms, face feeling warmer and warmer the longer he stares at you. Why does he have to be so stubborn at times like this? “I haven’t been feeling good about myself lately, okay? That’s it, now can we go?”

“Nope.” You resist the urge to groan.

“Thomas is going to throw a fit-”

“He can handle it tonight, I’ll give him a bonus. What’s more important is fixing this.” Rafayel props his chin on your shoulder, a contemplative frown pulling at his lips. “It’ll have to be something creative, which I’m great at, of course. But what?”

“Rafayel, this really isn’t necessary,” you grumble, “I don’t think it’s something you can fix.”

The artist shakes his head, pressing a faint kiss to your shoulder, “I think you underestimate me, cutie. But that’s okay, I think I know exactly what to do.”

Lifting you up, Rafayel sets you back on the couch gingerly and darts off after giving you instructions to not move. A heavy sigh passes your lips as you fix your dress, though it seems a bit pointless now. It doesn’t sound like you’ll be going to the gallery.

A part of you is secretly relieved at that. You love looking at Rafayel’s work, but since it’s his gallery, all the attention would be on him, and, consequently, you as well. It’s a bit suffocating. Still, you’re a little wary of whatever plan he has concocted. Rafayel is as unpredictable as he is talented.

Time seems to tick by slowly as you sit on the couch. You eye the clock, noting each minute as it passes by. Your nerves only continue to rise the longer you’re alone. What on earth is he doing?

On the tenth minute, Rafayel reappears, a mischievous spark in his eyes. He offers you a hand.

“The gallery is ready for you to attend, cutie.”

This time, your eyes narrow, though you still take his hand, allowing him to help you up. “I thought you said we weren’t going?”

“Oh, this is a different kind of gallery,” he hums, looking quite proud of himself, “I think you’ll enjoy this one a lot more. And I’ll be your personal tour guide.”

“How kind,” you muse, fighting your own smile. You might as well humor him, even if it doesn’t help. As long as Rafayel is happy, you can count the night as some kind of success.

Rafayel leads you to one of the spare rooms of the studios. You vaguely remember him telling you at some point that it’s a room he likes to keep his sketchbooks and unfinished projects in. You cast him a curious glance, but his eyes are set ahead as he touches the door, that smile still painted across his lips.

“These works are some of the most important that I’ve ever done, and you’ll be the first to see them. My heart rests in your hands tonight, so be careful, otherwise you might mortally wound me and I’ll never have the courage to paint again.”

You roll your eyes at his antics, about to make a sassy remark, but the words get lost when he presses the door open. Your eyes go wide at the sight before you.

The room is lit by candles, flickering with the flames of his evol. Their light dances across countless artworks spread across the room, hanging on every surface, each one depicting the same subject.

You.

Most of them are sketches, their strokes simple and spontaneous but laden with care, like he had wanted to capture a precious moment for himself. There’s one of you dozing off on the couch, another of you dancing in the kitchen. There’s even one of you holding a stuffy, from one of your many trips to the arcade.

The further you walk into the room, the more detailed the pieces become. 

A charcoal drawing of you in your uniform, gun drawn on something off page. The lines of your body are like water, fluid and graceful, the look in your eyes somehow burning with a fierce determination.

An oil painting of the night you spent at the market. Your image is looking at a sparkler, the light reflected in your eyes like stars, your cheeks painted a soft rosy color that seems to glow. It’s impossibly delicate, each stroke placed with such intention, it’s almost like you’re there again.

The final painting you come to make your face go warm again. It’s of you, curled up under a familiar set of sheets, mostly focused on your face. Your hair pools against the pillow, messy yet somehow charming in its unruliness. The morning sunlight dapples across your skin, highlighting the soft color of your lips and the gentle curve of your smile. But it’s your eyes that really make your breath catch. You can practically see the sleepy fog in them, like you had just woken, but also the undeniable warmth. The love.

It’s…beautiful. They’re all beautiful. And they’re all you.

“This is…” You swallow around the lump in your throat, suddenly feeling off-kilter. “I can’t believe you did all of these.”

Rafayel, who had been following behind you silently, hums softly and curls his arms around your waist. You lean back into his touch, letting it ground you and your swirling emotions.

“It’s been difficult even focusing on my work for the gallery. Everything else seems to pale in comparison when I have such a beautiful muse in front of me all the time,” he murmurs the words against your temple, voice quiet to match the atmosphere of the room. “I could devote lifetimes to painting you and never grow tired of it.”

You bite back a bashful smile, unable to resist the urge to tease him a little, “I didn’t realize I was so distracting.”

“Just ask Thomas. I think this is the most he’s ever had to remind me to finish my work,” Rafayel chuckles, giving your waist a squeeze. “But it was worth the missed deadlines. Afterall, isn’t it my responsibility as your employer and lover to make sure you understand how much I cherish you?”

Your heart flutters wildly as the brazen affection in his tone. It seems to melt away your doubts, replacing them with an overwhelming feeling of fondness for your artist. Only Rafayel would do something like this for you, how could you deny it?

Turning around in his hold, you lean up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, which you notice is an absolutely rosy shade of red. It makes you feel even more fond. You really really love this man.

“Thank you, my pretty fish. I feel much better now.”

That dazzling smile lights up his face again, and he leans down to scatter kisses all over your face, whispering between your bouts of giggles, “Anything for you, my queen.”

---

All the smooches. I love this man. I will die on the hill of using the nickname "fish" or "fishie" with him, I think it's soooo cute.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Burning Wood

Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc gets a boner.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: One day I'll have to answer for my sins.

Warnings: blow job in a forest, Marc calling reader 'baby', getting a boner in public and being a little into it, swearing, typos - my head is really not in the game atm, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1831

Marc pressed his cold nose into your neck as he hugged you from behind. You shiver, instinctively flinching away from his touch and he giggles. 

He presses his nose against you again. 

“Marc,” you chastise, but there’s humour in your voice.

“What?” He grins, obviously knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

“How is your nose so freezing?”

“How is your neck so warm?” 

You chuckle and sigh, putting your hands over his arms. You both stare at the bonfire for a moment longer. 

“I don’t get how you can be cold standing next to this thing,” you motion your hands to the flames. 

Marc jogs on the spot a little, just to amuse you. “It’s cold, let’s stand closer.” 

You laugh. “We’ll be in the fire.”

“Hmmm,” he nuzzles into your neck again and kisses your skin lightly. “Nice and toasty.” 

So far, Marc had enjoyed visiting your family, even if they did live in the middle of nowhere. He thought he was going to go a little stir crazy at first, playfully making shinning jibes, but then he’d kind of… got used to it. The stillness. The forest walks. The tiny village with the population of 62. 

A few kids ran around with sparklers under the watchful gaze of their parents, several people held out marshmallows need the flames. There was warm mead and hot chocolate if anyone wanted it. 

Marc sighed, resting his chin on your shoulder for a second before he muttered, “my hands are cold too.” 

“Marc,” you laugh, “you’re wearing gloves.” 

“I know.”

“Well, you’re not putting them on me.”

“But you’re so warm.” He teases, tensing his arms as if he’s going to move and try to sneak under your shirt. 

“Fuck off.” You grin and grab hold of his hands to stop them going anywhere.

“That’s not nice,” he pouts playfully. “I’m going to freeze to death and you're not going to help me?” 

“You are not, besides, I thought Chicago got pretty cold? Shouldn’t you be used to this?” You tease. 

He grumbles something into your shoulder.

“What?” 

“I said, Chicago isn’t damp cold. Here’s damp cold. Gets into everything.” 

You snort. “Aww, poor baby.” 

“Yeah,” he nods and kisses your cheek. “Poor me, where’s the sympathy for me?” 

You can hear the grin in his voice, he always loved playing up because it made you laugh. Though he seemed a little extra needy right now. Not normally the one for physical affection in public. Maybe the darkness of the night helped.

The bonfire snaps a little, still going strong and you pat Marc’s hair with your gloved hand as you lean back against him. 

He sighs, pressing his face into your shoulder as you brush against the semi-hard outline of cock. 

You pause. Ah. So that was why he was being so handsy. 

“Ohhhhh,” you whisper, dragging out the word to be a menace and lean back again a little to press against his bulge. “I see, hugging me so that you can use me as a shield for prying eyes are you?”

“No.” He says into your shoulder, his voice obscured by your coat. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, well I’ll just-” You go to move but his arms tighten around you.

“Stay here.” 

You giggle. 

He lifts his head up and kisses your cheek again. “I did not hug you to use you as a shield,” he tries to sound stern but the smile in his voice wins out. “I came to hug you and…”

“And?” You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“And then this happened.” 

“From a hug?” You say disbelievingly. 

“Hmm,” he grumbles.”You smell nice.” 

You laugh, “I smell like burning wood.” 

“Yeah, well, that and your natural smell,” he nuzzles into your neck again and breathes deeply. “Smells really good. Smells like… comfort, or something.” 

Despite the sweet tone to his words, you can’t resist a tease. “And that made you horny?”

He tuts and rolls his eyes, giving you a little squeeze. “Yes, okay, it made me really horny. Happy?” 

You pause and then nod, “yes.” You say with a touch too much enthusiasm and Marc laughs. 

“Okay, well good to have your approval.” 

You smile and lean back against him, pressing your back to his chest. There’s a pause before you push back a little more, rubbing against his erection again. 

He stifles a moan into your coat. “Stop it.” He hisses, but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. 

“Stop what?” You say innocently. 

“You know what.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Marc.” You punctuate the end of the sentence by gently leaning back and rolling your hips against him. 

He groans softly and presses into you. You hear the click in his throat as he swallows. “Do you want me to come in my jeans? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you keep doing that.” He hisses.

“What?” You say, all mock surprise. “So quickly.” 

He lets out a little grunt of annoyance and presses his face back into your coat.

The realisation that maybe Marc Spector was a little into the risk of being caught started to piece together in your mind. 

You pause for a second before deciding. “Okay.” You pull out of his embrace and turn to face him. 

“Okay?” He startles, his eyebrows pinched together in disappointment, thinking the game is over. 

“Hmm,” you smile sweetly and take his hand before you start walking and urging him to follow. It takes him a second to get the hint. 

No one else seems to notice, or mind, as you both head away from the celebrations. Following the little well trodden path that leads back to the village. 

Marc follows close, a step behind until you are far enough away from the bonfire to be seen by anyone there, but close enough that the light from it just about illuminates your path. 

You guide him off the trail into the thick outcrop of trees.

“Baby, what are we-”

You silence him with a harsh kiss, licking into his mouth when he parts his lips in surprise. He moans instantly, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you close even as you push him up against a thick oak tree. 

He kisses back needily, his breathing already ragged and cheeks warm. His nose, however, is still cold. 

You kiss his cheek lightly before you trail your lips down his jaw and nip lightly at his pulse point. 

He groans, bucking against you and squirming a little, biting his lip to keep himself vaguely quiet. 

“Didn’t realise you had a thing for the outside.” You tease and Marc huffs. 

“I don’t.” 

“Sure, sure,” you suck on his neck and he gasps, his body bending toward you, trying to wrap itself around you. You slowly run your hands down to his cock, the poor thing trapped in the tight confines of his jeans. 

He groans again, the sound grumbling through his chest and into you. “Baby,” he bites his lip, and even though you can’t make out his exact expression in the poor light, you can picture it perfectly in your mind. How his brow furrowed needily, how wide his pupils were.

You unbuckle his belt, the sound of the leather opening makes his eyes roll back and he has to bite his tongue to stop the loud moan that threatens to escape. 

He stays still as he can as you undo his jeans, his hands on your arms, needing to touch you and keep you close despite wanting to give you room to manoeuvre. 

And when you sink to your knees he shudders, throwing his head back against the tree bark and sighing softly. 

You take your gloves off and shove them into your coat pocket.

“Baby, I-” He swallows down his words, screwing his eyes tight as your warm hands pull him free and you suck on his head. 

Precum spreads across your tongue, salty and rich as you moan softly, the reverberations running down the length of him and making his muscles twitch. 

You pull back, just enough to pump the length of his a few times while your other hand massages his balls, one finger lightly pressing on his perineum. 

He shudders, sighing out into the darkness as you lap at his weeping slit with the flat of your tongue, running it along and swirling around his tip before swallowing him down. 

He cries out, grabbing hold of your shoulders as you take him as deeply as you can. He fights the urge to buck up and thrust himself completely in your throat, his bottom lip between his teeth as you move up and down, drawing his pleasure out like poison from a bite. He tries to fight against it, tries to prolong the sensation as long as he can, to relax into it. But he’s too worked up, too desperate. And his orgasm rapidly approaches. 

The earth and dead leaves are soft under your knees, the dampness of the dirt soaking a little into your trousers, but you don’t mind. Focusing solely on Marc’s little whimpers and pleads, sounds you’re sure he doesn’t even realise he’s making. 

How his legs shake, how his cock twitches in your throat, how his fingers dig into you. 

He rolls his hips slightly, panting and you know he’s close, practically there. Warmth builds in your chest, pride at how trusting he is with you, how he knows you’ll take care of him. 

You sink lower, relaxing your throat as much as you can and slipping him a centimetre further inside. 

Marc gasps, the sound loud but not enough to raise suspicion, he bucks once, swearing and trying to mutter a warning but you press closer to him and swallow as he spirts into your throat. 

He shakes as stars explode behind his eyes, as pleasure washes over him and momentarily rids him of his strength. He moans your name softly, gasping and keeping a firm hold on your shoulder to keep himself upright. 

You keep moving, letting him ride his orgasm out before you lick him clean and tuck him back into his jeans. 

You laugh a little as you try to get the zip up. 

“What?” He smiles, his voice floaty and wonderfully blissed out. 

“I can’t get your jeans closed with your dick still hard.” You giggle. 

“Oh,” he chuckles and helps you to your feet. “Don’t worry about it.” He kisses your cheek, your neck, nipping lightly at your skin before he kisses your lips and holding you close. 

“Don’t worry about it?”

“Yeah, well, we’re going back to the house anyway.”

“Oh, are we?” You smile.

He nods. 

“I thought we were going back to the bonfire?” You tease. 

He growls playfully, kissing the spot just under your ear. “Oh no, we’re going back and I’m going to fuck you into the mattress and make you scream while the village is empty and everyone else is here.” 

____________________________________

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[annabelle--cane]

so I don’t have the knowledge of details that you have (complimentary) but is there anything in the computer code Colin looking into being written in German and Jonah Magnus’ buddy living in the Black Forest and finding that crypt that one time? Or is that Too far a reach?

vibrating at the speed of sound. so there are a couple of floating details around from the podcasts, the arg, and some promotional materials that may point back to germany having particular relevance. some of this is absolutely me going full pepe silvia, but there are enough threads here that I feel like it has to amount to Something.

so. germany.

archives 'verse:

-> point 1: johann von württemberg. while staying with his nephew in the schwartzwald in 1816, albrecht von closen finds an old mausoleum with the inscription "johann von württemberg" over the door, and it is guarded by a man with no eyes who nonetheless seems to be able to see. in a deep chamber well beneath the ground is johann's coffin, and the room is completely lined with books so old that they'd all rotted through and fused together, the marble shelves they're placed on having little carvings of open eyes all along them. the only two objects in a good state are an illuminated manuscript in arabic that had been kept apart from the rest of the books, and a gold coin with an engraving of a young man with flowing hair, the initials "JW," the year 1279, and the words "für die stille" (google translate tells me that’s “for the silence”). albrecht asks around for any information about johann because the name is unfamiliar despite his quite good knowledge about local history and nobles, and someone says they remember him being called "ulrich's bastard," likely referring to ulrich the i or ii, two counts of württemberg from the 1200s. with that information, in the present day jon is able to find some historical records that point to ulrich i having a son out of wedlock in 1255 who was rumored to keep the company of witches.

-> point 2: the von closens. it seems that a servant nicked the coin albrecht found before he could go home with it, and that was probably for the best for albrecht, because that servant Died Badly from what was ruled to be an animal attack. albrecht did take the book with him, however, and presumably went on to show it to jonah magnus. he then must have gone back for the rest of the rotten books at some point, though, because when doctor jonathan fanshawe visits his estate in 1831, albrecht has a full library of recently re-bound books that he tells fanshawe he got from the tomb, and owning them has done terrible beholding-esque things to him. fanshawe, in his capacity as a doctor, says they should return the books for albrecht's health, and they do so, but just as the last book is returned, albrecht dies, and fanshawe realizes that all the books were blank and finds out that jonah arranged to have them all swapped out by the book binder. when fanshawe performs an autopsy on albrecht's body, all of his insides are covered in eyes.

in his statement from 1816, albrecht says he and his wife carla have been unable to conceive, though in 1831 fanshawe mentions that all of albrecht's sons were away at school when he came to visit. not something that's impossible, they could have managed to have children shortly after 1816, but it does make me raise an eyebrow. magically blessed fertility? dimension shenanigans? fanshawe does mention a tree being burned on the von closen estate that feels remarkably similar to the tree on hilltop road.

anyway, wilhelm, albrecht's nephew, has some children, and the family stays in germany for about another century, but one branch eventually moves to england, and their descendants include mary and gerard keay. according to gerry, mary was big into mythologizing about the von closens and really tried to get him to continue her idea of a legacy for the family, but he thought most of what she said was made up.

protocol 'verse:

-> point 3: colin's comment about source code being written in german. nothing much to explain here, just that it's Weird that source code for some Weird bespoke program for the british civil service is written in german, right? Bit Odd.

-> point 4: the usenet forum. okay so I'm an avatar of the idiot and only read up about the arg after it was already over and don't know anything about code and whatnot, but as best as I can understand: on the OIAR's official website, if you try to submit a form, you get an error message, and if you look into the source code for the error then you find Some piece of code with an IP address shaped hole in it, and there's an IP address hidden in an OIAR advertising video, so you put that IP address into the code, do something else (???), and then find yourself at an old defunct usenet forum from the 90s/00s for people who left east germany.

(it is from here that I got too verbose for my own good, so the rest is under a cut)

notable things about the forum: most of it is pretty normal, and, naturally, it was pretty much all in german, massive shoutout to everyone who helped to translate all 21k words of it. there are threads about finding work in various countries, weird cultural idiosyncrasies, resources, reminiscing about berlin, yknow, normal stuff. the mod “SandmannS” (translates to exactly what it looks like) ran the forum with a bit of an iron fist, which I guess makes sense, it’s the kind of forum that attracted people who wanted to say some heinous stuff and he was really serious about not letting anyone solicit personal information, but he was also kind of overzealous about keeping threads on topic and locking any discussions that he thought were “pointless.” he was eventually strongarmed into opening a thread for cat pictures, and that’s as good an opening as any to talk about some of the Weird things about the forum.

one of the cat photos was posted in february 1994 and shows a cat standing in front of the thames, with what looks like the completed o2 arena in full view (great choice of a red flag landmark to include @ whoever chose it. nice big landmark that was called “the millennium dome” when it first opened, a handy reminder that it was made to celebrate the turn of the millennium and construction wouldn't even have started in 1994). several comments across the threads are dated as earlier than the comments they’re replying to, one person references the content of the phantom menace a few months before its release, and several comments were somehow made after the mod locked the forum in dec 2001/jan 2002.

and okay. the forum locking. I’m going to condense this to all hell because this is already [redacted] words long but basically, “einsamernarr” (translation: lonely fool) was an active user of the forum with a big conspiratorial streak, real paranoid about “the government” spying on him, always getting warnings and just dodging getting banned just before going too far, yknow, a Type of Guy. in december 2001, he mentions in a book rec thread that he was trolling through some databases and found a bunch of old records and he can’t tell if they’re fictional or not, but he’d like to share them if he can. about five days later, he starts posting in several threads that he did something really dumb, people are after him, the meetup they were planning is not safe and this forum is being watched, people should look for him if he doesn’t come back within a week, and he’ll try to leave some info behind for them just in case. a few days later, a couple of people post worried messages asking if anyone’s heard from einsamernarr and that they’ve been getting weird cryptic emails about an “institute” from him, and sandmanns says that he did everything he could, but he can’t keep doing this, and he closes the forum.

marina “avatar of the idiot” annabelle--cane showing my face here again, I don’t know how this next part happened, but it’s possible to retrieve the email einsamernarr sent, open it with a password found in colin’s code repository (that’s a whole ‘nother thing), and find inside: 1. some pictures of bonzobucks, 2. a weird pdf of an old german book on alchemy with a lot of symbols and codes in it, and 3. a spreadsheet of the names, ages, and test results of the hundreds of children the protocol 'verse magnus institute was performing psych studies on. which finally brings us to our next, much shorter section.

-> point 5: “gerard kaey” (sic). gerry’s name is on that spreadsheet, which I think is relevant to this conversation given mary’s obsession with the von closen legacy. archives ‘verse mary keay resented the magnus institute for what she felt it stood for comparison to what she felt she stood for; she saw jonah magnus as a thief who stole away her family’s honor, so what might be different about the protocol ‘verse situation? why would mary keay in this universe send her only heir to go get scrutinized by a bunch of self-important academics?

-> point 6: the berlin dead drop. more arg stuff, we’re getting into things that I’m sure probably have more to be said about them than I’m capable of saying, but from some clues in a picture of cookbooks that einsamermarr posted in the cat pictures thread of the usenet forum to annoy the mod, and a voicemail on the OIAR’s telephone line, people found out the date and location of the first irl arg event, and it was for somewhere in berlin. a newspaper covered in alchemical symbols was found in a bookshop, and from that people somehow derived coordinates, and those coordinates lead to the last irl event where a battered old video tape with a video of a creepy ritual was found (note: the tape was too badly damaged, so another copy of the video came from an arg affiliated tumblr account).

-> point 7: klaus.xls. from a floppy disk found in the second irl arg event, klaus.xls is a spreadsheet originally written in german with about 100 dates and times of potentially paranormal sightings. a lot of it is corrupted and unreadable, but there are columns for category, rank, “TSHU,” and notes. translated into english, notes sections that aren’t corrupted say things like “mr. b,” “war people,” “avoid, “unhappy child,” “ink,” “lady m,” “cats lol,” and “I hate witches.”

-> point 8: albertus magnus and the philosopher’s stone. right, this is where I go a bit off the rails, and credit to this post by @misfitmagpie for discovering some of this. first, nearly every official visual we’ve had for tmagp has been covered in alchemy symbols. they’re all over the logo, they’re all over the in-universe OIAR and magnus institute websites, they highlighted hints in the arg, they’re everywhere, and the end goal of alchemy was the pursuit of the mythical philosopher’s stone, a substance that could turn base metals into gold and produce an elixir for eternal life. the tmagp logo/the coat of arms for the OIAR is centered around an upside down alchemical symbol for the philosopher’s stone, a circle in a square in a triangle in a larger circle. 

albertus magnus (aka saint albert the great) was a bavarian philosopher and scientist who did some writing on alchemy and has been widely rumored to secretly have been a master alchemist, mainly as a result of a lot of people attaching his name to writings about alchemy that he never touched. some have credited him as discovering the actual philosopher’s stone, and while he never made that claim in any way that survives, he did record that he’d witnessed seeing base metals be turned into gold. something of which to take note is that he didn’t go by the name “magnus” during his life, that was appended to him posthumously, it’s just another way of calling him “the great” with a fancy latin word, but it does kind of remind me of that edmond “reimer” halley -> maxwell rayner thing from mag 140. if you discovered the elixir of life and became immortal, you would probably need to nab a new identity at some point, and if people have already been nicknaming you “albert the great,” well…

anyway, the thing that’s really cemented his potential relevance in my mind is his birth and death dates: c. 1200-1280, lining up perfectly with the time period of johann von württemberg (thought we’d moved on from him, didn’t you?). I know magnus timelines are notoriously a bit unruly, especially the further back into the past we get, but it’s scratching at my brain. besides that, I think it would be a really cool move if the magnus this podcast is named for was a completely different person than the magnus the last podcast was named for.

if albertus magnus isn’t directly relevant then I’ve got another theory about the title that I’ll be posting in a hot minute, but it’s not germany related and this ask is already long enough. 

just, to sum up, a lot of protocol content so far has been germany-adjacent, and even if nothing more comes of it I think there are a lot of interesting threads here to speculate about.

[hd-junglebook]

Falling For It

Part 3 - Word count 1831

Prev ... Next

Jack and Y/N found themselves alone in the dimly lit room, The subtle tension that had been building between them since their encounter at the hospital hung thick in the air, each moment pregnant with possibility.

Y/N flashed Jack a mischievous grin as she leaned against the pool table, her eyes sparkling with playful challenge. "So, Mr. Hughes," she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. "Think you've got what it takes to beat me in a game of pool?"

Jack's lips curled into a smirk as he stepped forward, the confident swagger in his movements sending a shiver down Y/N's spine. "Oh, I have no doubt about it," he replied smoothly, his tone dripping with confidence. "But I'm always up for a challenge."

With that, the game was on, each of them vying for victory as they took turns sinking their shots. the click of the pool balls against each other echoing through the room as they moved around the table.

Y/N teased as she lined up her next shot, "You know, Jack, they say the key to a good pool game is all in the wrist." She winked playfully at him.

Jack chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her knowing she was attempting to get under his skin. "Is that so?" he replied, his tone laced with playful skepticism. "Well, I'll have to keep that in mind when I beat you."

She felt Jack's presence behind her, his body tantalizingly close as he reached around her to adjust her grip on the pool stick. "Careful, Jack," she murmured, her voice low. "You might just give me an unfair advantage."

"Lets get that shot right," He whispered, Jack's breath brushed against her neck, a knowing smile playing at his lips. His warmth radiated through her as he leaned in closer to speak.

"Wouldn't want to make it too easy for you." She couldn't help but shiver as she felt his breath ghosting over her neck, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

"Don't flatter yourself jack, you're just used to girls who suck." She fought to focus on the game, but every touch, every whispered word from Jack sent her senses into overdrive. But before she could react, Jack abruptly stepped back, leaving her feeling off-balance and slightly flustered. She watched him retreat to his side of the table.

Y/N sunk the winning shot, a triumphant grin spread across her lips. She raised her arms in victory, reveling in the sweet taste of success. Jack, ever the gracious competitor, raised his glass of Jack and Coke in a mock salute, a glint of admiration shining in his eyes.

"Cheers to the victor," he called out, his voice filled with playful admiration.

Y/N smirked, her eyes dancing with mischief as she shot back, "Oh, don't worry, Jack. I'm used to winning." Her tone was laced with sarcasm, but there was a hint of playful flirtation in her words. She pushed herself up onto the edge of the pool table, her body language daring him to come closer.

Jack approached her, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that scared her butterflies, sending them in a flurry. "Quite the pool shark, aren't you?"

Jack teased as he closed the distance between them. He leaned in, his breath mingling with hers as he whispered, "But winning isn't everything, you know."

With a playful smile, she tilted her head to the side, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I don't know about that," she replied coyly. "I've always been a firm believer in the power.” He leaned in, their lips inches apart, Y/N could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. He stays like this for a few seconds.

Y/n doesn't know if it's the alcohol or the way she flirted with him, but it seemed to have made him bolder than before. "I don't think you wanna win, this is what you really want." he teased, pulling her face closer to his.

Just as their lips were about to meet, the sound of laughter and chatter broke through the haze, pulling them back to reality. Y/N's heart sank as she realized they were no longer alone, her friends stumbling into the room with wide grins plastered on their faces.

"Y/N, Jack, come on!" Lexi exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement as she tugged at Y/N's arm. "You two have to come dance with us!"

Y/N blinked, her mind still reeling from the almost-kiss that had been interrupted by their friends' arrival. "I guess they're not letting us have our moment." he jeered, she shot Jack a sheepish smile, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she reluctantly followed Lexi out of the room.

"I guess you'll have to try harder." y/n states smiling. She gives him one last look before leaving the lounge, her friends in tow.

Jack watched her go, a faint smile playing at his lips as he shook his head in amusement. Jack found himself surrounded by a group of his fellow hockey players, each of them sporting knowing grins as they eyed him like hawks.

"So, what's the deal with you and the miss bombshell?" Nico asked, nudging Jack playfully. Jack flashed them a cocky grin, his trademark playboy attitude on full display. "Oh, you know me," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "Just enjoying the view."

But even as he spoke, Jack's eyes never left Y/N, his gaze drawn irresistibly to her as she moved gracefully across the dance floor. His friends exchanged knowing glances.

They knew him well enough to recognize when he had his sights set on someone, and it was clear to them that Y/n had captured his attention for now.

…

Jack smirked, his confidence radiating as he surveyed Y/N with a knowing glint in his eyes. “I had a great time tonight," he began, his voice oozing with confidence as he met Y/N's gaze.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it was definitely an... interesting night," she replied, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Hope you didn't miss me too much while I was gone."

"So, sweetheart, what do you say we take this party back to my place? Continue the night?" he suggested, his tone dripping with cockiness.

Y/N couldn't help but burst into laughter at his audacious suggestion, the sound ringing out across the bar. Jack's eyes widened in surprise, his smirk faltering slightly.

Y/N placed a gentle hand on his cheek, her touch warm against his skin as she leaned in close. "Oh, is that your best line, Jack?" she retorted, her voice soft and teasing. "I was hoping for something a little more original."

For a moment, Jack was rendered speechless, his gaze locked with hers as he processed her words. But then, a smile spread across his lips, his eyes dancing with newfound determination.

With a self-assured grin, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "Challenge accepted," he whispered, before grabbing her phone and adding his number.

…

Y/N hurried through the bustling corridors of the hospital, her head pounding with each urgent step. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a harsh glare, intensifying the pain.

She reached the nursing station, where her boss, Ms. Thompson, stood with a stern expression etched on her face. Y/N's stomach churned with apprehension as she approached, knowing all too well that Ms. Thompson's displeasure was not to be taken lightly.

"Y/N, where have you been? We're short-staffed today, and I need you to pick up the slack," Ms. Thompson barked, her tone laced with frustration.

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her boss's disapproval bearing down on her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Thompson. I was attending to a patient in room 203. Is there something specific you need me to do?"

Ms. Thompson's gaze bore into her, unrelenting in its intensity. "I need you to prioritize your responsibilities, Y/N. Patients come first, always. Do I make myself clear?" Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Yes, ma'am. I understand."

With a curt nod, Ms. Thompson turned away, leaving Y/N to grapple with the lingering sting of her reprimand. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenges that lay ahead.

Throughout the day, Y/N encountered a series of difficult situations, from irate patients to complex medical emergencies.

As the day wore on, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of exhaustion that settled deep within her bones. Her body ached with fatigue, her mind racing with thoughts of everything she still had left to do.

Y/N finally clocked out after the long and taxing day. With a weary sigh, she made her way to the staff lounge, where her friend Destiny was just finishing up her shift. "Hey, Y/N. Rough day?" Destiny asked, her voice laced with concern as she gathered her belongings.

Y/N offered a tired smile. "You have no idea," she replied, her tone tinged with relief.

Destiny nodded sympathetically. "Well, hang in there. You deserve some rest after today," she said, giving Y/N a comforting pat on the shoulder before heading out the door.

Alone once again, Y/N trudged to the parking lot, She climbed into her car and sank into the driver's seat, the warmth enveloping her like a comforting embrace.

The drive home passed in a blur, the rhythmic hum of the engine lulling her into a drowsy haze. By the time she pulled into her driveway, all she could think about was collapsing onto her couch and sinking into oblivion.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N trudged up the front steps and let herself into her house. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag by the door, the familiar meows of Hugo washing greeting her.

Without bothering to change out of her work clothes, Y/N snatched him up and made a beeline for the couch and flopped down onto its soft cushions, burying her face in the blankets with a relieved groan.

Just as she was beginning to drift off into a well-deserved nap, her phone buzzed with an incoming text. With a lazy stretch, Y/N fished it out from the depths of the blankets and unlocked the screen. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the name displayed on the screen—Jack.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N opened the message, her pulse quickening with anticipation as she read the words on the screen. “hey stranger.”

A mischievous grin spread across her lips as an idea formed in her mind. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she decided to play along. "Sorry, do I know you?” she responded, adding a winking emoji for good measure.

Seconds ticked by before her phone buzzed with a new message. "Smooth," it read, followed by another message that made her heart skip a beat.

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten about me." Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at his response. "Jack, huh? That name sounds vaguely familiar. You'll have to jog my memory."

Back and forth they went, exchanging jokes and teasing remarks until Y/N found herself laughing out loud at his witty retorts.

Eventually, Jack broached the topic of another hockey game, suggesting that they go out after. Y/N hesitated for a moment, the thought of seeing him again stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within her.

she remembered the thrill of their first meeting, the spark of connection that had ignited between them and suddenly, the idea of spending more time with Jack didn't seem so daunting after all.

With a grin, she typed out her response, her fingers dancing across the screen with newfound excitement. "Alright, stranger. You've convinced me. When's the next game?"

[tothosewhoyearnforit]

serving double - minnie and miyeon

-I saw this on my way back home from my jog and I knew I had to write it so here we are ! I think I’m gonna make this a universe where all the women you interact w are rich so... stay tuned! And also cuz I had a bunch of other ideas but I didn’t know how to link them but now that this is here, I can finally write more smuts. 

-threesome, anal, breeding, facial

-word count: 1831

-male reader x miyeon and minnie

“Yah! Keep up! You’re far too slow.” 

I’m trying, you say to yourself. If only either one of the two women turned back to see that you were struggling with the numerous shopping bags filled with branded luxury goods; Gucci, Louis Vuitton, some brands you never even knew existed but were sure cost more money than you could fork out with a month’s worth of your salary. 

But you really weren’t one to complain.

After all…

Both Minnie and Miyeon were paying off your services in more than just cash.

.

.

.

As soon as you drop the mountain of shopping bags back in the hotel room, the two of them are all over you, pinning you down into the large king sized bed. They’re like vultures. Ripping away at your clothes to reveal your vulnerable peachy skin, before their mouths are on your skin, leaving bite marks and faint stains of their expensive lipstick on your abs, your neck, your nipples, your ears. Everywhere. 

Minnie gets up to take off her clothes and tosses them in some corner of the hotel room while Miyeon’s lips meet with yours, her tongue finding contact with yours as you start peeling off her clothing. Soon, all three of you are stark naked on the bed, Miyeon on your left and Minnie on your right. A passionate makeout session ensues, as you wrap your arms around the two drop dead gorgeous ladies, feeling your way around the geometrically perfect curves and welcoming their tongues into your mouth. 

“Time for the appetizer, baby boy.” Minnie says in her expensive, lustrous voice, as they both move their heads down to your raging boner but shifting their butts to face you, creating the eighth Natural Wonder of the World. Their plump buttcheeks, both reasonably voluptuous, just warrant a smack from both your hands.

Smack!

As if on signal, the two women start working on your cock, with Minnie giving gentle kisses starting from the head and Miyeon doing the same from the base of your cock. Their gentle breath blowing against your balls as they work their magic on your cock causes it to twitch. Their heads then both hover above your phallus as they engage in another kiss, this time letting their saliva drip off their chins messily and onto your cock. Minnie then uses her slender fingers decorated in bone white nail polish to rub in the saliva concoction. Once lubricated enough, she takes your length in your mouth, slowly working her way to half your length. She pauses there to compose herself, before going all the way down, her lips coming into contact with your pelvis as your cock hits the back of her throat. A moan escapes from your mouth. Miyeon on the other hand, is working on giving your balls a nice oral massage, coating each ball sack in her spit. 

After a while, the two girls rotate their bodies, both their eyes now gazing intently into yours with a certain hunger. Miyeon and Minnie then switch roles. This time, Miyeon gets into a doggy style position facing you. Minnie sees this as an invitation to get behind her and work her mouth magic on Miyeon, causing her to moan. The sight before you is truly one to behold. Miyeon’s innocent doe eyes look at you warmly while Minnie’s head is buried within her butt.  The vibrations of her vocal chords from her moans send a tingling sensation throughout your nerves as you throw your head back in pleasure. This continues as she bobs her head up and down, precum and spit starting to coat her mouth. Soon, you feel your cock start to twitch and you tap out. Miyeon releases your cock from her heavenly mouth. 

“Kneel.” 

Diligently, the two girls get down onto their knees on the floor as you stand up. You bunch both their hair into makeshift ponytails and take turns facefucking the two of them. Three thrusts into Miyeon. Pull out. Three thrusts into Minnie. Pull out. You don’t care if they gag, you’re too drunk in fulfilling your own carnal desires, but they probably don’t care either. It doesn’t take long before your cock sends another signal of its climax. Pulling out of Minnie’s, or was it Miyeon’s? Doesn’t matter. You pull out from either of their mouths and they both place their faces together while you stroke your spit covered cock, pointing at their faces. After a few strokes, streams of your cum erupt out of your cock. Minnie’s mole under her right eye is covered and gradually her picture perfect face is. You direct it to Miyeon’s innocent doe face and let out the rest of your fluid, painting it in your unholy white paint. The two then lick the remnants of your markings off of each other's faces. It’s like a performance, a really sensual one at that.

“Our turns next.” Miyeon says, her voice intoxicated with lust.

You climb onto the bed and the two vixen follow suit, crawling at you like panthers. Minnie positions herself in the cowgirl position on your cock and lowers yourself onto your cock. Her doing that is the last thing you see before Miyeon sits on your face facing her female counterpart, your mouth now right below her pussy while your eyes only able to see her gaping asshole right in front of you, its lewd scent clouding out the smell of the hotel room that you three were in. Instinctively knowing what to do, you stick your tongue into the caverns of her nether region, while taking in the sight and smell of her glorious asshole. 

“Ahhh…Shit, your warm breath… blowing against my exposed asshole is turning me on even more!” 

Bringing both your hands up, you spread her buttcheeks apart, allowing your tongue to go further into her cunt and also allowing more of her lewd ass scent to escape into your smell receptors. 

“Shit! Just like that.”, Miyeon cries out, while the sound of Minnie’s butt slapping against your skin can now be heard.

“Your cock is fucking huge. I don’t want any other cock but yours boytoy.” 

Wanting to overstimulate Miyeon, you start eating her out even faster, your tongue exploring deeper into her caverns. In response, she moans and clamps your head with her thick thighs and sits all the way down, blocking out all access to air that your lungs have. But you really don’t mind it. It was a fucking glorious way to go out, your head in between the beautiful honey thighs of a princess that clearly worked hard to maintain their skin complexion while a Thai princess is riding you out, your dick getting constricted by the folds of her cunt. Just as your head starts to go queasy because of the lack of oxygen, Miyeon’s hips buckle as she screams out and cums, her squirt coating your mouth. 

“Fuckk that was insane…”

She collapses onto the side, both you and her panting furiously. 

Now, you can focus on Minnie for a while. One powerful thrust upward into her is all it takes for her to lose her stability as she screams out and collapses into the crook of your neck, her dark blue-black locks of hair draping over your face. 

She’s all mine, you think to yourself. 

Your mind is overridden by lust as you wrap your arms around her back and hug onto her body tightly, thrusting your length into her furiously. 

Placing your mouth at her ear, you growl into it, “You’re my fucking cocksleeve you slut.”

“AHHH…FUCK….I’m your fucking…cocksleeve”, she repeats. 

All mine. And I’m going to leave my mark inside her to prove it.

“Fuck…Fuckk…FUCKK….” she screams out one last time, before her pussy walls melt around your cock and a stream of squirt sprays all over your body below her. The sudden tightening of her pussy catches you off guard and your cum gets wrung out from your cock. 

“Shit…Your cunt suddenly got so tight that I came so much Minnie.” 

The beauty slumps over to the side, her mind a haze as she replies to you. 

“Really?…ha…That’s good…I’m your…cocksleeve, just like you said…”

“I hope you still have cum for me baby boy.”, Miyeon is now up, her vigor restored as she licks her lips. She inches towards you and whispers into your ear, “I’m going to wring Every. Last. Drop. of cum you have within you.”

The string of words turns you on even more and your cock, despite going for two rounds, feels perfectly fine once more. You grab Miyeon’s delicate frame and toss her onto her belly, preparing to ravage her pussy with your shovel, before you get stopped by her.

“I want it in my ass now. You were playing with it so much before, so why not fuck my ass?”

You smile at her. This woman knows me so well.

Miyeon gets into a doggy style while you coat your dick in lube, then coat your middle finger. With the lubed up finger, you slide it as far as it goes into her puckered up asshole, earning a moan from her. 

“Fuck! My asshole is going to get destroyed today.”

After testing how tight her asshole was, you slowly load your dick into it. 

“It’s so damn tight, Miyeon.”

“FUCK! I know it is, baby boy. You’re taking my anal virginity.”

Can’t let the first time go to waste can I?

With one thrust, your entire length goes in. Miyeon loses stability in her hands as she collapses into the king sized bed, screaming out for the nth time today. It’s only now you recognise the beauty of her sweaty back. The essence of sex coating her smooth skin in a shiny layer.

Miyeon snaps you out of your momentary delusions, “Ya! Nobody told you to stop! Continue!”

Once more a slave to her every word, you resume thrusting into her again. 

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

You lean forward now, changing your angle for deeper penetration. You tuck her dark locks of hair behind her ear and say: 

“I’m about to cum again, Miyeon!” 

“Ahh.. Ah… Ah…Me too!” she replies in between thrusts. 

With one final deep thrust of your hips, you send your cock as far down her asshole as you possibly can, rearranging her guts inside and planting your seed deep within Miyeon. Miyeon’s pussy explodes with her love juices as her body goes limp onto the bed, completely spent by your relentless use of her sacred virgin butthole, which is now gaping wide open, cum flowing out and staining the bedsheets.

Finally resuming your role as the “caretaker” of the two women, you tuck both their nude bodies into the bed, leaving a space in the middle between them for you to climb into. You just know that in the morning before you leave, you’re going to be greeted by their cock hungry faces once more.

[rue-dixon]

Chilchuck comforting Puckpatti during a storm

Dadchuck Dadchuck Dadchuck

Word count: 1831

Also I wrote this while a hurricane was going over me. And my backyard and garage ended up flooding lol

A terrible storm raged outside. The thunder was so strong it shook the house at times. Strong winds whistled throughout the small house. Heavy downpour of rain was relentless, making a steady rhythm against the roof. It was the middle of the night, possibly now reaching early morning hours. The home would've been quiet if it wasn't for the noise the weather was causing.

Chilchuck laid asleep, heavy bags under his eyes. His breathing ragged and uneven, he tossed and turned in his shared bed. His clothes stuck to his skin from sweat. Constantly teetering on the edge of asleep and conscious until-

Boom!

A crash of thunder shot Chilchuck awake from his rest. His eyes were wide open, and his breathing picked up as if he was on high alert. Head spinning as his eyes darted around the dark room, lifting his head slightly to see all of it easily. Heavy breaths left his lips, the heaviness of his chest matched the loud beating of his heart. His chest felt tight and full all at once.

His wife, Bellana, stirred next to him. "Mm.. Chil..?" She mumbled softly.

The storm didn't bother her as much. Which was only natural. Chilchuck’s body’s unconscious reaction wasn't from having some childish fear of storms. Rather the loud noises triggering some forms of ptsd he had unknowingly picked up in his time in the dungeons. Affecting him even during the couple weeks he'd take in between jobs to care for his family.

Bellana peered at him over her shoulder, she could barely keep her eyes open. Only having woken up from the combination of the bed shaking so suddenly and the loud noise.

Chilchuck sat up in bed, the blanket falling around his waist. He sat there for a moment, taking deep breaths trying to calm himself down. Trying to get his heart rate normal once again.

"Just thunder..." He muttered to himself with a sigh. He ran a hand through his messy hair, now damp with sweat. Groaning as he looked over at his wife.

Bellana had a look of concern now. “Are you alright..?” She questioned softly, her mind still foggy from barely being awake.

"Yeah, I'm fine... Go back to sleep," Chilchuck assured her. Bellana frowned, he always pushed her away like that. Never talking about what was actually going on, just brushing it off and saying he’s fine. In her sleep deprived mind, she was in no shape or mood to argue. So she just rolled over again. Quickly falling back asleep within minutes.

Chilchuck took another breath, grateful she didn't push further before laying back down himself. However as he closed his eyes, another crash of thunder shook the house, sending a jolt through his body again.

"Shit..." He grumbled under his breath.

Soon, soft snores accompanied the rain and thunder. Although it would've been impossible for anyone to hear them over the weather if you weren't laying next to her like he was.

Chilchuck looked over, he envied how fast she was able to fall asleep and ignore all this. Part of him felt jealous almost, even though he knew that wasn't fair to feel that way. He chose that job, and he liked it, for the most part. It was unfair to hold ill feelings towards his own wife for his own decisions that caused his major inconvenience. Especially considering the fact that she tried so hard to convince him to choose a different career path, but he was the stubborn one that refused.

Another crack of lightning lite up the small room through the cracks of the curtains. Causing him to blink a little, it definitely didn't seem like he was going to sleep any time soon. Chilchuck grumbled under his breath, rolling over to face away from his wife and rest on the very edge of the bed. Not even a few seconds later the boom of thunder no doubt following that lightning shook the house. This one noticeably much bigger than the rest. Chilchuck's eyes widened as the thunder crashed and echoed throughout the house. He let out a shaky breath as he stared at the wall in front of him, his mind racing. Was the wall coming closer? No no it was just the dark. Did it sound like the walls were cracking? Or is that just in his head? Dripping? Did the rain damage the roof?

A million thoughts were rushing through this head now as it seemed to get harder to breathe. Why? It's just a storm, you've experienced so many since you were a child so why now are you acting a fool. It wasn't like it was unlocking some horrible memories from the dungeon right? At least he didn't think so, he didn't feel like he was remembering anything.

"I-it's just a storm..... It's just a storm...." He repeated to himself in a quiet whisper, gripping the sheets of the bed to try and calm himself down. Lord he felt pathetic.

A pitter patter sound was suddenly heard scurrying down the hall. Chilchuck's already sharp hearing immediately recognized the tiny spacing and clear bare feet belonging to his daughter. The door slowly creaked open, but the hall was darker than the inside of the room. So not even a small figure could be seen in the dark. It wasn't until she came closer to the bed was when Chilchuck could make out the long hair of Puckpatti. Gripping a small ragdoll in her arm, hugging it to her face as the other tugged down at her light pink nightgown.

“Puck, what are you doing up?” Chilchuck groaned, his panic somehow immediately being forgotten from before. However he had a pretty good idea of what she was doing here.

She sniffled, big tears globing her eyes. "I don't like it..." she said in a small, hoarse voice. Trying her best not to break into tears.

Chilchuck's heart ached as he saw the pain and fear in his daughter's eyes. Backing up in bed while lifting the covers, he made sure that he wouldn't disturb his wife. Before patting the spot on the edge of the bed next to him, silently inviting her to come closer.

"Come here," he said softly, beckoning her over.

Puckpatti continued to sniff as she wiped her tears, climbing up on the bed with some struggle. Gripping her small dolly tightly as she nuzzled herself into her fathers torso. Curling up into a ball, her small size made it easy to fit. Chilchuck wrapped an arm around his daughter, gently pulling her closer to him before covering her with the blanket. He held her against his side, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she nuzzled against him.

"It's just a storm," he reassured her, his voice low and soothing. "It will pass soon, I promise."

She nodded, "I don't like it..." she mumbled, looking up to him. "It's loud.." her small hands came up to cover her ears. But due to the size difference between the two it didn't do anything. A useless attempt at drowning out the sound.

Even as the storm raged on, Chilchuck no longer felt heavy or filled with dread. Completely forgetting about why he had originally woken up in the first place. The distraction of his distressed daughter taking up his mind and body, not leaving room to worry for himself. He understood too well not liking the loud noises, now more than ever. However the irony went over his head.

Chilchuck frowned as Puckpatti shook from another lightning strike. Preparing herself for the next big boom of thunder. Without thinking, he took his larger hands and gently laid them over her smaller ears. Covering her own hands as he did so. Chilchuck's hands easily covered Puckpatti's small ears, blocking out most of the sound of the storm. Even the loud croaking of the frogs that had come out of hiding outside was barely heard now. He held his hands in place for a moment, feeling the way that she was shaking.

"Shh... Shhhh..." he cooed softly, attempting to soothe her as the bang of thunder tore through the house. "It's alright. It can't hurt you, it'll pass soon ok?"

Puckpatti sniffled as she nodded, her shaking had decreased. They laid like that for a while. Eventually her face resembled a small pout instead of the big, teary eyed expression she had earlier.

“Feeling better?” Chilchuck asked, causing her to nod.

“That's good, you're being such a brave girl you know?” He hummed softly, still subconsciously trying to not wake his wife.

Puckpatti's eyes grew heavy as she offered him a weak smile. The storm still harsh but not as daunting as before.

Chilchuck continued to hold her close, noticing how her eyelids were growing heavy. His thumbs making small circles on her rosy cheeks. It was clear the storm was now having less of an impact on her, which brought him some relief.

"Are you getting sleepy...?"

Puckpatti nodded again, "can I sleep here...?" She asked in a tiny voice. Sure, she shared a bed with her two big sisters. Despite this, she much rather be in the arms of her father right now rather than be in bed with a grumpy Meijack telling her to stop crying and a Flertom who wouldn't even wake up, who would probably also start crying as well if she did awake.

Chilchuck and Bellana really tried not to let the girls sleep in their bed too much when they were younger. Worrying it could develop some independence issues when they are older. Of course, every rule has its exceptions, and Chilchuck possibly couldn't bring himself to say no right now.

“Of course.”

Chilchuck adjusted his position on the bed so that Puckpatti was lying against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her tiny form, holding her close.

"Comfortable?" He asked, gently running his fingers through her hair.

Puckpatti nodded as she yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. Slowly starting to drift off again herself, being only a toddler made it easier to fall back asleep. Chilchuck was awake for a while, but much more calm than before. Soon, he followed her into a slumped as well.

It was funny really, to Chilchuck all he was doing was comforting his youngest. Something all (decent) parents do. Most do it well into their child's adulthood as well. The difference is what they're comforting them from changing. At this age, it might be storms or monsters under the bed, but as they get older it could turn to failed relationships or lost jobs. Point being, a basic part of parenting. However, Puckpatti unknowingly had comforted her own father just as well as he comforted her that night. Not only giving him a distraction to ease his mind, but the comfort of holding his baby close no doubt being calming to his anxiety. Despite him not realizing, or even bothering to acknowledge this fact.

[elfryn]

Fanfiction. Title: Under The Moonlight. Word count: 1831. Ratings: Explicit. Relationship: Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates/Larissa Weems Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, lesbian sex. Summary: Under the moonlight, Larissa contemplates the vision that is Marilyn. She is wearing a dress in a dark shade of green. The gown is long enough to skim the ground and has inlaid stones on the collar, sleeves and hem, as well as black details alongside the stones. It's closed at the front with a row of buttons and open at the legs — every step is torture for Larissa, who does her best not to stare at the redhead's legs.  Links: ao3, tips!. Commissions info here!

Larissa doesn't know why she's so nervous, but she can't help wiping her sweaty palms on her trousers. With a trembling hand and lingering movements, she presses her knuckles to the wood of the door and knocks twice. 

She takes a deep breath. She fiddles with her fingers, bites her lips, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Waits and waits. The silence that follows the knocks consumes the night and suffocates the blonde, who feels her entrails turning inside her. 

Larissa begins to wonder if there's anyone at home if she's got the place or the day right, if she has time to leave and pretend that none of this has happened. Her mind is a whirlwind and time passes faster inside her head than outside — milliseconds become seconds and seconds become minutes and minutes become hours and nothing happens. 

Then a miracle happens and Larissa's demons are silenced by the divine vision of Marilyn opening the door.

“You look beautiful,” Larissa says, smiling, all her anxiety melting away at the image of Marilyn standing in front of her.

“And you look marvellous,” Marilyn contemplates. Larissa is wearing a SHINee's colour three-piece suit with big black buttons. 

“This old thing?” 

“Old thing, huh?” Marilyn asks, reaching out to pull something from the sleeve of Larissa's blazer — it's a price tag.

“Maybe not that old,” Larissa smiles sheepishly.

Marilyn doesn't hold back and lets out a laugh. It's a sweet sound that spreads through the night and sounds like music to Larissa's ears. 

“Shall we?” Larissa asks, offering her arm to the other woman. 

“Yes, we shall,” Marilyn says, taking the blonde's arm.

It's their sixth date, but it's the first time they've been out in public together. Although relationships between employees are not forbidden, both Larissa and Marilyn wanted to make sure that their casual encounters in the principal's study and their conversations over glasses of wine would lead somewhere before they put themselves in the public eye. 

The place Larissa has chosen for dinner is not far from Marilyn's flat, so they decide to take advantage of the calm evening air and walk to the place. Under the moonlight, Larissa contemplates the vision that is Marilyn. She is wearing a dress in a dark shade of green. The gown is long enough to skim the ground and has inlaid stones on the collar, sleeves and hem, as well as black details alongside the stones. It's closed at the front with a row of buttons and open at the legs — every step is torture for Larissa, who does her best not to stare at the redhead's legs. 

For a Friday night, the restaurant was quieter than expected. They sit at a table away from the door but near one of the windows. 

Throughout the dinner, they talk about many different topics. It starts with Marilyn talking about her adjustment to school and about her favourite students and those who are a bit more trouble but are still good people. Eventually, the topic of conversation changes, and they talk about life before working at the school. Larissa talks a little about her family, about her years as a student, mentioning some stories about the crazy things Wednesday's father got up to in high school (Marilyn laughs at these stories and Larissa finds herself falling even more in love with the sound of her laughter). Over dessert (which they share), Marilyn talks about the future, about wanting to retire to a small chalet in the mountains and watch the sunset from her balcony every afternoon. Larissa admits that she can't see her life away from the school, since she has spent so much of her life at Nevermore (as a student, a teacher and now principal). Marilyn says that, if Larissa wants, they can share the redhead's plans for the future (Larissa accepts without a second thought). 

The walk home is filled with stories from Marilyn's adolescence and childhood - when she broke her arm, when she punched a boy in class, when she ran away from home and only got as far as the corner before running back into her mum's arms. Step after step, they fall into pleasant conversation. Marilyn talks more than Larissa, who is content to just listen. 

The interior of the flat is cozy. The wallpaper is a pastel colour and the walls are covered in photos. Larissa realizes that most of them feature a tall, dark-haired young man.

“That's my brother,” Marilyn says as she catches her examining one of the photos. “This picture was taken on my fifteenth birthday. My parents were fighting a lot at the time and could barely stay in the same place, so my brother took the money he earned working in the local café and took me out. We spent the day away from home, it was my best birthday,” she says. 

“Your brother sounds like an amazing guy,” Larissa contemplates. 

“He is,” Marilyn smiles. “Here.” She offers Larissa a glass of wine. 

“Thanks.”

Their fingers brush as Larissa takes the glass. Marilyn swallows dryly, her eyes fixed on Larissa's crimson-coloured lips. She desperately wants to kiss her. Larissa seems to want to do the same, as she slowly leans in. Marilyn stands on tiptoe. Their lips almost meet. 

“May I?”

“Please.”

At first, the kiss is as calm and sweet as a spring day. Marilyn puts her hands on Larissa's waist, who brings one of her hands up to the redhead's hair. This is their first kiss, and they can't think of a more perfect kiss.

The second kiss is the complete opposite. It's not pretty or delicate at all. It's heated and passionate and hungry, a kiss that carries all the repressed desires of both of them. It's like a sudden summer rain that destroys everything in its path. 

The way to the bedroom is marked by the clothes Larissa leaves behind. Marilyn unceremoniously shoves the blonde onto the bed. Larissa pulls Marilyn onto her lap, and the redhead doesn't resist. 

Provocatively, Larissa reaches for the buttons of Marilyn's dress and slowly unbuttons them one by one. She then runs her hands over the redhead's exposed skin, taking them down to the band of her bra. With one hand, she draws small patterns on the other's nipples before turning them into a stimulus that makes the teacher gasp. Larissa then takes her mouth to the other breast and starts sucking on it. Marilyn moans. 

Marilyn makes a simple movement of her hips, provoking a reaction in Larissa that the blonde doesn't have time to describe. The little twist makes Larissa take her hands to the waistband of her trousers (her penultimate item of clothing) and get rid of it. 

She lays Larissa on the bed, climbing on top of her. Maliciously, she teases the blonde again by running the tip of her nose along her soft skin, trailing a path down to her thighs. Under her touch, Larissa lets out little gasps of excitement. The redhead moves slowly down and up the blonde's bare chest, leaving small kisses along the way that cause more moans. Finally, she approaches the lying woman, kissing her intensely while one of her hands travels to the middle of Larissa's thighs, creating nothing more but a friction that makes the principal bite her lip in disapproval.

“Please…” Larissa begs. 

A snort of laughter escapes Marilyn's lips as she retraces her path to the other woman's centre. She squeezes Larissa's naked thighs. Marilyn places kisses and bites on the inside of Larissa's thigh, who lets out little whimpers at her actions. 

With her teeth, Marilyn pulls Larissa's panties out of the way, which makes Larissa exclaim. Excited and satisfied with the state of affairs, she decides to end the torture. She runs the tip of her tongue around Larissa's clitoris, making the blonde's body stiffen at the sensation - the gasp of air coming from the taller woman's lips is the perfect incentive for Marilyn to get down to sucking the place.

Larissa feels her whole body tremble, Marilyn's lips between her legs are enough to make the blonde let out uncontrollable little moans. The little squeeze her thighs make is unconscious, as is her body making a little arch under the bed. Marilyn, for her part, has total control over the situation, taking her time to smile contentedly as she worries about repeating the movements that cause the most interesting spasms.

Marilyn continues to stimulate Larissa's clitoris when she inserts a finger into the blonde, whose body reacts by begging for more. With sinuous movements, she gently fucks the woman, introducing a second finger when she feels Larissa's nails digging into her shoulders. 

Taking pity on her prey, Marilyn increases the speed of her actions, receiving the most delicious reaction from Larissa, who screams her name into the night. The air in the room changes, getting hotter and making the women sweat. Marilyn slides her free hand nimbly down Larissa's body — squeezing her legs, pulling her hips, leaving little pinches on her thighs — while her tongue and her other hand continue to work to elicit moans from the blonde and make her legs tingle and her muscles contract.

The loudest moan is like the main act of the night, echoing through the room and shaking the walls.

Silence follows the orgasm.

Marilyn makes her way to the top of Larissa and places a kiss on her lips. They just stand there, exchanging kisses and caresses for a while, until Larissa looks up at her with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

With a swift movement, the taller woman changes the position of the two. 

Larissa kisses Marilyn intensely while her hands play with the woman's breasts. She brings her lips to the redhead's neck and takes her time marking her territory. When Marilyn's moans get louder, Larissa smiles against the other woman's exposed skin. Unlike Marilyn, the blonde is charitable and takes pity on her partner. She makes her way between the legs of the redhead, who shudders at Larissa's breath so close to her centre. 

She stimulates the redhead's clitoris with her thumb while running the tip of her tongue along the other woman's entrance, enjoying every little reaction she gets out of Marilyn. Larissa's tongue slides into just the right place, causing the redhead's hips to buck so violently that Larissa has to hold her in place. She swipes her tongue and then sucks, and the pressure Marilyn feels is so good. It's as if the blonde has found a magic button.

Marilyn screams louder and louder until the room falls into post-orgasm silence again.

Larissa lies down next to Marilyn. They both gasped for breath. They intertwine their fingers and enjoy the calm after the storm. 

Under the moonlight coming through the window, Marilyn admires Larissa. She is sweaty and dishevelled and has red marks all over her body, but to the redhead, she has never looked so beautiful. 

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 12

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count:   1831

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 12

The trip away with Steve seemed to cement what Melody and Steve had as a committed romantic relationship rather than just two people seeing if they hit it off.  In the handful of weeks since the trip they had started to dot in more domestic dates around their more romantic ones.  They were both still very busy with their prospective jobs, but he’d duck around to the DB to meet her for lunch on any day he was free.  She’d go to the tower after work a few days a week between her time in the office at the DB and her waitressing job.  On her days off she would sleep over at the tower and have dinner and breakfast in his apartment, and despite neither of them being fantastic cooks, they’d make the effort to cook together.  They’d even started doing things like going to the supermarket together, not because Steve needed to, but because he wanted to spend that time with Melody.

The weekend away had also been fantastic for Bobbi and Bucky’s relationship.  While Melody didn’t know exactly what had happened behind the scenes, Melody had told Bobbi that she should be safe telling Bucky that she was a trans woman.  A week after that, Bucky had started sleeping over.

Bobbi was busier than Melody and her moments with Bucky were stolen in the middle of the night.  He’d meet her at work and they’d sneak into the apartment together, and the following day, she and Bucky would often end up catching the train back into the city with Melody.  The development in the relationship did highlight one thing.

Melody really needed to move.

Bucky was such a quiet man in every other aspect of his life.  Snarky for sure.  Flirty.  But quiet.  That wasn’t true for the bedroom.  She could be fast asleep when they snuck in at two in the morning and they wouldn’t wake her until the moans and banging of the bed against the wall woke her up.

The time of sharing a one-bedroom apartment might be coming to a close.

When Bobbi and Melody had first moved to New York, they’d barely had a dollar between them.  They’d found the cheapest possible place they could find while staying on the island of Manhattan and keeping their travel time into Midtown feasible.  That place was the one-bedroom flat in a run-down apartment complex on the Upper West Side.  They’d both needed to work two jobs to cover rent and utilities, and their expendable income didn’t always leave enough for anything else.  Their social lives and whether they ate sometimes came down to the generosity of the people who employed them.  As they’d established themselves more, Bobbi had gotten the better paying and more reliable work and she’d practically been supporting Melody while she tried to make it as a writer.

Now Melody could officially say she’d made it.  Money was still tight, but she was making enough with the column to pay rent and expenses.  With the profile pieces and waitressing work, she was feeling fairly comfortable.  There was a little savings nest growing in her bank account.  Not to mention the Daily Bugle was looking at yet another branching off into online content of a similar vein to BuzzFeed and she’d been approached to work as an editor and curator for it, as she was the youngest person on the team, and she had built a good rapport with quite a few celebrities.  If she took the job, she’d not only be able to return the favor Melody had paid her and support her as she focused more on her acting career, but they might be able to afford to pay for a two-bedroom apartment as well.

Melody was up and dressed, sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop writing.  Which mostly involved checking her finances and browsing the internet for apartments for rent while occasionally clicking back on her document link and adding another sentence to her piece.  She had her headphones in playing music a little louder than she normally would because about an hour into her work, that now, way too familiar moaning and banging of the headboard and started up in the bedroom.

It meant that she didn’t notice when Bobbi came out of the bedroom looking disheveled in her mismatched cami set and went into the bathroom.  She didn’t notice when she came back out and knocked on the bedroom door before heading over to Melody and looking over her shoulder.  She didn’t notice Bucky coming out of the bedroom in just a pair of boxer shorts and heading into the bathroom.  So when Bobbi tapped her on the shoulder, Melody nearly jumped out of her skin.

She pulled her earbuds out and looked up at her cousin.  “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I thought you would be with Steve,” she said.  “What are you doing here?  Looking for a new apartment?” 

Melody spun around in her chair and clapped her hands on her thighs.  “I have news!”

“Please don’t tell me you and Steve are thinking of moving in with each other,” she said.  “It is way too soon for that!”

“I’m not moving in with Steve,” Melody laughed.  “Jesus, Bobbi.  He took me out of town to do the deed for the first time, you think we’d be moving in three weeks later?  We haven’t even said the ‘L’ word yet.”

“So what are you doing?” she asked, standing back and folding her arms.

“So I don’t know if you know this, but you and Bucky are extremely loud when you fuck,” Melody answered.

Bobbi yelped and covered her face.  “What?  Oh no! I mean, yes I know but I didn’t know you could hear us!  Oh my god!  Mel!  I’m so sorry!  Oh my god, please don’t move out!  I’ll muffle him somehow.”

“I’m not going to move out!” Melody laughed, taking Bobbi by the wrists and pulling her hands down.  “Look.  When we moved here and I got the internship, you told me to take it and that you’d pay a bigger portion of the rent so I could work toward getting my dream job as a writer. I know you’ve been chasing yours too, but I always said if I make it, I’d tell you to quit your job and take over that part of the rent because it’s only fair you get to devote your time to chasing yours.”

“You know I have been,” she said. “I act.  I audition.”

“Yeah, but you work all the time,” Melody argued.  “And besides - there’s been a development.  The Daily Bugle is branching out into light online content aimed at people in their twenties.  You know - quizzes, silly interviews, the kind of product reviews where you just sit and eat fifty types of cookies in a row and rank them?  And I’ve been asked to head it.”

“Are you serious?” Bobbi squealed, grabbing Melody’s hands and jumping up and down.  “Oh my god!  That’s amazing!  You’re doing it!  We need to celebrate!”

Melody couldn’t help the huge smile that broke out on her face.  She hadn’t told anyone about the impending promotion.  It was new, but Bobbi was the person she told these things to first.  Bobbi pulled her into a hug and rocked her side to side.

“Okay, okay,” Melody laughed, hugging the taller woman back.  “It’s not official yet.  They might decide I’m not qualified enough - which quite frankly would be fair.”

“Still,” Bobbi said, pulling back to look at her. “The fact they even came to you with the possibility is amazing!”

“And it means we can get a bigger place, and if you want you can just have a normal human amount of jobs because I can pay the bigger amount of rent now!” Melody said.

“Oh my god!” Bobbi squealed and started jumping up and down with Melody.  “Can you even imagine it?  We can have an actual living room!”

“And you guys can be super noisy and I won’t hear!” Melody added.  “And you should see the ones I think we can afford.  One is two stories!  And one has a washer and drier!”

“We won’t have to cart our stuff to a laundromat!” Bobbi squealed.

Melody stopped and pulled back, taking her hands.  “And Bobbi… I probably shouldn’t be saying this, partially because it’s still up in the air, and even if I will get the job and even if I do, I don’t know how much final say I get on every aspect,” she babbled.

“What,” Bobbi said, sharply shaking Melody’s hands to snap her out of it. “Tell me.”

“Well we need presenters, and I think I might be one of the people who get to choose.  It probably won’t just be up to me, but if you wanted it, I am fairly sure I could pull strings to get you an audition,” she said.

“What?” she yelped.  “Oh my god, that would be amazing!”

The women began to jump up and down, screaming again, hugging each other tightly.

Bucky stepped out of the bathroom and watched them with an amused expression on his face.  “What are we celebrating?” he said, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

“Mel is getting a promotion and we might be able to move into a bigger place!” Bobbi said.

“Congratulations!” Bucky said, with a sleepy smile.  “Does Steve know?”

Melody shook her head.  “No.  I wanted to tell Bobbi first.  And it’s not official anyway.”

“He’ll love to hear it.  If you want to call him we can take you out for a celebratory lunch before this one has to get to work again,” he said.  “I mean the two of us can take you if you want to keep it a secret from Steve.  I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Melody said. “But I will tell him.”

“Oh let him,” Bobbi said.  “It’ll be nice.”

“Okay,” Melody conceded.  “Thank you, Bucky.  But nothing too expensive.  Just a diner.”

“You call Steve, and we’ll take a shower,” he said.

He grabbed Bobbi’s hand and pulled her toward the bathroom again.

“Hey, Bobbi,” Melody called as Bucky led her toward the bathroom.  Bobbi looked back at her, and Melody pressed a finger to her lips.  “Shhh…”

Bobbi squawked and broke down into giggles. “I’ll do my best.”

When they were out of the room, Melody relaxed again, closing out the tabs on her phone.  It felt like her life had reached a massive turning point.  She was in a serious relationship.  She had a proper career that was progressing quickly, and she was close to living in an apartment with her own room.  She’d had her break, and everything was falling into place.  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, and for a second, she just enjoyed that feeling before she picked up her headphones, put them back in her ears, and called Steve.

// NEXT

[mariacallous]

Most presidential election years advance as follows. There are lots of primaries, someone in each party wins the most and takes center stage at a big raucous convention, they run in the general election, someone wins 270 votes in the Electoral College and becomes president.

But 2024 is no normal presidential election year. The two leading candidates for the major party nominations are the oldest pairing of candidates in American history — one is 81, the other is 77. Age appears to be a major factor in the fortunes of the incumbent president even though he has the kind of record that would re-elect most presidents. The other candidate is under indictment and could be convicted of a crime and head to jail in the election year. The two major parties are so closely divided that third party candidates could swing the Electoral College votes of a state — resulting in the third election in the 21st century where the national vote winner does not win the Electoral College vote and thus the presidency.

It is no wonder that lots of Americans are asking, “What happens if the candidate is incapacitated, drops out, goes to jail, or if no one reaches 270 in the Electoral College vote count?” The answer is that the election could be decided by approximately 10,000 people who no one has ever heard of.

So, here’s who they are.

First, we need to understand the importance of political parties. For example, a great deal of attention has been paid to the fact that officials in Colorado and Maine have recently decided that Trump is ineligible to appear on the Republican primary ballot in their state because of his role in the January 6 insurrection. If these decisions stand (a big if) it could have huge consequences in November but no consequences at all for the nomination race. That’s because political parties control the nomination process. They are covered by the First Amendment’s freedom of association and short of processes that violate other civil rights (all-white primaries, for instance) the state political parties can select delegates to their conventions pretty much any way they want to. The Republican parties of Colorado and Maine can elect delegates at their state convention or by their state committee and send them to Milwaukee to vote for Trump at the Republican convention.

For instance, in the event of the death or incapacitation of a candidate, each state party will continue to elect delegates to their conventions in a series of congressional district caucuses, state conventions, and state committee meetings that will occur most often in April, May. and June. Delegates elected in the name of someone who is no longer a candidate will become uncommitted. Candidates who step into the breach hoping to take the place of the fallen candidate will find out who these delegates are and woo them in as many ways as they can. The outcome will be a convention where the result may not be known ahead of time. In other words, it will be the kind of no-holds-barred event that nominating conventions held between 1831 and 1968.

All this is to say that the first 8,567 people you’ve never heard of are the people who will be delegates to the national conventions. These people can be teachers or labor union members or evangelical Christians or right to life activists. What they all have in common is some degree of activism on behalf of their political party, even if they generally are unknown to the public.

The dominant role of the political parties extends until after the convention as well. If something happens to the party’s nominee and that person can’t run in the general election, the 168 members of the Republican National Committee and 426 members of the Democratic National Committee will meet in special session to choose a replacement nominee. (No, the nomination does not automatically extend to the vice-presidential candidate on the ballot.) The procedures for this are written in the rules of the Republican Party and in the Charter of the Democratic Party. Most of these 594 people are elected in their states and include all the state party chairmen and vice chairmen as well as people who are prominent in their state and party.

Each party has a system of selecting its national committee members and its national convention delegates and methods for implementing the selection process. This is a large and complex undertaking, which is why it requires established political parties and millions of dollars to carry out. If one understands the centrality of the institutional party to the nomination process, one can also see why a group like No Labels is having such trouble figuring out how to nominate a candidate that (supposedly) the public wants and who is neither Trump nor Biden. Over many decades, the two political parties have established a system that has a kind of legitimacy to it. A group that decided to put forth a candidate without calling itself a political party and without building a grass roots of elected leaders will have a very hard time arguing that its nominee is legitimate.

And finally, what happens if, for some reason, the winner can’t take office after Election Day and before the final count in the Senate? The next critical group that no one knows consists of the 535 members of the Electoral College. Most people are familiar with the Electoral College and on election night we all watch as states announce who won and who lost their electors. But most people don’t realize that electors are actual real live people who travel to their state capitals on the first Tuesday after the second Wednesday in December. They have a real meeting where they sign a “certificate of ascertainment” and a “certificate of votes” which are sent to Washington, D.C. to be read and counted by the president of the Senate (the sitting vice president of the United States.) Some states (29) have statutes requiring the electors to vote for the winner of the election in that state. But others (21) do not.

Electors don’t often cast their votes differently from the election results. But in the case where the nominee is no longer alive, incapacitated, or on their way to jail, some of those electors may think differently and may try to vote for someone new. Electors are generally chosen by the state party for loyalty to the party. In many instances, it is an honor — a sort of gold watch — given for long-term service to the party. They are not expected to think for themselves or to negotiate, which is not to say that they wouldn’t under extraordinary circumstances.

And, of course, it is always possible that no candidates win 270 votes in the Electoral College. If that happens the election goes to 435 people in the House of Representatives. Some people know who their representative is but very few know who the other 434 representatives are. Once in the House — states have one vote each — determined by majority vote of their delegation — a crazy system in this day and age especially when the big states are so much more populous than the small states.

Once the Electoral College meets and makes its decision, if the winner can’t take office, the 20th Amendment to the Constitution states: “If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elected shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President.”

Odds are that 2024 will proceed as expected. Trump and Biden will win the most primaries and be their party’s nominee. And one of them will go on to win the votes in the Electoral College and take control in January 2025. But it is important to understand that there are no guarantees 2024 will proceed along the usual course. There could be surprises along the way that will shock people and destabilize the system. The 8,567 convention delegates, the 594 members of the parties’ national committees, the 535 members of the Electoral College, and the 435 members of the House of Representatives add up to slightly more than 10,000 people. We are in uncharted waters on several fronts, and we should expect strange developments along the way. Ten thousand people who we don’t know could play a critical role in deciding how to deal with those surprises and determine the occupant of the most important office of the United States.

[ravenpuff88]

The Stars in Your Eyes

Amit Thakkar x Female!MC

Warnings: Excessive nerdy astronomy talk, MC being a bit insecure, small existential crisis (definitely not inspired by personal experience😅), ultra fluffiness

Word Count: 1831

Synopsis: While spending time stargazing, the pair find themselves not just admiring the stars. (You might even call them star-crossed lovers…hehe I know it's cheesy af)

Essentially an adorable love confession between two friends. (I didn’t have a specific time in mind for when this takes place, but for reference let’s just say it’s been at least around a year since the events of the game)

Author’s Note: This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction so any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! I’ll admit that this is a little self-indulgent as I myself love looking at and talking about Astronomy and have developed quite a soft spot for our boy Amit. Though I hope even the non-star lovers can still enjoy this! :)

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

“And that one there is Sirius.”

“The dog?” Squinting her eyes and adjusting her telescope, she tried to make out the constellation Amit had pointed at. As much as she enjoyed gazing at and observing the various stars and astronomical objects in the sky, she internally chuckled at her lack of skill when it came to effectively using a telescope.

“A little to the left… here, let me…” Amit gently placed his hand over hers as he guided her to the correct spot. Adjusting it one more time, she sees the unmistakable bright collection of stars. Smiling, she looks over to Amit who’s still staring up at the night sky.

Tonight had fortunately been a particularly clear one, allowing her to soak in the image of her moonlit friend. She admired the small smile on his lips and the way his eyes longingly gazed up at the sky, the stars twinkling reflection in them. Despite the late-night chill, she felt her face grow warm when he turned back to look at her. Quickly averting her eyes back to the telescope, she feigned being in the process of looking for another constellation.

“Thank you by the way,” she whispers, not quite having the courage to meet his eyes just yet. “For agreeing to meet me tonight. You’ve been a tremendous help, and not just in Astronomy, but in all my classes.”

The corners of his mouth turn up. “You are most welcome. It is a pleasure to be able to help you.” He watches as she gazes at him from the corner of her eyes, her face still against the telescope.

“I only wish I could offer you more help of my own. You’re one of my closest friends and have done so much to help me without so much as asking for anything in return.” A small sigh leaves her lips as she pulls away from the telescope to finally face him.

Amit turns his head slightly in confusion as she gives him a half-hearted smile. “And you are one of my closest friends,” he states. “I truly do not mind going out of my way to help you. Especially after all you’ve done for me and everyone else for that matter,” he chuckles, reminiscing on the year she had arrived and when they first met.

She too smiles at the memory. “I suppose I mean I wish I could provide more academic assistance to you as you so often do to me,” she murmurs.

“Need I remind you who is still currently the Crossed Wands Champion? You often forget that I am not nearly as gifted as you when it comes to dueling.” Taking a step towards her, he makes sure her eyes meet his as he smiles at her. “You’re the first and only person I ever ask to help with my Defense Against the Dark Arts assignments for a reason. And not just because you’re my closest friend in that class.”

Sheepishly bowing her head a little, she does her best to continue looking into his deep brown eyes. “Well… thank you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Trust me, you are an amazing witch with and without my help,” Amit said as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

The two exchanged a soft smile as both pairs of eyes slowly drifted back up to the twinkling sky. Neither spoke for a while, the only noise being the occasional cricket chirp or the distant sound of a broom flying by. The lack of conversation isn’t uncomfortable though as both are content just being in the other’s presence.

She’s the first to break the silence, however. “There are… so many stars,” she chuckles. “Not to point out the obvious or anything, but it’s crazy when you really think about how…  insignificant we are in the grand scheme of the universe.” Amit hums in acknowledgment as the two continue staring at the endless void that sparkles above them.

“I mean… the universe already is unfathomably vast and coupled with the fact that it’s constantly expanding…” she takes a breath, shaking her head. “It's just unimaginable. We’re essentially a tiny speck, no even less than that, floating along through the infinite cosmos.”

A beat of silence passed through them and Amit took the moment to turn his gaze toward her. She was still craning her neck to look up, seemingly bewitched by the thousands of lights glittering in the sky. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes slightly glossy. She might have been standing right next to him, but the far-off look in her eyes told Amit her mind was miles away. His own eyes softened at the sight before him.

The light reflected from the moon bathed her in a light blue hue, highlighting her beautiful hair, her slightly creased forehead, and rather adorable eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Amit then felt his eyes wander down to her lips. When she wasn’t speaking they formed a small yet sad smile. She suddenly stopped to look at him.

Amit felt his face heat up as he briefly looked away, slightly embarrassed at being caught staring at her. When he looked back she was looking expectantly up at him, as if waiting for a response.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry, did you say something?” A faint blush dusted his cheeks as he internally cursed himself for not paying attention to what she was saying.

“No worries,” she giggled, amused by his shy and apologetic nature. “I was just saying, do you ever feel… overwhelmed by the thought of everything? Of how meaningless it sometimes feels to even be here?” She looked back up. “I mean it’s utterly breathtaking don’t get me wrong. I love that I’m able to admire such beauty from right here but sometimes I think… if we’re so immensely small it’s honestly frightening to think about the impact of our very existence and how at the end of the day…” she paused, taking a deep breath. “Does it even matter? What’s the point of it all?”

She risks another glance at Amit and is met with his eyes staring intriguingly at her own. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly as he processes what she had just said. Conversations such as this one were reminders to him of one of the many reasons he cherished her and their interactions together. Perhaps something as deep as the questions she had asked him would be alarming to some, and while he wasn’t exactly expecting those words, Amit lives for moments like these. Times where he knows he’s not alone in his endless questioning of any and all things. And that she’s comfortable enough with him to have the courage to ask.

“I won’t pretend like I know the answer any more than you do,” he says softly, taking a step toward her. “But I will say this: whether or not our purpose-our very reason for existence has any significance beyond that of simply living a fulfilling life… I believe that, at the very least, there is something to be said about the impact we all make on ourselves and others.”

Amit takes another step closer to her, the pair’s eyes locked onto the other as the space between them nearly disappears. “While I hardly believe in luck, I do think that each one of us is lucky to be alive and here today. I think I am incredibly lucky to be where I am and at this very specific time since if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t know all the people I know now. I…” Taking her hand, Amit gently places his forehead against hers as he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring how close the two are.

“I wouldn’t know you.” Opening his eyes, he’s met with her incredibly bright ones. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like to see you every day. To hear your laughter echo across the halls. I wouldn’t know the warm fuzzy feeling I get whenever you ask me for help. How easy and intellectually stimulating our conversations are.” Seeing her eyes practically sparkle before him, Amit lifts his other hand and softly cups her cheek, relishing in the tiny gasp that slips past her lips.

“I wouldn’t know how beautiful your eyes are, how they shine brighter than any star.” Amit feels himself swimming in those gorgeous eyes. He’s drowning and has no intention of ever coming up for air. At last, his gaze drifts from her stunning eyes down to her lips once more. Looking back up, he searches her face for any signs of discomfort. “May I…” he whispers, hesitating slightly. “May I kiss you?”

Still utterly entranced by his words and the way he gazes down at her, it takes her a second to process his request. But only another moment passes before she nods her head. “Please…”

A small relieved sigh leaves Amit’s mouth as he slowly leans his head down to hers. He stops just short of her lips, feeling her breath against his face as he looks at her one more time, wordlessly asking permission just once more.

She smiles softly at his consideration and takes the opportunity to move forward herself to gently press her lips against his. Though slightly awkward at first, the kiss is delicate as the two begin to move their lips in unison.

As a steady rhythm is built, Amit gradually moves his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, lightly pushing her further into him. With his other hand still connected with hers, he moves to lovingly intertwine their fingers while she finds purchase in lightly gripping the front of his robes.

He feels a soft groan leave his mouth when he feels the delicate trace of her tongue against his bottom lip. But before he can indulge any further, he feels her pull away for a breath, much to his dismay.

“Wow,” she gasped. She took in Amit’s flushed face and imagined she was in a similar state. As the two caught their breaths they locked eyes once more, smiling at each other before erupting into a fit of giggles.

“I love you,” She breathed in between laughs. Though when Amit suddenly went silent she feared she had just scared him off. “I…I mean…” she stuttered.

“Do you mean it?” he asked softly.

She chanced looking at him again, searching for anything in his eyes telling her she should deny it. But she was met with nothing but two deep pools of exquisite brown eyes. His eyes. The ones that seemed to look into her very soul. The ones that even now, were filled with nothing but sincerity.

“Yes.”

His eyes practically lit up at her confession. Placing his hands on her hips he effectively lifted her and spun her around, cherishing in her laughter echoing through the night. Setting her back down he moved both of his hands to her face.

“I love you too, my little star.”

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

A Father's Resolve - Ch 5

Ingo returns after a decade - with two extra cars in tow. Years later, his kids are swallowed up by time in the same way he was. Will he be able to find them? Will they be able to make it out alive?

Word Count: ~1600

They arrived at the location swiftly. It seemed like the fields were pretty close to the village. The twins followed a few security guys in red and Laventon to a small clearing with a trunk, a campfire, and a couple tents. Some people stood around, talking. 

"This is the Fieldlands camp," Laventon announced. "If you ever need to heal up or just need a break, think of this as a safe spot." The twins followed him into the camp as he greeted some of the people here. 

"Now," he said, "your trial is to catch a Bidoof, a Shinx, and a Starly, yes? You know how to throw pokeballs, but you need to practice the ways of survey work. Some members of the Survey Corp have offered to help show you the basics." Two people in blue waved from the fire and stood. 

"Let's get started, shall we?"

–

The Bidoof was a piece of cake. Rei even petted it as he was pressing the ball to its furry head. Two others watched on, not a care in the world. 

The hard part with Starly was getting close enough to catch without startling it, but Rei remembered all those times in Chargestone, trying desperately to find the rare Tynamo and manage to hit the teeny tiny thing with a ball. Needless to say, Starly was nothing, especially after the tall grass trick. 

Shinx was a tad more difficult. The Survey Corps member showing them watched it with disdain and she described being struck by a Thunder Shock. Pokemon attacked people in this region? Now he understood why Dad was always talking about how dangerous it was. 

They battled the Shinx, but it seemed too young to have learned any electric moves. Even Oshawott excelled against it and they each had an electric cat pokemon in no time. 

"Congratulations, you two! You've completed the first trial and are well on your way to completing the pokedex! This calls for a commemorative photograph!" Laventon pulled out a box with a lens on the front. Rei assumed it was an old camera. 

The flash just about blinded Rei on impact. He had to blink back the spots burned into his retinas as Laventon shook out the photograph. "Excellent. Now, let us not keep Captain Cyllene waiting! Time to head back to Jubilife, eh?" Rei shook off some dirt from his jacket. Akari pulled a leaf out of her silver hair. They followed Laventon again, heading back to Jubilife. 

"Do you have a bad feeling about all this?" Rei whispered to his sister in Unovan. 

Akari nodded. "But what else can we do? We have nowhere else to go." 

Rei couldn't argue with that. They continued to talk to each other for a bit in Unovan, not wanting to be eavesdropped on. "I wonder what year it is… what year did Dad say we were born?" 

"I think 1836," Akari said. 

"That sounds right." Rei pondered dates. "Because we left in 1841 and he was dropped around 1830."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense," Laventon said in perfect Unovan, not looking at them. The twins both froze. He could speak Unovan? "I'm from Galar," he added, smiling back at them. "I did not mean to intrude, but I could not help but notice the inconsistency. It is currently 1831. There is no way you could have been born five years from now!" 

They said nothing for a moment. They looked at each other. Rei shrugged. Akari blinked at him three times. Rei nodded and then gestured to Laventon. Akari sighed and nodded. With that settled, Rei spoke, still making sure to be in Unovan, "We think we were taken through time," Rei admitted. "We uh… immigrated to a different region at a young age, but we were born in Hisui."

"Time, eh?" Laventon looked up to the rift hanging above Mount Coronet. "Then it must be a space-time rift." 

"Please don't tell any-" 

"Professor?" One of the guards was watching them speak. "What are you talking about?" He could only speak Hisuian, Rei assumed. 

"Oh, they believe they must have been brought from Galar. It is their homeland, as well as mine. We were just discussing where from. Galar is a rather large region!" Laventon fibbed. The guardsmen shrugged and continued to walk. 

The twins said nothing else, but nodded at Laventon in thanks, as they continued on. 

—------ 

Emmet sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he could be difficult. He knew Elesa could be difficult. He knew Ingo could be difficult. 

But by Arceus, it was hard to get anything done when they were all being difficult in opposite ways. 

Ingo had his day bag on his shoulder, haphazardly packed, as he stood paces away from the door, a feral look in his eyes. He hadn't shaved at all, his lengthening beard only adding to the madness. Elesa was standing in front of the door, the only thing between it and Ingo, staring him down, her eyes like daggers. Emmet was trying to wedge between them to make them not fight each other. The very air was charged and electrified, a battle going on without any pokemon involved. Emmet took deep breaths. He had to be the rational one, and as such he had to keep his head level. 

"I'm going," Ingo ground out, his voice raspy. 

"Not until you take a nap first," Elesa countered, her lips pursed. "Or a shower."

"What if something happens!" 

"Then we go a bit further in time and stop it. You're acting like we can only travel to a single spot." 

"I'd rather just have nothing happen in the first place!"

"That's what time travel is, idiot!"

Ingo grinned his teeth as he huffed and stamped his foot. "We're wasting time!"

"We can't do that if we're traveling!" 

And that was enough to break his resolve. "WOULD BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!" Emmet finally snapped. He was done being the rational one. They wanted to fight like they were children? Then he'd act like a child. Both of them jumped, surprised by his outburst. He shoved Ingo back, nearly knocking him over. "What's going to happen when we get the kids home and see you've worked yourself so hard you lost years off your life? You already look like a walking corpse! A strong gust will blow you over! What will they think," he growled at his brother, who looked at him with wide eyes. His hands trembled on the strap of the bag. "I've lost you once and I'm not losing you again." And then he rounded on Elesa. "And you! None of us knows how time travel works. None of us knows what's happening or how it's going to happen or how easy it'd be to fix. We want your help and we need your help but for the love of Arceus, both of you need to SHUT UP! None of this is helping anyone right now, least of all the twins!" He stomped off to the table and grabbed a ball, opening it and releasing Chandelure. "You wanna talk about wasting time and then just stand here and scream at each other? Fine! I can waste some time." She swirled in the air silently, taking in the scene in confusion. "Chandelure," Emmet commanded, "take Ingo to his bed and make him sleep. I don't care what you have to do." 

She turned and saw the state that her Trainer had left himself in. Ingo protested, shouting incoherently as he was suddenly surrounded by a purple glow and lifted off his feet. "You can't just do that!"

"I can and I did!" Emmet screamed back. Ingo was dragged off to the other room by the ghost, his bag falling off his shoulder and onto the floor even as he yelled. "I don't want to see you come out of that room for at least four hours! And I swear to Arceus, those bags under your eyes had better be gone!" Then he pointed at Elesa. "And you need to take a walk! Have a battle, get some coffee, do something other than just screaming in my living room. I want you back here after you've cooled off, and no sooner! Do I make myself clear?!" 

Elesa scoffed at him and threw open the door, slamming it behind her. 

Emmet stood in the middle of the room for a moment longer, his fists clenched and shaking. Then he sighed. His shoulders slumped, his knees buckling. His face lost its smile. The exhaustion washed over him in a wave as the rage drained, nearly sending him crashing down.

He sunk to the couch and sighed, propping up an elbow on the arm and holding up his head with his hand. Galvantula crawled to his lap, clicking her mandible in concern. He sighed and petted her soft fur as she got comfortable, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. "What are we going to do? It's hardly been over a week and we're already losing it." He leaned down so that he was more horizontal, laying on the couch, his head on a pillow as Galvantula moved to lay on his chest. The constant hum of static in her abdomen was comforting. "I shouldn't have shouted like that, Butternut. I want them back, too. I miss them. I'm worried about them." He sighed again as he patted her head. He could feel the prick of tears in the back of his eyes. "I don't know what to do." His voice choked up.

He continued to lay there as the sun set outside the back door. Galvantula nuzzled against his chin and tucked her pedipalps under her head as a pillow. Slowly, his eyes drooped shut, and sleep finally overcame him. 

[First] - [Previous] - [Next]

[sentientgolfball]

Ghoulette Appreciation: Week 5

I went with comfort for this one and oh boy

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Mistshine

Word count: 1831

Tags: hurt/comfort, Sunny is very self-deprecating, little bit of internalized transphobia (Sunny deadnames herself very briefly), Mist cares so very much though don't worry

Summary: Mist finds Sunshine hiding in one of the summoning rooms after she had a run-in with a few Siblings who forgot demons have sensitive ears.

Mist had been walking back to the den when they smelled it. It was sharp and spicy, like someone had dumped a little bit of everything from the spice rack into a bowl and let it simmer on the stove. It made her face twist up with how strong it was. She scented the air to determine what direction to follow to figure out what had caused the smell in the first place. She paused for only a moment when the bitter taste of vanilla extract coated her tongue. 

“Sunshine” she whispered. 

She choked down the rising nausea at the strength of the smell and quickened her pace. They followed the trail Sunny unconsciously left for them, only stopping a handful of times to suck in a breath as they traversed the winding corridors of the Ministry. The closer Mist got the worse they started to feel. Not just because of the smell, but because of where it was leading her. Down a darkened hall, right to where every ghoul begins their life or, for some, where it ends. 

They clutched the little paper bag in their hand harder as they stepped into the summoning room. They didn’t have to be a quintessence ghoul to feel the magick on the air. It made them uneasy, like the ground would split open and they’d crash right back into the void of Lord Leviathan’s domain. The smell was strongest here. 

Now that they were in the room, Mist could hear soft cries coming from behind the stone altar. They approach, purposefully making their footsteps heard. They set the paper bag on the altar and crouch down. 

“Sunshine? Why are you in here?” 

She looks up at her with eyes full of tears “Mist?” 

They don’t even have time to process Sunny clinging to her with how fast she moves. They stiffen at the sudden contact. Mist only relaxes enough to hold her back when they feel her tears covering their neck and staining their shirt. 

“Sunshine, will you tell me why you’re hiding here?” 

No ghoul liked going near the summoning rooms. They only did so when they needed to be present for a new arrival. Infernal magick clung to the air making it hard to forget the time spent in the pits. 

“Because I should be sent back.” 

Mist feels a cold claw through her whole body like her nervous system was shocked awake all at once. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I should be sent back to the Hells because there’s no fucking use for me up here.” 

“Who told you that?” Mist demanded.

Sunny sniffs and sits back to look at them. She swipes her arm across her face and fumbles to put her glasses back on. 

“Take your time Sunshine please, when you’re ready I want to know exactly what happened.”

She nods and sniffs again, opening and closing her mouth a few times trying to find the words. 

“I was going to the kitchen to grab lunch cause I was done with my chores when I overheard some Siblings talking.”

Mist nods, staring at Sunshine with rapt attention.

“I was gonna go join them. I love talking to the Siblings but…”

She chokes on her words. Mist lays a hand on her knee, silently supporting. 

“But when I heard them say my name I stopped. I was gonna say something cause I was right there and then they also said Aurora’s name so I hid behind a pillar and listened.”

“What did they say?”

“They…they said how good of a fit Aurora was. How she was a natural. They said it was a good thing I was replaced because I wasn’t doing enough. They didn’t fucking want me. Nobody fucking wanted me! I was replaced for a reason!”

“Sunshine.”

“I knew I wasn’t good enough, I knew that’s why they got rid of me. But I tried so hard. It’s unfair! I just wanna know what I could’ve done better. What I did wrong. Maybe I could’ve fixed it! But they didn’t let me fix it!”

“Sunshine.”

“Maybe it’s because I crawled out of the pit wrong. Maybe if I had stayed Sol instead of Sunshine I’d still be with my pack. I’d still be wanted.”

Mist had had enough. She grabs Sunny’s face and pulls her closer, finally getting her attention.

“I will not hear another word of this Sunshine. You truly believe your pack does not miss you as much as you miss them? You truly believe that you would be damned for following in His footsteps by being yourself? You truly believe nobody wants you?” 

Sunshine stares at her for what feels like an eternity, eyes red-rimmed and slowly filling back up with tears. She searches Mist’s severe expression before dropping her gaze to the floor, mumbling out a weak ‘I’m sorry.’

“No Sunshine, there is no reason for you to be sorry. You did nothing wrong. Any rational being would be hurt by what you overheard, but the opinions of some humans are not the truth.”

“Then what is? If the truth isn’t what everyone else sees.”

“That is not what everyone sees.”

Sunny sniffs and tries to turn her head away, but Mist holds her there.

“If that is how you define the truth then let me tell you what I have seen. I have seen you calling the pack every night even if it hurts your sleep. I have seen you running through every hall of this Ministry since your summoning finishing your chores well before the day is over. I have seen the way faces brighten when you enter the room. I have seen the way you have helped my Dewdrop be himself again. You made yourself Sunshine. You embody everything your name means and more. You should be proud of that.”

Sunshine tries to shake her head but Mist holds her strong. 

“I will not let you believe something that could not be further from the truth.” 

“Why do you care so much?” Her voice is weak and cracked. 

“Because I…”

“Because you do not deserve to feel this way. Nobody deserves to feel this way, but especially you Sunshine. I care greatly for you, you are a part of the pack and that means I care.” 

Sunny wants nothing more than to curl up into a little ball and hide away until the summoning circle splits open and swallows her. She doesn’t want to face the voice in her head that tells her she was never good enough. She doesn’t want to go back to the world knowing some of the Siblings she called friends confirmed her worst fears. It’s too much for her when all she’s ever given was her best. 

But in that moment with Mist burning a hole into her soul with those deep blue eyes, Sunshine stopped thinking. For just a moment she stopped thinking. The words Mist had said to her with the fervor of a preacher sinking into every corner of her mind. Someone believed in her. Deep down she knew the whole pack did. Papa did. They all did. But there in that moment it was only Mist. She knew there was nothing deeper to it, but they never said something if they didn’t mean it and that’s all Sunshine needed. 

“Do you understand me Sunshine?” 

She stopped thinking. 

Sunny surged forward. She kissed Mist with the soft intensity of a summer’s day. She wanted, needed, to tell them she heard them. That she could believe them if she tried. She clung hard to Mist’s shirt like if she let go one of them would turn dust. She didn’t know who would be worse. 

She lingered for as long as she could, but after a moment her mind caught up with her. She was kissing Mist. Mist wasn’t kissing her back. Sunshine broke it immediately and scurried back. She brought a shaking hand up to her lips. 

“I’m sorry I know you don’t like…I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking” she stood and tried to leave as fast as she could. 

Before she could get more than two steps in Mist’s arm darted forward, stopping her in her tracks. Mist slowly stood from where she was crouched on the floor. Sunshine stiffened waiting for the bite or the sting of her barbs or the I never want to see you again. 

It never came. 

What she got was a cold hand on her shoulder guiding her to turn around. Her eyes were plastered to the ground as she did. 

“Sunshine.”

“Yeah…”

“Did you eat?”

That got her attention. She snapped her head up and looked at Mist in bewilderment. 

“What?” 

“You said you were getting lunch when you ran into the Siblings. Did you eat?” 

“Um no…no I didn’t.” 

Mist nodded and sat upon the stone altar, patting the space next to her. Sunshine, albeit very confused, sat next to them. Mist grabbed the paper bag she brought with her and placed it in Sunny’s lap. 

“Take it.” 

“Huh?” 

“You need to eat or you’ll get a headache.” 

Sunshine was still on edge, still waiting for the moment Mist would take back everything she said to her. 

But it never came. 

Even as Sunny sat there eating the little lunch Mist had put together for herself it never came. They sat in silence for a while until Sunshine started to peel the orange from the bag. 

“I want to ask you something.” 

Sunny’s claws stopped tearing at the fruit’s flesh as she tensed up. 

“Okay.” 

“Who were the Siblings?” 

When Sunny didn’t answer right away, Mist turned to look at her. 

“Who were the Siblings Sunshine?” 

“Uhhh I didn’t really know them. There were two girls and a guy. That’s all I really know I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for” Mist carefully took the fruit from her hand and peeled the rest of the skin off. The flesh of the orange was half mangled by Sunny’s claws but it was still edible. 

Once Sunny finished eating and felt calm enough to be seen in the halls again the pair stood and made their way back to the ghoul den. They made it back without running into any others, both of them were grateful for that. When they entered Aether, Ifrit, and Zephyr were lounging on the couch. They all turned immediately, smelling the lingering scent of Sunny’s turmoil and the Infernal magick clinging to both of them. 

Sunshine said nothing as she climbed into Aether’s lap and curled against him, burying her face into his chest. Mist continued walking, heading for her room. Ifrit and Zephyr made brief eye contact before the fire ghoul sprang up after her. 

“Mist what the Hells happened?” 

“You are familiar with most of the humans here, correct?” 

“Yeah but what does that have to do with anything?” 

They turned towards him and he felt his eyebrows raise at the pure fury on her face. 

“I need your help Ifrit.” 

[bonezone44]

'Schism'

Podcaster!Ezra x fem!Reader

Summary: You confront your ex, Ezra, about his shitty podcast and force him to see the error of his ways. No smut.

Word Count: 1831

a/n: Not beta'd! I'm just gonna let this one ride. I know I mentioned hate-fucking in a post yesterday, but the story took me somewhere else instead.

+++++

He's your ex. That's the only reason you care. That's the only reason you even pay attention when you hear about this new podcast gaining popularity in your social circles.

You broke up years ago. A job offer took you across the country and you hadn't invited him to join you. You and Ezra were young lovers--so wrapped up in each other that it almost felt suffocating. You needed space--find a life for yourself that was all your own. The job didn't work out as well as you had hoped, but you didn't regret the choice you made. You were proud of how much you had learned and grown.

Ezra seemed to forge a different path after the two of you parted ways.

And the popularity of his podcast was not because your friends were entertained by him, but because they were enraged by his persuasive and precarious points-of-view. Baseless accusations and bullshit conspiracies designed to steer his audience from one rabbit hole to another. Shifting goal posts and nihilistic philosophies.

He'd wax poetic about his anonymous sources who supplied him with thumb drives and downloads of confidential government documents. He'd drone on and on about identifying who was really in control of the government. And while his efforts may have uncovered some truths about the proven existence of extra terrestrials, which only inflated his ego, the rest of what he was saying was all ... wrong. Not only factually, but morally. Not only morally, but... it just didn't sound like Ezra at all. You knew how he really felt about things, how he really saw the world. And while he may have never been some golden boy, you knew he knew better than to flagrantly entertain circular logistics with such earnesty.

He was in town, as luck would have it, guest hosting on some other bullshit podcast and you made a point to reach out and make plans. You still shared some mutual friends. You didn't let him know the real reason you needed to see him. You told him it was to simply catch up, for old time's sake. You were relieved when he agreed.

You made a point to meet him at his hotel. You made a point to meet him in his room. You made a point to get him alone. No audience around. No one to perform for. Just you. Just him.

There was a twitch in his smile when he first saw you. There was a hesitancy in his arms when he hugged you back. He tugged at his outfit. A long sleeve black thermal and jeans. His hair was cropped short, freshly cut. He brushed the back of his neck with an anxious hand. He smelled like hotel soap.

You kept the small talk short. You wanted to get it over with so you could get him out of your mind for good--move on and say that at least you tried to reason with him.

---

Ezra knew something was wrong as soon as he laid eyes on you. You had changed. A lot. You weren't the girl you were before, smiling and clinging to his arm, eyes sparkling at him and making him feel like the luckiest boy in the world.

He briefly wondered if you still drank coffee. Wondered if you liked to sleep in on your days off or if you rose with the sun. He wondered if you still liked having your neck bit and nibbled on, then laved with his tongue. He wondered how many other tongues had tasted you since he did last.

"I heard about your podcast," you said once the pleasantries were over. You sat at the end of one of the queen sized beds.

Shame washed down Ezra's body as he leaned against the hotel dresser. He shrugged and spoke to the floor, only glancing up at you when he could stomach it. "A-a-a fun little side project. That's all, really. Something to amuse myself and a-a-a small cabal of close acquaintances. There is money to be made in the world of entertainment and I have found a way to contribute in such a way that allows me to-to-to earn a bit of funding for my ever-hungry pockets." He flashed a brief smile. "You know how I like to indulge myself with the finer things in life and they are unfortunately getting pricier and pricier as time marches on." He cleared his throat. "It's all just a-a-a bit of harmless fun, you know." He walked over to the air unit by the window and turned the temperature lower, his body feeling suddenly so warm.

"You think it's harmless?" you asked, concern evident on your face.

"It's just... it's just something to pass the time and earn a little pocket money. That's all, really." He smiled and shook his head. You were sitting, calmly, several feet away but he felt as if your hand was on his throat. "I have no control over my-my-my---the-the choices of my audience and how they choose to perceive the product that I distribute into the world and I can only do so much as a singular entity."

The disappointed look on your face stabbed Ezra right in his chest.

"They love it," he spoke through clenched teeth. "Every day I wake up and some lost soul has found solace in my words and teachings--"

"Teachings?" You laughed. "What the fuck are you teaching? You're not teaching shit, Ezra! You're spreading a bunch of bullshit!"

"No!" He argued, unable to meet your eye. "I am providing researched information--"

"Oh come on!" You stood from the bed. "You haven't researched shit!"

"I have, actually!" Ezra said much firmer this time. "I have read countless numbers of articles and files about--"

You cut him off with a loud groan, stomping your feet and throwing your fists down. "It doesn't matter, Ezra! It doesn't matter! You know what you're doing!"

"It is for entertainment purposes--"

"No it is not, Ezra! You are fucking with people's heads! Those lost souls needs help, real fucking help, and they're not going to get any of that from you and your bullshit conspiracies that you know are bullshit!"

He laughed and shook his head. "It is not my responsibility to spell it out for everyone. It is not my responsibility to-to-to tell people how to think for themselves."

"But that's exactly what you're doing! You're telling people question every fucking thing that they hear about---"

"They should! They should question everything! Our government is lying to us--"

"Yeah, they are! But the activists aren't! There are groups out there trying to make a real difference in this shitty fucking world and you're on your stupid little podcast telling them to question that, too!"

He shrugged. "Well, how am I to know to trust any group--"

"Oh come on, Ezra! You know better! You know that there are genuinely good people trying to do good things! You have got to have faith!"

"Faith?" Ezra raised his chin. "That's rich coming from you." He watched you roll your eyes. "That is savory to hear those words come from your lips."

You laughed. "Really? Really?" You shook your head. "So, what? A girl breaks up with you once and it becomes your whole personality?"

"No," he said assuredly. "Not just any girl. You." He leaned forward and pointed. "You. You broke up with me. You left me." He held his hand to his chest as tears formed in his eyes. "Where once I was whole, I have been shredded and split in two. A schism. A-a-a cavern of nothingness took your place and I have yet to find anything worthwhile to fill it!" He gritted his teeth, his finger now pointed at the ground.

"I had to leave, Ezra!" You stomped your foot. "I had to--I had to go! All we ever did was lay in bed and fuck all day!"

"What's wrong with that?"

You scoffed. "There are bills to pay! We have lives to live!"

"And?" He asked, his hands now in his pockets. "And therefore your life could not involve me?"

You flopped back down on the bed and broke into sobs. "I had to--I had to know I could do it for myself. I had to know I could be alone and be okay." Your eyes traveled the textured ceiling, the smoothly painted pale walls, the rough gray carpet. "I got so lost in you." You wiped your eyes with your hands, but tears continued to fall. "I didn't want anything else. I didn't want anybody. Everything else disappeared."

"What's wrong with that?" he begged, stepping closer.

"I can't live like that. This life is about me. I have to live for me."

He knelt down in front of you, desperate to hold you but keeping his distance. "And in your efforts to live for no one but yourself, have you found the satisfaction you sought?"

"Some of it, I don't know," you shrugged, still speaking through tears.

"It is a lonely road to travel alone, is it not?"

"Yes," you nodded. You wiped snot from your nose onto your shirt. Eyes squeezed shut.

"Even as I have journeyed without you, and I have allowed the whole world to see my innards, there is an emptiness I still carry. There is a missing piece of myself that I have been searching for in this wasteland of humanity. And it is here before me--"

"No," you spat. "I don't exist for you. I exist for me."

He took a deep breath, another wave of emotions washed down his body. "Perhaps we can exist in tandem. Live our lives parallel to one another." He reached out and rubbed your knee with his broad hand. "As long as we seek to establish peace at the conclusion of our conflicts."

"Will you stop making your stupid podcast?"

Ezra smiled. "Well... I suppose I could." He shrugged. "But perhaps communicating a change of heart to my audience would be a more fortuitous route, in the efforts of those who seek to inspire the sleeping masses into action."

You look down at him, releasing a long sigh of relief. "I've missed you."

"I missed you, too," he answered. He crawled forward as you crawled backward further into the bed.

This was not how you saw this night going and you are more grateful for the outcome than you could have ever imagined.

-----

[rabbitcruiser]

Allen's Lookout, BC (No. 2)

The Indigenous name for the river is Nêtʼił Tué', which means Hanging Down River in the Kaska language. The name comes from a particularly narrow spot near the river's headwaters, where Kaska people used to set goat snares. The "hanging down" - "Nêtʼił" part of the name refers to the snares. The origin of the river's name in mainstream use today is obscure, but is derived from the French word for "Eastern Cottonwood" (a kind of poplar) which grow in abundance along sections of the river. Among the early fur traders, who traveled the river corridor the Liard above the Fort Nelson River was referred to as the "West Branch," while the Fort Nelson River was the "East Branch."

The first European to traverse most of the river was John McLeod of the Hudson's Bay Company (HBC). Leaving Fort Simpson on June 28, 1831, McLeod and eight others ascended the river, reaching and naming the Dease River in just over six weeks. Four days later, they reached the Frances River, and mistakenly ascended it, thinking it was the Liard's main branch. Nine years later, another HBC employee, Robert Campbell, journeyed to the source of the Liard in the St. Cyr Range, renaming the river McLeod had ascended for Frances Ramsay Simpson, the wife of the Sir George Simpson, the HBC's governor who had authorised both expeditions.

The entire Yukon and British Columbia's portion of the river corridor is said to be the traditional unceded territory of the Kaska Dena, who have lived in the area for thousands of years and claim it as their rightful home. This claim is contested by both the Acho Dene Koe First Nation and Fort Nelson First Nation who count among their memberships the former residents of communities along the Liard, east of the Grand Canyon of the Liard, like Nelson Forks, La Jolie Butte, and Francois, where the Acho Dene Koe signed Treaty 11. Their descendants still live and hunt in the area to this day. Despite Kaska Dene claims, much of the area has been recognized as Fort Nelson and Acho Dene Koe First Nation territory under Treaty 8 and 11 since 1910 and 1922 respectively.

Source: Wikipedia

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Atop the Tower

hey! love your writing! i have a request. could you write a fic where virge’s having a panic attack and logan has to help calm him down? thanks! - anon

Hello hello 👉🏽👈🏽 I was wondering whether I could request some of the Purp Emo Boi(tm) hurt comfort, possibly with some Qpp flavours? Please and thank you? - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: panic attacks, implied/referenced self-harm, self-destruction

Pairings: analogical? Sorta? Platonic at any rate

Word Count: 1831

For the Great and Powerful Lord Sanders, nothing his brother's son Virgil does is worthy of his title. He decides to let him know this one night in front of the small council and their most loyal knights. He takes the fleeing Virgil as nothing but a coward, a sniveling mess to be left to the cold to toughen up or else.

One of the knights, however, disagrees. A soft spot for the boy beckons him to follow, up the high tower where the stone walls have begun to crumble.

Children are not meant to be left alone in the cold.

    There is no such thing as cold.

Warmth exists. Heat exists. You can't touch it but you can feel it, you can measure it. You can see its effects more easily than you can see other things, can see steam rising up off a warm pool, feel it emanating off a hot mug. Bubbles in boiling water, steam in cooler air. You can see heat, feel it, name it.

There is no such thing as cold, not like there is heat. Cold is the absence of heat. Just as there's no such thing as dark, only an absence of light, there is only a lack of heat, not the presence of cold.

And yet, atop a crumbling tower in the dark of night, with the wind whipping past hard enough to strip the bark from trees, it feels like there must be such a thing as cold.

Virgil pulls his cloak tighter around himself. The gale is merciless, reaching long and bony fingers into each and every crevice it can find, sharp as a knife on his cheeks. His eyes sting as he stares into the darkness, the fuzzy outline of the trees just visible through the dark and the wind.

He doesn't know how long he's been up here. He can barely remember the walk it took to reach the crumbling tone, only that he had suddenly been smacked across the face by an angry wind and had collapsed, unseemly, onto the edge. And there he had stayed, glassy-eyed and white-knuckled, bared to the night.

It's cold.

His chest hurts. Why? Was it because he was running to get here? Did he run to get here? Or was it because it's so cold? Cold air is harder to breathe, harsher on the nose and mouth, is that why?

But no. The aching wheeze as breath rattles in and out of him is different from the deeper hurt. No, that hurt seeps beyond his lungs, down into his stomach, bleeding out through his arms, his wrists, his hands.

The cold aches, this hurts.

As if called, the hurt surges, robbing him of breath as it renews itself tenfold, jolting a pained whimper from his throat and spilling tears from his eyes. A hand flies to his chest—or tries to—just to rub away the pain, make it ease, stop, something. But the cold has frozen it still and he can only whine.

Perhaps this is better. To sit and go numb to it.

Numb to the hurt, numb to the ache, numb to everything. Pain is hot. Emotions are hot. Feeling is warm. Cold…cold is the absence of heat. Perhaps it is better to grow cold and forget what pain heat can cause. A solid and steady hurt, unchanging, unforgiving, but untemperamental.

It's cold.

Distantly, some part of him wonders if the tower is cold. The stone doesn't have a cloak, a hat, anything. How long has it stood, braving the night and the wind and the cold?

Long enough to crack and crumble under the weight of it.

Footsteps crunch on the snow behind him.

"There you are," says a low voice, "you're an awful long way from your rooms."

Virgil doesn't have to turn around to know it's Logan, doesn't have to move to know he's looking at him with thinly-veiled concern. The wind whistles past and a sigh comes from behind him, footsteps approaching and a large bulk settling itself, blocking the worst of the wind.

A curling breath leaves Virgil's lips at the sudden lack of wind, the respite demonstrating just how vicious it had been. His ears are splitting, even inside the thick cloak.

"It's not safe to be up here in the dark," comes Logan's low voice again, "easy to lose your footing and fall."

When Virgil doesn't say anything, he lets out another long breath, moving closer and opening an arm.

"Don't be stubborn, now," he says quietly, "I can tolerate a sulking or brooding lad as long as he isn't stupid about it."

Virgil manages to shift closer and almost shudders at warm Logan is.

"Silly boy," comes the gentle scold, too sweet to sting, "how long have you been out here for?"

Virgil shrugs, unable to do much besides keep his eyes open at the sudden warmth.

"Has the wind stolen your voice?" When Virgil shakes his head, Logan hums. "Then you won't mind telling me why you're out here so late at night."

"It's cold."

"Yes, it is, which is why you shouldn't be out here."

"Don't wanna be warm."

Logan snorts. "The way you're huddled into my side certainly says otherwise."

When Virgil doesn't so much as twitch, he softens his voice again.

"Why don't you want to be warm?"

"Warm is bad."

"I've heard you say words to the contrary many times," Logan says, no judgment in his voice, "even earlier tonight. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Hurts."

"'Hurts?' Being warm hurts?" When Virgil nods, he pulls him a little closer. "Being cold hurts too. Especially like this."

"Hurts better."

"The cold hurts better?"

"Mhm."

"Why does the cold hurt better?"

"Cold hurts everywhere. Less messy. Easier." He sniffles. "Better."

Logan takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "You need to come inside now, lad."

"Don't wanna."

"I told you, sulking and brooding are fine as long as you're not stupid about it." His voice sharpens a little. "You'll freeze out here, lad, and you shine with tears."

Oh. That's why his cheeks are suddenly much colder. He's crying.

"Come inside, dear boy," Logan says, softly again, "you've hurt enough for one night."

Virgil tries to move but the cold has long since seeped into his bones, and any attempts to use the limbs that once belonged to him only elicit another pained noise.

Logan sighs, too fond to be anything truly reprimanding and scoops him into his arms. "You were supposed to be the one I didn't have to worry about."

And with the sudden influx of warmth that shudders through him, cradled in Logan's arms, it's too much and the words lodge in the soft part of his heart and hurt, and more tears spring to his eyes and a truly pitiful mewl builds in his throat, he didn't mean to—

"Hush, dear boy," Logan soothes as he breaks out of the wind, into old stone halls, "it's an old man's job to worry."

But now that the wind is gone, now that there's heat again, everything builds and builds and it's so much, it's too much, he doesn't want it to hurt.

"Shh, shh, dear boy," he hears distantly, "you're safe. It's alright, no harm will come to you."

That noise is coming from him, then, that muffled sobbing he can hear. He turns and buries his head in Logan's warmth as much as he can. still struggling with the pain. Logan holds him throughout, walking down stairs and through hallways until they reach a large hall.

"I'm setting you down, dear boy," he says softly, crouching to set Virgil in a bundle of something, "be still. You were out there for quite a while, your body needs time to adjust."

Logan pulls away and Virgil lets out another sob, aching limbs stretching for something to hold onto. His hand bumps into something soft and warm.

Furs. He's been laid down on a bundle of furs.

Part of him realizes, somewhat hysterically, that he must look quite the sight. Fumbling about half-blind, clumsy as a newborn kit and still crying. With the warmth comes the shame, seeping in relentlessly as he strains for something, anything to hold onto.

Useless boy, scrabbling like a child who doesn't know better. Your father would be ashamed of you.

"Not so rough," comes Logan's voice again—he's back, did he leave?—as hands carefully take his, "be gentle with yourself."

But he's not good at that, not like this, and so his arms are guided up over Logan's neck as he's pulled from the furs onto something warm and solid.

"Shh, dear boy, it's alright, I have you now."

Hurt is hurt, regardless of how, and so when the warmth threatens to overflow and overwhelm him, Virgil simply surrenders to it, letting the ache swim through his veins as he leans into Logan.

"That's it, lad," Logan murmurs, arms coming up to circle him once more, "just let me hold you."

His sobs don't quite end there, a few still hitching every once in a while, each with their own painful whimper as his body jolts and tenses. Logan soothes him each time, murmuring little comforts and holding him close.

"Silly boy," he murmurs again, still too fond, too sweet, "look at you, hm? What good did this do you?"

"Hurts," Virgil spits out.

"Yes, I know it hurts, so why—"

"Good."

Logan pauses, hand moving to rub carefully up and down his back. "Why is that good, lad?"

"Better," is the answering gasp, "hurt out not in."

"Oh, dear boy, no wonder you were out there for so long." Logan's hold tightens a little on him. "But you know that's not good for you."

"Better."

"No, it isn't," Logan corrects gently, "and you know that."

More sobs wrack Virgil's pained body and Logan takes the time to comfort him, gentle the harsh tremors away, press a small frigid chest against a large, warm one, hot breath on a cold neck.

"This is about what happened earlier."

A statement, not a question. Cruel words spoken by a cruel man, meant to wound and wound alone. A pause, then a tiny nod.

"Did you plan to go out into the storm?"

A tiny shake. Logan lets out a breath of relief, curling a little more around Virgil.

"Rest for now," he bids softly, "we can deal with everything else in the morning. For now, you are still too cold and weak. You need sleep."

The thought of moving makes him wince and the thought of going back there makes it worse.

"Hush, dear boy, we're not going anywhere. You need to be in front of a fire and I am too old to carry you again."

A lie, judging by how easily Logan shifts him to be more comfortable in his arms.

"Sleep, dear boy. I'll stay with you. I don't need much sleep." He rests his nose against Virgil's temple. "I've got you."

There is no such thing as cold, just a lack of warmth. There, on the furs, in front of the fire, in Logan's arms, anything that could possibly be cold begins to fill with warmth.

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[sirowsky-stories]

The Flowers Always Know

Chapter 7 - Perfectly Awkward Things

Description: Seeking out Marcus for answers turned out to be fruitful in more ways than one.

**Beware! Author chooses NOT to display warnings on the individual chapters of this story. Read at your own risk!**

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 3884 (1831 words added) Masterlist (this story)

   “My mother did what?” Marcus exclaimed in shock after you knocked on his office door and asked if he had a minute to talk, before telling him about the events of the morning.

   He’d looked so happy to see you, which had made it very difficult to remember why you’d come to visit him at all.

   “Yep. Suddenly I see why you felt the need to protect me from her. I still haven’t decided if I like her or not.”

   “I should think the answer would be ‘absolutely not’, after waking up to that,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “But I guess now we know what she was up to yesterday.”

   “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was fuming,” you recalled with emphasis. “I just can’t help but admire her sass.    I could’ve done without the weird questions, though. I mean, unless you’re a florist or trying to impress someone, a deep-dive into the history of their favourite flower isn’t exactly the most enticing subject.”

   But hearing that made Marcus look extremely nervous, suddenly.

   “She asked you what flowers you like?” he wondered, and he sounded as though this one topic could somehow ruin his life, which of course only made you that much more confused.

   “Yeah, do you know what that’s about?” you asked, subconsciously leaning forwards in the sofa as your curiosity peaked.

   He was sitting across from you, in an identical sofa on the other side of a coffee table, and he’d been leaning forwards the whole time you’d been there.    But he now fell back against the backrest, as if needing to be as far from you as possible.

   “Uh, it’s something she does sometimes. She loves flowers, always has. She’s got the nicest garden you’ve ever seen, and she knows everything about every flower there is.    But she has this… I don’t know… insight, maybe? Don’t ask me how the flowers are involved, cause I’ve been trying to figure that out my entire life, but she somehow just knows shit. She asks about your favourite flower and whatever response you give, it tells her something more than what you’ve actually said. Almost like it… connects her to you.    I honestly don’t know if it’s an ability or just her extensive understanding of both people and flora, but whatever it is, as far as I know, she’s only ever used it to-...”

   He cut himself off then, as if he’d been about to say something wrong, or inappropriate. He’d been looking around the room while he’d spoken, occasionally flickering back to you, but now that his gaze returned to focus fully on you… you could’ve sworn he was blushing.

   “To… what?” you tried to prompt, but he just cleared his throat and adjusted himself in the sofa.

   “Um, that’s not important right now. I’ll talk to her about staying away from you,” he dodged, and you thought about pushing him to answer, but he seemed uncomfortable enough that you decided not to.

   You’d known him long enough by now to know that he rarely avoided a subject unless there was good cause.    Plus, you already knew that any effort he made to keep his mother away from you probably wouldn’t be successful, and that thought brought you back to your original reason for coming here.

   “Hah, good luck with that,” you cautioned with thickly layered sarcasm.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Only that the point of the weird questions was apparently to assess me for a job, which she then hired me for, without telling me anything about it.    Does she even have the authority to hire people? How much pull does she have here?” you questioned, hoping to learn more about the elusive woman.

   But Marcus looked only baffled.

   “Your guess is as good as mine, really. I’ve never known what my mother does here, besides meddle in everything and bark orders at everyone.    She’s not officially employed here anymore, but given how everyone treats her, it’s safe to say she has a lot of power among the Heroics organization. So, if she wants to give you a job, you can be sure they’ll let her.    She didn’t say anything about the position at all? Not even which branch?”

   “Only that I have to be here at 7am tomorrow if I wanna take it, and the assumption I made was that it would mean I’d be working for her.    But I’m not sure about any of this.”

   His office was a surprisingly comfortable room.    The furniture was all wood, either in light colours or just lacquered so the veins and life of the trees could be seen. And while there was a good-sized desk with an ergonomic chair (the only piece of furniture which wasn’t made of wood), those were pushed into a corner, to make room for the two big, soft, moss-coloured sofas in the middle of the space, where you were now seated.

   There was a small potted plant sat in the middle of the coffee table between you. You didn’t know what type of plant it was, but it suited Marcus somehow.    Beautiful leaves, large but somewhat fragile, growing tightly to conceal the surprisingly thick and sturdy stems, and you got the distinct impression that this plant could take a lot more than anyone thought.

   Seeming more nervous again, he got up and rounded the little table to come and sit down next to you instead, and you had a feeling it was mostly to comfort himself. Not that you ever minded his proximity.

   “I really don’t know what this might be about. She’s never wanted or needed an assistant, but I can’t think of anything else she might want you to do,” he pondered, and you leaned back again so you could see him.

   “I’m just an artisan, a craftswoman. I design logo’s, sew and knit, make sculptures and ceramics, the occasional leather or metalworks. Small things for individual buyers, never anything large scale. I’ve never done anything else.”

   “Maybe she thinks we need re-branding,” he offered, probably as a joke, but at this point, you were about ready to believe anything.

   “Have you heard any discussions about something like that?”

   “Nope.”

   “Shit,” you slumped further and closed your eyes for a moment. “I don’t know what to do.”

   Abruptly restless, you opened your eyes again before getting up and starting to pace about the room, still relishing in the fact that you were even able to stand up without assistance.    But you missed the disappointed look on Marcus’ face as you left his side. And before he could object, you launched into a speech about all the things you’d been mulling over in your head while you’d cleaned your house.

   “I mean, she’s right, I need a job. It’s not like my former employer could just wait for me to get better while a third of her entire workforce was missing, with no word on whether or not I’d even be able to come back. She had to replace me; I get that.    It’s just that it’s a very difficult business to get back into, because most of them are small and privately owned and they hire people they know are good and then stick with them. I should know, I’d been with that company for a decade.    And yeah, I’ve played with the idea of maybe trying to start a business of my own, but that’s not easy, especially when I have no experience or training as a business owner or production manager. Not to mention the economics, taxes, legal crap…”

   You sighed into a grunt as you came to a stop behind the sofa across from Marcus and rested your hands on the back of it.    So much of your life still had to change before anything would have a chance to get back to some manner of normal. And it all seemed so big and difficult, and you didn’t want any more of that. You’d had more than enough of difficult to last you the rest of your life.    In that sense, being offered a job out of the blue was a gift. The problem was, you felt like there was a catch, which meant you didn’t trust it.

   “At the same time, I can’t help but feel that working here… Ugh, I don’t know,” you speculated, somehow feeling trapped. “I can’t see how I could possibly do anything here that would make me feel like I was contributing.”

   “Hey, come here, hermosa,” he suggested, patting the seat next to him.

   You brightened a bit, hearing one of his nicknames for you. You’d gotten so used to them in the past three months, the sounds of them felt like home to you now, even though you didn’t speak Spanish, beyond “hola” and “buenos dias”.    Still, you’d never dared to ask him what those names meant. You had guessed the meaning of some of the words you’d heard him say, like “felicidades” when you’d succeeded on the obstacle course, but about the nicknames, you didn’t know if he was calling you something endearing or just practical.

   Rounding the sofa you’d been standing behind, you sat back down not quite next to him, since you weren’t sure how comfortable you could be with him.    During your recovery, he’d been up close and personal with you every day, having to touch various parts of your body to help your muscles heal. But once that had ended, there was no manual for how to behave anymore. No way to know what was appropriate beyond the professional. And it wasn’t like such a thing ever came up in casual conversation.

   Once you’d settled in, he angled himself towards you, and feeling your temperature rise with his closeness, you begged for an interesting subject to pop into your head.    Fortunately, that was when you suddenly remembered the word his mother had called you when she’d spoken to you. Granted, not the most interesting topic ever, but since things were getting more awkward by the second, you decided it was as good a question as any.

   “What does ‘mujer’ mean?”

   “Woman,” he said without pause, and then cocked his head to the side, probably confused by the apparent randomness of the question. “Why do you ask?”

   “Anita called me that.”

   “Yeah, she does that. She still calls me boy. Chico, or hijo if she’s in a good mood.    She claims it’s just her way of calling it like it is, but I suspect in most cases, it’s just because she doesn’t bother to memorize people’s names,” he tutted, which almost made you snicker because it was such a Marcus thing to do.

   But there was another question burning a hole in your brain, and you were too busy fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, trying to decide if you dared to ask, to fully appreciate his adorable little tut.

   “Oh, I see,” you answered generically, while working up the courage. “Um, since we’re on the subject, I was wondering… about hermosa?”

   He responded by smiling that melting smile of his, damned near taking your breath away.

   “It means beautiful,” he softly explained, and something in his eyes turned liquid and hypnotizing.

   Shit. You just had to go there, and now you were blushing like an idiot, not knowing where to look or what to say or how to behave like a normal fucking person.    He seemed only delighted, though.

   “I’d happily call you something in English, if you’d prefer,” he offered, sounding entirely sincere and much too inviting. “Like sweetheart,” he added, barely over a whisper now.

   But you couldn’t look at him, so you didn’t know if he was being flirty or just friendly. If he was saying that he wanted you to be his sweetheart, or that he just wanted to call you that.    You couldn’t tell if your own desires were tainting what you heard to make it sound more involving and romantic than it actually was.    Coming here had been about discussing his mother and the job, not give yourself more opportunities to fall even harder for the guy.

   You had, though. You’d probably fallen for him the moment you’d first heard his voice that day in the med-chamber. Every day since then had been spent in either denial or a continued attempt to confirm that you had no shot with this man.    It had never been this difficult to be around him when you’d been recovering, even though you’d been attracted to him, because there’d been a professional barrier separating you. It was only in the last few weeks when you hadn’t really needed him anymore, it had started getting out of hand.

   Maybe because against all odds, there could be a slim chance he liked you as more than a friend as well. Or perhaps you just needed to know, either way.    For the moment, all you wanted was for the pressing awkwardness to end.

   “Uh… you can call me whatever you like,” you timidly responded, after what seemed like hours.

   “Thank you,” he replied, with a deep kind of rumbling warmth, and suddenly you had to look at him again, had to know what expression could make his voice sound like that.

   Whatever you might’ve imagined, you were totally unprepared for the desire looking back at you. It had you leaning towards him like he was a magnet.    And amazingly, the moment he realized what you were doing, he responded by quickly closing the remaining distance between you, as though he was afraid something would interrupt if he simply sat back and waited for you to get to him.

   His lips were warm and soft as they moulded to yours, eager, but not demanding, his moustache tickling you in the sweetest way. His hands came up to cradle your jaw, holding you to him with the lightest touch, sending flares of tiny electric pulses through your skin.    The rapid sensory overload had your pulse racing and your entire body flushed with the heat of arousal in the blink of an eye.

   To your own shock and disbelief, both clearly dulled by your libido for the time being, a few seconds later you found yourself clambering onto his lap and straddling him. Your own lips being every bit as demanding as his hadn’t been, and your hands rough and craving against his delicate touch.    But if he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His hands quickly found their way to your thighs and up your back instead, making you shiver with pleasure. Then a throaty grunt of a moan escaped him, and he opened his mouth, as if seeking refuge from the heat of his own body, by begging for entry into yours.

   Panting and grinding yourself against him, feeling him harden underneath you, you were suddenly snapped back to reality by the sound of the phone on his desk ringing.    You froze on his lap and pulled back to stare at him, mortified at your own reaction to what had started out as a simple kiss, literally just seconds ago. Your first kiss, no less.    He grinned as he watched your face go from arousal to panic, and his arms closed tighter around you, holding you to him, while you tried to hide your face in your hands.

   “I’m sorry, I have no idea where that came from, I’ve never done anything like this before, I don’t even know what happened…” you fumbled, wishing you could just run from the room and never come back.

   “Do I look uncomfortable to you?” Marcus smirked, obviously not bothered in the least, and quite completely missing the point.

   “No, but I-…” you tried, but he cut you off.

   “Hermosa… you can attack me any time you like. I’ve wanted to be touched by you for a long time,” he said, still grinning happily, totally oblivious to the storm which was churning inside you.

   “You don’t understand. I’m not like this,” you sighed, looking for the right words, and strangely feeling more comfortable talking about it the longer you went. “I’m not… confident, not about sex. I’ve never been the one to instigate, much less push or demand more. I don’t ever do that, it’s not in my nature.”

   Finally realizing that you weren’t just being bashful, but that your own actions were genuinely frightening you, he frowned while softening his grip around you and stroking your back soothingly.

   “Hey, don’t be scared. I’m not in any hurry with you. If you need to understand this before you’re willing to take things further, then that’s what you need to do.    Just… promise me you won’t shut me out. Please?”

   You stared at him, utterly enthralled, your hands drooping down onto his chest while you tried to process the truths behind his words.    That he was willing to take things slow even though you’d just teased him in the worst conceivable way, just so you’d be comfortable with him. But more than that, he obviously wanted to be included, to be a part of your life. Which wouldn’t matter to him unless he was looking for something long term.    Holy shit. You’d just come here to ask for his advice…

   “Y-You are real, right?” you asked him, so staggered by this revelation that you needed to make sure. “This isn’t some perfect fantasy I dreamed up, is it?”

   His smile came back even wider before he answered, and there was a happy little laughter hiding in every syllable.

   “Of course I’m real, sweetheart. You could never dream up someone so dorky.”

   “You’re not dorky,” you countered with conviction, and you guessed that it was probably the stern look on your face which made his laughter blossom.

   “According to Missy, who’s known me a lot longer than you, I am the Superdork of dorks. But I’m apparently also very lovable,” he finished with a wink, finally making you laugh too.

   “That I can agree with. And I’ll promise not to shut you out if you’ll do the same for me.”

   “Somehow, I get the feeling this is one promise that’ll be easer for me to keep than it will be for you. But I promise.”

   “You might be right, but that’s just because I haven’t had any people in my life I could rely on, ever since I was a kid,” you told him, and the mirth cooled a bit.

   You hadn’t told him anything about your family yet, and you didn’t want to, so you were relieved when he didn’t ask about them.

   “In that case, from now on, I’ll consider it my mission to make sure you always know you can lean on me,” he added to his promise, still smiling so warmly.

   “I don’t know how I can ever deserve you, but I sure as shit won’t turn you down,” you smiled back. “Thank you. For this and everything else. And I promise not to shut you out.”

   He just kept meeting your eyes with unflinching focus, and gently caressed your cheek.    You leaned into the warmth of his hand for a moment, but then you suddenly remembered exactly where you were sitting, and your cheeks began to flush under his gentle touch.

   “Um… I should maybe…” you tried, while you started working to move yourself off his lap.

   His grin widened and his eyes turned playful as he realized what you were blushing about, but he quickly offered you a helping hand to make sure you got up with your dignity intact. Thank goodness you’d opted for jeans today, rather than a skirt or dress.    He straightened himself up a bit on the sofa, and you moved to sit down across from him again, taking a breath to try to cool yourself down.

   Then you both visibly flinched when the door abruptly flung open, and Mrs. Moreno appeared on the threshold.    She didn’t even glace in your direction, keeping her eyes on her son, although she most certainly knew you were there, there was no way she didn’t see you in her periphery. But you also got the impression she’d known before even opening the door. Just like you were sure she knew that something… heated, had happened between her son and you.

   You made a mental note to check the room for cameras or microphones later, because that timing was eerily perfect.

   “Honestly, chico, what’s happened to your manners lately? You can’t even be bothered to answer the phone anymore?” she chided, and you stifled a curse trying to spill from your lips as it dawned on you that it had been her calling earlier, also with impeccable timing.

   “Wow, mom. You barge into my office without even knocking, or saying hello, being extremely rude to my guest, and yet, I’m the one with no manners? Really?” Marcus challenged, clearly truly sick of his mother’s meddling.

   She, on the other hand, was apparently immune to his retorts, completely ignoring his challenge as she turned to you instead.

   “I was not expecting you until tomorrow, but since you’re here, we might as well get started,” she declared, and then swept around and left the room while delivering a final command: “Come along, mujer.”

   “Mrs. Moreno, I-…” you tried, but she was already gone, so you sighed and looked at Marcus who just shook his head, still staring after her. “She’s the one who called? That timing was-…”

   “Don’t even go there,” he cut you off, cautioning you. “She’s omniscient, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

   You looked towards the open doorway and felt yourself frown, although if it was out of confusion or frustration you couldn’t tell.

   “I don’t know if I wanna go after her. I haven’t even decided if I want the job.”

   “Don’t let her push you around, sweetheart. If you want to take the time to think about it, you have every right to,” he reminded you, and you turned your head back to meet his gaze, scrunching your nose up at him in a childish manner.

   “I think I prefer hermosa,” you declared, which brought his grin back, but before he could reply, you heard Anita shout after you from further down the corridor. “On the other hand, I can always resign from a job I’ve already taken, so I could go find out just what it is she wants me to do, and if I don’t like it, at least I’ll know.”

   You sighed with equal parts irritation and sulkiness, then you got up and he mirrored you, cutting you off from leaving by stepping in front of you and taking your hands.

   “Remember, whatever happens, I’m here. If you need anything I’ll be there, and if you can’t find me, call me,” he reassured you, letting his hands slide up your arms and come to rest at the top of your shoulders, before he leaned in and kissed your forehead.

   “Thank you,” you said, closing your eyes and inhaling the scent of him, hoping to bring it with you for extra strength.

   Then Mrs. Moreno shouted again, louder this time, making you growl as you stepped around Marcus to follow her down the corridor.

   “If I haven’t called within the next two minutes, you can go ahead and officially declare me a saint.”