#Boucher Trail

[dopescissorscashwagon]

Reaching this Grand Canyon location requires a rugged 10-mile hike on the Hermit Trail and Boucher Trail, built by "The Hermit" himself — Louis Boucher — in the late 1800s.

📸 by Jake Case - Mountain Tripper

Boucher lived in the Canyon before it became a national park, operating mostly unsuccessful mine claims and eventually leading tourists down his trails as a guide.At this location just past the end of the what we now call the Boucher Trail, he built a small cabin, the ruins of which can still be found to this day. On the topographic map of the area a small mining prospect is marked, which I assume was Boucher's purpose for setting up a camp here.

Regardless of the fascinating bits of history, this slice of Grand Canyon is stunningly beautiful. Marsh Butte towers majestically overhead, Boucher Creek's spring-fed waters bubble through the canyon bottom, and brittlebush bloom on perfect spring days like the one I captured here. If you choose to venture down the Boucher Trail, you'll need to secure an overnight backpacking permit from the Grand Canyon backcountry office. The trail is steep, rocky, and sometimes completely washed out from storms. Self-reliance is a must for modern hikers traversing this remote stretch of Grand Canyon, but well worth a visit for those willing to rough it.

[effemimaniac]

what did grimes say about SOPHIE? not surprised but also grimes SOPHIE is the reason for so much of what you pull inspiration from lmao hello???

this interview https://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/oct/31/claire-boucher-grimes-art-angels

Of PC Music, the London collective whose uncanny valley take on the top 40 of their childhoods provides a contextual touchstone for Art Angels, she says, “It’s really fucked up to call yourself Sophie and pretend you’re a girl when you’re a male producer [and] there are so few female producers,” she begins, before trailing off again. “I think it’s really good music. I probably shouldn’t have said that…”

it's funny that even the article mentions that inspiration in the same paragraph lol

[smokeys-house]

Travel Log 12 + Reciprocal Lacuna

Passage from Puukko's Travel Log

And just like that, she's gone again. Part o’ me feels like I been shot, but another part o’ me feels like I've met with fate once more. I had a reason t’ live before, sure. Had a couple. But the biggest one felt more like a debt than a life. I been a ghost fer far too long. Now I got a new reason t’ keep kickin’, so’s I can have some new stories fer to tell Marion when I see her next.

I'm headin’ home soon. Got Arturo his money back and then some, but not without some explainin’ needed doin’. I asked Marion if she'd sail me home, but she said “I'm afraid that were I to take you home, just as soon as I'd lay eyes upon it, it would become mine as well.” She always fancied herself a poet, so she talks real pretty. Now she's a playwright, actor, director, restaurant owner, sailor and captain, all sorts o’ things. A driven woman, she is. I told her before she skips out the Adriatic t’ head back on down to Mestre and look up the man playing Baptiste Boucher. She said she needn't actors what can't fight nor sail. I told her he were a mercenary and an actor, an’ that he knew her already. I asked her t’ spook him real good fer me. We'll see what she cooks up someday, I'm sure.

She got me set up with someone what was sailing down near Moominvalley. Following that, I'm gonna hoof it over the mountain and straight back into me home. Won't have t’ see no one till I'm good ‘n ready. Midsummer’s comin’ up. I reckon I would've been asleep by now fer the season, but somehow I fear as though hibernation will evade me when I get back.

I plan on staring out at the sea the whole way home

Signed Puukko

Reciprocal Lacuna

Puukko's trip home from Italy was short-lived. The journey to Venice took her quite a lot longer than she'd anticipated, and throughout it she'd struggled and changed much. For all she'd seen and done since the Snork dropped her off, she'd only seen waves on the way home. She spent most of it silently thinking of Marion. She'd managed to replace the sinking feeling from her past with the fond memories she'd made on the Italian coast.

The constant thrum of ocean waves gave way to chirps and chitters from all of summer's creatures after she made landfall. She began the trek home in the same fashion as she had the voyage by sea, beset by thoughts. Summer's heat was abated only by the crisp mountain air as she climbed ever higher, and ever nearer her abode. With each passing familiarity, trees, plants and animals, scents and sights, her heart grew heavier. She was determined to make it home before she could carry it no longer. The wide paths that cut up the mountains narrowed and widened again. She could see the top of the tower of her house, not far off. She forced down the lump in her throat several times as she closed in.

The relative silence of the lonely mountains were ill suited to distraction for a tired mind, its peaceful nature seemed only to collude with her sorrows. To Puukko, the short distance remaining between her and her front door was an endless and terrifying path. The closer she got, the more she felt like she was being chased. She began to walk faster, feeling guilt and pain creep up within her. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, and an ache in her head. Her vision began to narrow as her breath rapidly increased pace, and her paws began to go numb. The sunny summer day seemed all but gone, fading into tunnel vision focused solely on her front porch. She stumbled as she clawed her way to her door, slamming it behind her and slumping to the ground as she caught her breath.

She sat on the ground, recovering. She took in her surroundings to calm herself. Her home was as she left it. She thought it odd that there wasn't dust, nor cobwebs, just a tidy home filled with memories and knick knacks. The familiarity was both a comfort and a curse. She shook the trail dust and panic from her fur, steadied herself, and set her things aside as she headed into her parlor for a seat. Everything was in its place, and clean. Upon the table, placed tastefully off center, was a basket. It was plain and dark in color, with all manner of shapes and colors spilling out the top. Cheeses, bottles, odds and ends, seashells, ribbons, and all things nice. Tented just before the basket was a note, and beneath it, another.

–

Dear Puukko

We all miss you dearly, and hope to see you soon. We hope you had fun on your adventure.

With love, your friends in the valley.

–

The first note was crammed full on the underside with signatures, scribbles, and doodles featuring names that she knew, and some that she didn't. The thought that she might've left it all behind for good tortured her. Puukko coughed as she held back tears, quickly moving on to the second note.

–

To Miss Puukko

I hope you don't mind, but I'm writing you a note all to myself, as well. I've taken the liberty of keeping the place clean in your absence. As of writing this, this is the third time I've stopped in. The first time was just before we went to sleep for the winter. We left you a lovely basket of things with a little inspiration from everybody. The second was just as we woke in spring, and I had to replace a few of the perishables in the basket. Pappa insisted I not go alone, and that the mountains were far too snowy to go by oneself. Moomintroll came with us, as well. He's not one to be left out, as I'm sure you know. I managed to keep the two of them away from anything sharp or shooty as you would put it. We spent a night or two here, sprucing things up for you and waiting for the snow to thaw. Now, summer has just begun.

I've reassured everyone that you'll be returning. Truth be told, for a while, I wasn't sure myself. The valley feels different without you. Though your visits were sparse, it was reassuring to know that you were up here in your cozy little home, safe. I was worried for you. But when I remember the stories you told me, and I look at all the things that tell your tale in your home, I feel a little more reassured. Whatever you found out there, or whatever found you, you are always welcome in Moominvalley. Marion, too, if she pleases.

Do stop by for a visit on your return

Moominmamma

P.S. Not that I mind the trek, but you might think about installing a post box in the valley. The postman isn't much interested in mountain climbing. Pappa could make one for you, or Too Tikki if you've met with her, she's interested in everything.

–

Tears began to spill upon the page. Just as they hit, Puukko panicked a small bit as she wiped them away, attempting to preserve the letter. For a brief moment, confusion struck her as she lifted her paw up to her eyes. It had been decades since she'd cried last. The sensation was new, and awful, but relieving. The lump in her throat that she'd continued to beat away seemed to burst as she struggled in vain to hold back the deluge of tears. She cried loud, and horribly, as the emotions she struggled to parse escaped through her eyes and into the air. She threw herself onto her couch. She was tired of being strong, and she was tired of being tired. The boiling pot of sorrow and regret fused itself with the warm feeling that made itself a home in her chest, and she smiled. For the first time since she'd been in Moominvalley, she felt not like a legend, nor a criminal, nor the stories she'd been a part of, but like a moomin. She felt, at last, at home.

[mythological-art]

Sleeping Bacchantes

Artist: Jacques Charlier, after François Boucher

Date: 3rd Quarter of the 18th Century

Medium: Gouache on Vellum

National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

In Greek Mythology, Bacchantes were women who worshipped Dionysus, the God of Wine. Upon drinking the nectar, they would become frenzied, trailing behind the god in dance and song wearing animal skins and waving ivy ­wreathed wands.

[lighthousesbymotorcycle]

When It Rains It Pours

It was the middle of June 2023. Me and prospect Cam were gearing up for an 800+km day of riding in our beautiful province of Nova Scotia. The weather was cloudy, warm, and humid but we knew by the time we got home (which would be late into the night) that it would be raining. So, we packed all the appropriate riding gear. I was riding my 2012 Victory Highball, Cam on his 2022 El Diablo.

I met up with Cam, and a handful of the brothers from the Dartmouth charter at the Mt. Uniacke Pub just outside of the city. Freedom RC was putting on their Ride for Fred, a memorial run for one of its member’s fathers, who had passed away a few years back. It was a smaller group ride with about 35 bikes. Freedom RC led the way, and we all headed down towards Hubbard’s; snaking along the road that follows the Atlantic coastline of Nova Scotia. From there we headed back up Highway 14 towards Windsor. We made a few stops along the way for gas, snacks, smokes, and to just hangout. On the last stretch of the ride, confidence levels were high, everyone was feeling great on their bikes carving some nice twisty’s along Highway 1. Just in front of me, Eric of Freedom RC, was on his cholo style bike. These style bikes have very little lean angle, they do not corner well. He was using the whole road to make the tight corners at these speeds. Suddenly, on one tight corner, he high sided on his fishtail pipes, sliding across the road until the bike met the shoulder. When the bike hit the shoulder, it dug into the gravel and started to violently roll. Eric was thrown off the bike down into the ditch. A few others and I went into the other lane to avoid the flipping motorcycle and parts flying everywhere. Luckily there were no vehicles coming. By the time I got my bike parked, Cam and the others were already down in the ditch with Eric. He was alert and responding. A group of us picked his bike up and moved it off the road. The ambulance and first responders showed up quickly so most decided to continue the ride to a Freedom RC members house. There, family and friends who didn’t ride had the BBQ fired up and lots of food ready for us when we arrived. Eric also had his snack truck set up as well. We all grabbed a bite to eat. While we were eating, we received the bad news that Eric had to be air lifted from the crash site to the QE2 hospital in Halifax.

After eating, Cam and I decided to push on and hit the road. We were traveling to the Highlanders Antigonish annual bike draw in Havre Boucher. We grabbed a few snacks from Erics truck and off we went. After a quick stop for fuel in New Glasgow we got off the highway in Sutherlands River and headed up a beautiful section of the sunrise trail (Route 245) towards Cape George, pushing the limits, riding hard, and having a blast. We decided to stop at the Cape George lighthouse for a little snack, and to take in the scenery. While sitting at the picnic table we opened our phones and read the tragic news about Eric. He had not made it. He passed away on the way to the hospital. With a lot of riding left to do ourselves before we made it home that night, it was a difficult thing to process right then and there. It takes time for this kind of news to sink in. We hopped back on our bikes with heavy hearts and lighter hands for the last stretch of the run to Highlanders. When we arrived, we found that the news had beat us there. News travels fast. We stayed for a while, chatting with some friends as they drew numbers for the bike draw. We enjoyed some more BBQ and cold beverages. Bikers love BBQ (Good Thing).

The sun went down, slowly sinking behind the tree line. The rain still had not started. I checked the radar and seen that it was indeed coming, but we could get to our first fuel stop outside New Glasgow before we had to suit up in rain gear.

The ride back was all highway. The newly twinned section had just been completed a few weeks before between Antigonish and New Glasgow. The fresh pavement was smooth, obscuring the sense of speed as we rode. We arrived at a 24-hour Irving outside New Glasgow just before midnight. The guy inside working was resting his eyes, so we had to wake him up to turn on the fuel pump. Before we left, we suited up in our rain gear. As we rode down the highway towards Truro, we crested Mt. Thom. As the whole sky came into view again, we got an amazing sight and surprise. Lightning was lighting up the sky ahead. As we rode closer to Truro the lightning was getting closer and brighter. What an amazing experience. I looked to the left across the town of Truro towards highway 102 and all I could see was a wall of water. We rode straight into it. The rain was torrential, coming down so hard you could not see. The road turns into a lake, your helmet fogs up, and the rain starts to find its way into your suit. All you can do is try to stay loose and have a laugh. Most people hate riding in the rain, especially that kind of rain. I love it, it’s a hell of a thrill. We pushed on, passing a cop car that was going about 50km/hr with the 4 ways on. They couldn’t have caught up to us if they wanted to, bikes are much better in the rain then vehicles.

The torrential rain pounded down for 30 minutes before it lightened to a steady rain just as I pulled off my exit, and into my driveway. Happy to be home, I parked the bike and stripped off my rain gear. I headed inside, physically, and mentally exhausted after a full day on the road.

In Memory of Eric Alexander – Freedom RC – Gone But Not Forgotten

-Travis Darksiders Dartmouth

[goalhofer]

2022-23 Belleville Senators Roster

Winters

#10 Philippe Daoust (Barrie, Ontario)

#13 Egor Sokolov (Yekaterinburg, Russia)

#16 Matthew Boucher (Quebec, Quebec)**

#18 Jarid Lukosevicius (Squamish-Lillooet District, British Columbia)*

#19 John Quenneville (Edmonton, Alberta)*

#23 Cole Reinhardt (Calgary, Alberta)

#26 Brennan Saulnier (Halifax, Nova Scotia)*

#34 Roby Järventie (Tampere, Finland)

#36 Angus Crookshank (North Vancouver, British Columbia)

#49 Scott Sabourin (Ottawa, Ontario)

Centers

#7 Viktor Lodin (Leksand Stad, Sweden)

#8 Jayce Hawryluk (Roblin Municipality, Manitoba) A

#9 Jake Lucchini (Trail, British Columbia) A

#11 Kyle Betts (Grey Highlands, Ontario)**

#12 Cole Cassels (Dublin, Ohio)*

#14 Rourke Chartier (Saskatoon, Saskatchewan) A

#20 Matthew Wedman (Edmonton, Alberta)

#47 Mark Kastelic (Phoenix, Arizona)

Defensemen

#3 Dillon Heatherington (Calgary, Alberta) C

#4 Jacob Larsson (Ljungby Stad, Sweden)*

#5 Xavier Bernard (Mercier, Quebec)

#21 Max Guénette (Quebec, Quebec)

#24 Jacob Bernard-Docker (Canmore, Alberta)

#27 Jack Dougherty (Cottage Grove, Minnesota)

#33 Lassi Thomson (Tampere, Finland)

#44 Kristiāns Rubīns (Riga, Latvia)

#48 Jonathan Aspirot (Mascouche, Quebec)

Goalies

#31 Kevin Mandolese (Saint-Jacques, Quebec)

#35 Antoine Bibeau (Victoriaville, Quebec)*

[redflagshipwriter]

Ch 2 (Robin begins the investigation)

Robin was lucky enough to be on the patrol schedule that night. He scowled at the roster and weighed his options.

It was impossible to go with Batman. He would require an extensive briefing and would not be satisfied until he has uncovered why Damian had even been in that dismal mall with Todd. He understood that despite a birthday being a yearly event, it was customary to conceal related preparations until the target could not escape the celebration.

Todd was useless, by dint of both personality and his habitual route.

Red Robin was on the roster, but he was ….terrible.

Unfortunately, Grayson and Cain were both unavailable for the night. That left-

“Brown,” Damian greeted, before anyone could claim him as a partner.

She froze on the second to last step down. “...Yes, Damian?” Brown’s entire expression brightened. She shot a quick smirk at Drake.

Everyone else was looking at him. Father had a strange look on his face. Todd’s eyebrows were raised up into his e-girl bangs. Pennyworth was impossible to read. Drake appeared to be choking on air.

Hm. He did not dislike that.

“Would you patrol with me tonight?” Damian asked. His tone was just barely polite enough to keep it from being an order.

She blinked at him and then cast a strangely victorious look at Drake. “Sure,” Brown agreed. “Let me get suited up and we can get out of here.”

Todd immediately started texting, a foolish grin plastered to his face. Damian loftily ignored it. When his phone buzzed, undoubtedly from Grayson, he ignored that even more pointedly.

This family was ridiculous. He endured them with a scowl until he managed to get out into the night air with his temporary partner.

They started off with their approved route. Damian had managed to pick one of the two that came near the mall. He only needed to broach the subject before too long.

“I'm surprised you picked me as your patrol partner,” chattered the least observant Bat affiliate in existence. “I was starting to think you don't like me, Baby Bat!”

Damian did not sigh at the demeaning sobriquet. He was going to be unbothered, patient, and unbendable.

He reminded himself that Brown possessed one significant advantage over the other rodeo clowns: she would allow him to choose patrol diversions. Brown enjoyed keeping secrets from Father.

He waited until there was quiet to start the talk. “I had an ulterior motivation in selecting you as my patrol partner,” he announced.

Brown gave him her full attention. “I assumed so.” She cocked her head to the side. “What can I do ya for?”

He resisted the urge to wrinkle his brows at her. Now was not the time to correct her English. “Earlier today in my civilian identity, I witnessed something strange. However, no one else reacted as if they could perceive it.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she let out a low whistle. “And they should have?” Brown checked. “This wasn't just civilian incompetence?”

He shook his head in disgust. “I directly pointed at the suspicious individual and yet Todd did not see.” He scowled at the memory. “People should have stared. The man wore very odd clothes and carried a bow and single arrow in public.”

Brown snorted like a pig. “In the mall?” She asked, disbelieving but amused.

“Indeed.” Damian confirmed it gravely. “So you see why I wish to investigate. However, I would describe the incident as further bizarre. The man…” he trailed off. It sounded foolish. “He shot his arrow, and it hit a woman, yet she remained unharmed.”

“She what now?” Brown appeared disturbed. “What did he look like?” She leaned in close.

“He appeared-” Damian struggled for words. “He was well formed, dreamy and dark despite being clad in light fabric with an inherent glow to his appearance, as if some sort of François Boucher nightmare-”

“Whoa whoa there little man,” Brown interrupted. “I don't know that reference.”

He stared at her. “Philistine,” he said, because she should know this was a deficiency to correct.

Brown simply shrugged, unwounded.

Well. It was good that she knew her shortcomings and could accept them with grace.

“A painter,” Damian allowed. “The suspect was dressed in the manner characteristic of Boucher's subject matter.”

Brown hummed and typed away at her phone. She frowned. He waited impatiently. She looked at him sideways, without moving her face at all. “How do you spell that?”

Damian spelled it for her, unsurprised. He waited a few moments for the reaction. It did not disappoint.

Brown's hand spasmed. “A man who looked like this shot an invisible arrow in public at a woman?” She demanded, shoving her phone in his face.

He scoffed and shoved it away without looking. He deigned to check when she shook it at him with a serious expression. “Yes, that's correct.” He frowned, interested in her reaction. “Do you have a lead?”

Brown laced both hands in her hair, phone pressed up against her curls. “I think you saw Cupid, from mythology,” she said.

“... Conventionally depicted as a cherub?” He said, confused. “Is he not a fat baby? Boucher often depicted Cupid as a flying baby.”

She nodded.

Damian paused. He did not want to outright ask if Cupid was a real historical figure. Was that not a candy spokesman or something or the sort? No- western religious iconography! He recalled it now.

“Young Justice murdered Santa Claus, you know,” Brown said. Her eyes sparkled and she clenched a hand into a fist. “Now, it's my turn.”

“They what?” Damian demanded, outraged. He wasn't allowed to kill anyone but Drake's infantile little club had murdered a Saint? That was unfair! Then he blinked. “...You wish to kill Cupid?” He eyed her up and down. “This is outside of your usual modus operandi.” Damian frowned.

Did he have to agree with that? Would Father discover the indiscretion? Normally of course he would, but if the perpetrator was invisible, then perhaps he could allow this in exchange for Brown’s cooperation-

She waved that away with a laugh. “I don't want to kill him, I just want to prove I met him.”

Ah.

He mentally returned to his earlier, simpler plan. “I wish to review the footage from the food court to see if there are any signs on the recording,” he explained, brusque. “I suspect not. My secondary motivation is to identify the victim.”

Brown's lips twitched. “We should track her down,” she agreed. “If she's recently begun a romantic relationship, that would indicate this is the real Cupid as opposed to a copycat.”

Damian's eyebrows rose. He hadn't yet considered that this might be some strange crime of magically impersonating a magical figure. “Good work,” he told Brown, because it was true. “Shall we?”

Young lovers are shot by Cupid (he is now wanted for questioning)

“Suspicious?” Todd paused mid-pull on his smoothie. He lifted his face, surveyed the mall, and frowned slightly. “Who?”

Damian tried to physically point Todd's face at the incredibly suspicious man lugging an unconcealed weapon in public. “How did you fail to see him?” Damian demanded. The man was very nearly flouting public decency laws and wearing extremely unseasonable sandals.

“Whoa, squirt.” Todd tried to ruffle his hair. “What are you talking about?”

“Cease!” Damian dodged with a scowl. “How could you fail to notice such a person? Open your eyes and look!”

Todd sighed. “Who are you talking about?”

Damian pointed.

Todd's eyes glanced over the man without any recognition.

But the man looked over to make eye contact. His eyes widened. He looked delighted.

“Brat?”

Damian watched with narrowed eyes as the strange man gave him a mischievous smile, pressed a finger to his lips, and gestured for secrecy. Then he took the bow and arrow off his back, pointed in the crowd, and fired in one smooth motion.

The arrow hit a woman in the back, in the center of her chest. It flashed out of sight in the same instant.

Damian shouted and stood straight up. Food flew as he jarred the table. Heads turned to look at him.

The woman was one of them.

He stood, processing. There was no blood on her body at all. She was unwounded. He had watched the suspect fire an arrow in public into a woman's heart and she was unharmed.

When he did nothing, people turned back to their food. He stared in disbelief. The woman who had been hit leaned into her friend and said something close to their ear.

No one looked at the archer. The arrow- the arrow that he had fired was back in his hand. How?

He nodded at Damian and then he disappeared.

Damian blinked.

Clearly, this villain was supernatural or magical. What had been his purpose? Damian would have to track that woman down and see if anything unusual happened to her. As he watched, she laced her fingers together with her friend and walked away, laughing. His lips curled. Foolish. She had no concept of the danger she was in!

“The hell is up with you?” Todd demanded, sounding unnerved. “Hey!” He tapped the table rapidly with a hand.

Reluctantly, Damian sat. His brain was churning.

“Are you-”

“I'm fine,” Damian cut Todd off. He crossed his arms, as if to protect his own heart. “I was…. Mistaken.”

Todd leaned back. “If you say so,” he said, dubious.

He was missing something. He had to do research. As soon as Todd released him from the purgatory of shopping for a birthday present for Father, he went to the batcave and started researching villains who used a bow and arrow.

Unsatisfactory. He widened his search. Hits were few and easily discarded. “It was not Oliver Queen,” he muttered to the monitor with a sneer. It kept pinging helpfully that Queen was the most famous archer at the moment. “The man I saw escaped from a different off-Broadway musical than Queen.”

He needed to change his approach. He attempted to access the Mall's security footage.

…It was on a closed connection. Damian felt his lips thin.

Very well. Robin would go retrieve the footage, locate the victim, and see if the attacker appeared on camera.

[romancebooksformen]

Smilodon, book one of the Primogenitor Saga, by Robert M. Kerns. Audiobook narrated by Jessica Threet and Christopher Boucher.

—

A hapless hiker. A rogue cougar. An outcome no one expected.

Wyatt took a dead-end job in his hometown for two reasons: hiking, and being close to his family. When trekking over the trails he loves, he comes face to face with a cougar he cannot avoid.

As the pre-eminent hunter for the Shifter Nations of North America, Gabrielle isn't surprised when the Shifter Council calls her. A rogue cougar has been killing hikers. The job: put the beast down, and do it fast. She has never failed a hunt.

The trail leads her to the site of a fierce, bloody battle. She finds a wounded hiker, a dead cougar, and one inescapable conclusion.

There's a new cat in town.

[gbwhtspro]

Who is participating in the Slam Dunk Contest?

Jan 28, 2023; Portland, Oregon, USA; Portland Trail Blazers shooting guard Shaedon Sharpe (17) dunks the ball past Toronto Raptors power forward Chris Boucher (25, not pictured) during the first half at Moda Center. Mandatory Credit: Soobum Im-USA TODAY Sports

[livefreeordrive]

We’re calling this the “Outlaw Cowgirl Loop" and it makes corridor trail running at Grand Canyon look like a casual lap around the track (OK that’s hyperbole to the max, but dang!)

[vintagerpg]

Out of Time (2011) is the first of a loose trilogy of scenario collections for Trail of Cthulhu. Of the three, this is probably my favorite.

Adam Gauntlett delivers an investigation at a World War I field hospital where dark doings are afoot (this set-up is never not going to remind me of the videogame Eternal Darkness). It’s a solid one and focuses on a lesser known Clark Ashton Smith entity, which I like. Fiasco’s Jason Morningstar offers up a nice cult-centric scenario set in a desolate antarctic island that forces some dark moral calculus. Bill White’s got two. The second is a fun little jaunt in the South Pacific, investigating some strangeness following atomic tests that might involve some cone-shaped aliens.

White’s other scenario is something special, though: it casts the players as science fiction writer Robert Heinlein, his wife Virgina, editor Tony Boucher and a young Phil Dick investigating the supernatural cause of rocket scientist and occultist Jack Parson’s death (a real-life figure who was involved with L. Ron Hubbard and Aleister Crowley). This is a truly audacious and delightful set up for a scenario. White acknowledges that only a small slice of players are going to be into it, but that those who do will be over the moon for it. He’s right, I can see the moon below me.

[youcouldmakealife]

Superlative Awards Results (Rd 1)

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! 

The results are in, and here are your Hall of Famers (and the Hall of Shame)

Results for Round Two are up tomorrow!

You’ll see asterisks behind some names. This means the winner received a ton of votes, and the asterisks denote the following:

* a consensus has been reached (40% and up)

** canonical fact, clearly (50% and up)

*** why did I even bother asking this (70% and up) 

If a second place character trailed the winner by 10 or fewer votes, they’ll get an honorary (or shameful) mention.

Best to be stuck with on a desert island: Gabe Markson (*)

Worst to be stuck with on a desert island: Harry Chalmers

Best locker room DJ: Kiro Volkov (*)

No longer allowed to be locker room DJ: Marc Lapointe

Most likely to get a speeding ticket: Bryce Marcus (*)

(Seb Boucher close second. And also *)

Most likely to drive EXACTLY the speed limit: David Chapman  (*)

Most likely to be the one in the middle of locker room nonsense: Liam Fitzgerald

Least likely to get involved in locker room nonsense: Mike Brouwer (*)

(Made for one another, clearly)

Most likely to venmo you $1.67 If they owe you $1.67: David Chapman(**)

Most likely to forget they owe you ANYTHING: Liam Fitzgerald

Best Chirper: Kiro Volkov (*)

Worst Chirper: David Chapman (*)

(BEST FRIENDS)

Most likely to use a dozen hair and skin products: Bryce Marcus (**)

Most likely to use 2 in 1 shampoo and a bar of soap: Mike Brouwer (**)

Most likely to win an Olympic medal in another sport: Tate Williams (*)

Most uncoordinated off the ice: Andy Bowman (*)

Most ‘ums’ in a single media availability: Evan Connelly (*)

Most likely to get through an interview without a single filler word: 

Marc Lapointe (**)

Refs' Favourite: Jordan Davies😉 (*)

Refs' worst nightmare: Brandon 'Shithead' Simcoe (*)

Most likely pair to rock a couples Halloween costume: 

ScratchnMoney (**)

Most likely pair not to bother with costumes at all: David and Jake 

(second place tie: Gabe/Stephen & Mike/Liam, both a mere 4 votes behind the winners)

Would be your favourite player IRL: David Chapman

Would be your least favourite player IRL: Brandon 'Shithead' Simcoe (*)

Most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse: Mike Brouwer (**)

Least likely to survive a zombie apocalypse: Bryce Marcus (*)

Most likely to call their mom if they have so much as a runny nose: Bryce Marcus (***!)

Least likely to admit they're sick even if they're running a temperature of 101 (38.3c):  Tate 'Willy' Williams (*)

Best choice for your pub trivia team: Owen Thomson

Worst choice for your pub trivia team: Bryce Marcus (*)

Let us all take a moment to congratulate Bryce Marcus for being the most vain about his hair and skincare routine, the worst choice for a pub trivia team unless there’s a dedicated Hockey And Jared Matheson category, the most likely to get a speeding ticket, most likely to call his mom when sick (he was gonna call her anyway!!), AND the least likely to survive a zombie apocalypse. He is a Bear of Very Little Brain and I love him.

[bordeleaubeau]

idk you yet - luke hughes (part one)

wc: 2830

warnings: probably a few curses, i honestly can’t really remember:)

inspired by idk you yet by alexander 23.

---

how can you miss someone you’ve never met?

the words forming on luke’s arm startle him at first. there’s a tingling tickle-like feeling as each letter appears, but luke can barely believe his eyes. he was just about to turn seventeen and until that moment he had no sign of his soulmate whatsoever. but now? now he had proof on his arm that his soulmate was out there somewhere. that meant the boys could finally stop teasing him in the locker room about possibly not having a soulmate. 

it felt like everyone around luke knew their soulmate was out there. it was such a rare possibility that someone didn’t have a soulmate - if their soulmate passed away, chances are they would too due to the pain from the loss. and, well, luke hadn’t died yet, so that was his only hope of his soulmate being out there.

the initial shock is soon replaced by pure adrenaline. luke can barely pay attention to what ever mrs. clemmens is writing on the board; all he can focus on is writing back to his soulmate. whoever she might be. 

i don’t know you yet, but i need you. do you know how long i’ve waited to hear from you?

you’re smiling down at your arm - it was always a game whenever you’d finally be able to contact your soulmate. some were able to as soon as their fifteenth birthday, some couldn’t until their eighteenth. and well, if you hadn’t contacted them by then, there was some bad news to be delivered. but it was all a waiting game. the day you were able to contact them was supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life, but there was only one catch: your soulmate could be thousands of miles from you.

and what about me with you?

“mr. hughes!” 

luke’s attention snaps to the front of the classroom, where the middle aged woman now has her hands on her hips staring at one of her best pupils. luke’s eyes are wide, the color draining from his face as each head of his classmates turn to look at him.

“care to share what’s gotten you so smiley, luke? or will you pay attention to my lesson for at least three seconds?” luke sputters for a few seconds, causing the woman’s eyebrows to spike up in question. “out with it.”

“i’ll, i’ll pay attention, mrs. clemmens.” the brunette finally manages to get out, sinking back in his seat. the color returns to his face, but this time it’s the same shade of red as the apple on mrs. clemmen’s desk. he didn’t want to leave her hanging, but he wasn’t going to risk getting in trouble again. he wasn’t going to out himself for finally finding his soulmate - and being one of the last in his grade to do so.

luke feels his phone vibrate in his sweatshirt pocket, and upon just the right moment he pulls his phone out to see tyler had messaged him.

tyler b: were you finally able to talk to her? 

luke isn’t able to respond to tyler in fear that mrs. clemmens will have a few words for him, and surely enough he didn’t need to get into any more trouble with one of his teachers. one more write up and he was going to be benched for an entire month. so against his better judgement, he sticks his hands in his pockets and pays attention to the lesson going on. all while trying to ignore the tickle feeling on his hand.

“i can’t believe you were finally able to talk to him!” mal gushes, her eyes glued to your arm that had a mix of jet black and purple ink scrawled on it. there was game @7 written on your hand in purple ink, along with a star next to it. “how do you think tyler is going to react?” 

your heart nearly drops in your chest. tyler. your boyfriend - of almost a year, in fact. in the midst of it all you seemed to of forgotten about him, your mind elsewhere, and it was on your soulmate. your soulmate that wasn’t him. 

“i have to tell him, don’t i?” you look up at your best friend, eyes glossier than they had been seconds before. “mal, i dunno, i dunno if i can do that. tyler is- he’s so sweet. he’s gonna be crushed.”

“who’s gonna be crushed?” 

speak of the devil. 

tyler drops his bag on the floor, sitting down in the seat next to you like he always did in english class. mal notices the slight tension, turning back to face forward in her seat as she waits for class to begin. you take a quick breath, turning to your boyfriend, you grasp both of his hands in yours. “ty, i have to tell you something.”

tyler’s eyes glance down to your wrist, and only the slightest bit is showing from the sleeves of your sweater riding up, but he sees it. the black ink. “anything, y/n.” he clears his throat, pretending like he hadn’t seen anything at all.

“you’re not my soulmate.”

“i know.”

your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you watch as tyler slides up the sleeve of his hoodie. there are a few little sentences scrawled on his skin, ones that were clearly not on yours. you can’t quite find the words to say. your mouth opens and closes a few times before finally, you’re stumped, and you sit back in your seat with your eyebrows furrowed. you let go of his hands, your own falling into your lap. 

“how long?” you finally manage to muster out, meeting his regretful eyes. he had reassured you multiple times that he hadn’t heard from his soulmate yet, but you should’ve gone against your better judgement when he was suddenly wearing long sleeves all the time. and it wasn't just for the winter, you now realized. 

“about, about three months.” he notices the look on your face, and just like moments before he takes your hands in his. “y/n, just because you aren’t my soulmate doesn’t mean i never loved you. i still do love you. i just-”

“it’s okay, i get it.” you cut him off, pulling your hands away from his. “it’s okay, ty. i just wish you would have told me sooner, that’s all.” your voice trails off to a whisper. tyler grabs your hand once more, and he presses a kiss to the back of it. 

“friends?” he asks, and when you nod your head, he presses another kiss to your skin before releasing his hold on your hand. you have to swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. of course you were upset - you had every reason to be. but you weren’t expecting to be this upset, and you also weren’t expecting tyler to say he already knew the two of you weren’t soulmates.

the english period seems to drag on and on, and after what feels like two hours the bell rings. “walk with me to lunch?” you hear the brunette next to you speak, and you find yourself nodding. “y/n/n, please, talk to me. i hate when you’re mad a me.”

“i’m not mad at you, ty. i promise you that. i just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” tyler gives you a tight lipped smile, and before the two of you can start to walk to the cafeteria, tyler pulls his hoodie off, revealing his inked arm. it’s a pang to the heart, but you know that you’ll get over it eventually. “what’s she like?” you ask quietly, the two of you starting the few minute trek across the school.

“she’s, she’s really nice. she’s pretty, too. i follow her on instagram, actually. her name is gabby.” tyler glances over at you a few times as he speaks, and you can only find yourself to be nodding along to his words. “i know she’s my soulmate and all, y/n, but she isn’t you.”

you stop in your tracks, causing tyler to turn around to look at you. “don’t. don’t say that. she’s your soulmate, and i’m not, for a reason, tyler boucher. don’t say that about her. i’m sure she’s lovely, and she’s everything that i can’t be for you.”

“i’m sorry i just-” tyler cuts himself off with a sigh, going to reach for your hand but he stops halfway. “i wanted it to be you. i thought it was you. and then one day, i had writing on my wrist, and i looked at yours and it wasn’t there. i know that’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of our life, but it was one of the worst for me. because i wanted it to be you, y/n. so bad.”

to say the least, the two of you were pretty much the ‘it’ couple. your entire friend group adored you both, and you were the first girl that the boys allowed over when they all hung out - but only occasionally. it was never an all the time thing, which you understood. but still, you and tyler had been through a lot together for not even being together a year. 

“it all happens for a reason,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes as your feet start moving again, and tyler is following after you, quickly matching your pace. “i just, i don’t know, tyler. there’s not much we can do about it and that’s fine.”

“you’re right.” the brunette mumbles, head hanging in despair as you walked down the steps to go into the cafeteria. the rest of the walk between the two of you is silent, but a comfortable one.

the lunch table you, tyler, all of the boys, mal, and a few other girls came into view. and as soon as they realized tyler wasn’t wearing his sweatshirt and his arms were fully exposed, along with the pen ink and the looks on your faces, they all knew. they knew that you finally knew.

the conversations going on didn’t completely stop, but they quieted down for a few brief moments when you and tyler took your usual seats. you try to avoid the eyes of your friends, but it’s nearly impossible. your eyes catch luke’s, and he’s giving you the puppy dog eyes from the other side of the table.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, and all you can do is shake your head ever so slightly. “oh, y/n.”

luke wants to reach across the table and grab your hands, but he wants to save himself from the teasing he’s sure he would get from the boys if they saw the girly handwriting on the back of his hand. “i’ll be alright, lu. promise.” you give him a reassuring smile, but of course he doesn’t believe it. not in the slightest.

“are you still gonna come to our game tonight?” tyler asks quietly from your right side, and when you turn to look at him he’s already looking down at you. if this was yesterday, you would’ve leaned up the three inches and kissed him.

“of course i’m gonna.” you say, eyes glancing down to his lips but you quickly turn away to look down at your hands. “there’s no where else i’d rather be, ty. besides, luke is still my best friend and i still have to support him.”

luke sends you a smile from across the table, one that makes you smile right back at him. for majority of the lunch period, everyone leaves you alone to wallow in your own sadness. even luke couldn’t cheer you up, and that was something. you know you shouldn’t be this upset - this happened to like, every couple that dated before finding their soulmate. but for some reason you thought you and tyler were the exception. 

another period drags on, and after what feels like forever you find yourself getting up from your designated lunch spot. luke stands, waiting for you to walk to the other side of the table so the two of you can go to art class together. “see you boys tonight,” you call over your shoulder, tearing your eyes away from tyler, and walking away hearing the boys responding saying they’ll see you later that night. 

“rant. cry. do whatever you have to do.” luke says, glancing over at his best friend that looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. luke had been waiting all day to tell you that he had finally heard from his soulmate - but as soon as he saw the look on your face he held back. he didn’t want to rub it in when you had just found out about tyler. the biggest secret he had ever kept from you.

“i just,” you purse your lips, eyes locked straight forward to avoid looking at him. “i just wish he would’ve told me. the last few months of our relationship feel like a complete lie.”

“y/n, tyler absolutely adored you. he still adores you. he never even stopped. and i can tell you for a fact that he still loves you. he’s always talking about you - he was talking about you when we were in second period today!” luke exclaims, and finally you look over at him. “i can promise you, y/n, it was not a lie, it never was.”

you can only shake your head, bottom lip between your teeth as the tears well up in your eyes. “it was supposed to be him, lu. ty and i have talked about our entire future together because we swore we were gonna end up being soulmates.”

“maybe you are soulmates,” luke says, holding open the door of the art room for you. “it’s just, not in the way you’d prefer. ty and you are soulmates, but just not romantically. do you get what i’m saying?”

“i guess.” you sigh, luke following into the classroom after you walk in. his heart yearns for you - he wants to lift up his sleeve and show you the purple ink, but he can’t bring himself to do that. 

later that night you find yourself getting ready for tyler and luke’s game, trying to decide between the 13 or the 6 jersey - jerseys the two boys had fought numerous times over which one you would wear. once tyler found out luke had given you one of his old jerseys he had outgrown, he was immediately giving you one of his as well. that was even before you and tyler were dating - he always had the biggest crush on you.

which was why he was sitting in his stall, head in his hands wondering where he had went wrong.

“ty, buddy, what’s going on?” dylan asks, noticing the brunette that has his head hung. immediately, tyler lifts his head and dylan’s eyes widen. “you look like shit, dude.”

“i feel like shit,” tyler grumbles, slowly moving to tie the laces of his skates that he always saved until the very end of gearing up. he catches a glimpse of the ink on his arm and he grimaces, wishing he could just wiped away at his skin and everything would disappear. that everything would be okay.

luke catches the eyes of his best friend and he frowns seeing the hurt in his eyes. “are you still upset about y/n?” he asks cautiously, fingers working at his laces, eyes barely glancing back up to tyler.

“yeah, i am actually. i know i don’t really have a right to be upset and all, but it still feels wrong. we went through a lot together, it just doesn’t feel real that we aren’t really soulmates. that the .  girl i was practically in love with since i got here isn’t my soulmate.” tyler shakes his head as he spills his feelings for the day out. he couldn’t wait until he got to step onto the ice and forget about the day’s events.

until he saw you sitting in your normal seat, and instead of the number 13 jersey, you were wearing the one with the 6, and the seven letter last name on the back was now one letter shorter. 

“oh fuck me,” tyler grumbles, and you’d be lying if you said your heart strings didn’t tug seeing him step out onto the ice. if the two of you had only been dating for two months rather than almost a year, maybe you would’ve felt different about the situation. but that was tyler. your tyler. or rather, gabby’s tyler now.

“y/n?” bella asks from besides you, trying to tear your sad eyes away from the brunette. when you finally do and look over at one of your best friends, she sees your teary eyes and her face softens. “oh, y/n/n. you’re taking this hard, aren’t you?”

“i don’t want my soulmate if it isn’t tyler.”

[allegra-writes]

"Cherry"

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent! Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut. Dom!Peter, jealous, Possesive!Peter, rough sex.

Weeks after the island, Peter finally sees you again. But you aren't alone...

Part of the "Fine Line" series but you don't need to have read that first.

Series Masterlist

Peter couldn't breath. His clothes felt stiff and restrictive, the bowtie, suffocating. This was a bad, bad idea. He wasn't cut for this. He was just a Parker, not a Stark, he had spent most his life trying to be invisible, not even getting superpowers had changed that. He had never wanted to stand out. He didn't want to be seen, to be recognized. 

Even Quentin Beck had realized that. That's why he had done what he had, because he knew it would be the best way to ruin Peter's life. It had been almost a month since his return from Eroda, since Pepper and Fury had managed to clear his name and expose Quentin Beck as the fraud he was, trying to frame Peter for his murder with an adulterated video out of jealousy and envy. The greedy, insane employee gone mad after being overlooked in favor of the young intern, chosen by Tony Stark himself to be his successor. Spider-Man had just been doing his job as Peter's bodyguard when the incident at the bridge happened.

That was the official story, and the press had bought it with gusto, plastering the wide eyed boy's face on every cover, every paper, every magazine, every news site. A few weeks later, he was pretty much America's new sweetheart. Everybody knew his name. Everybody knew his face. His anonymity was gone.

Quentin Beck had won. 

And now, there he was, being blinded by flashing lights, walking the red carpet of his first gala as the official heir of Stark Industries… two seconds away from throwing up.

"Breathe, Peter" Pepper whispered to him, voice calm and reassuring, "Just focus on a point above their heads, and keep your head high" 

She took a step forward and Peter couldn't help but stare: she looked like a queen in her white gown, complete with cape and everything. She was an elegant woman but it wasn't just about her beauty, it was about the power, the authority she commanded, every eye in that red carpet had no choice but to focus on her. 

Tony had been like that too, albeit in a different way: charismatic and bigger than life. Peter wondered how anybody could look at him, awkward and pasty, and think he was related to the man. Because he knew what people were saying...

"Parker, how are you holding up, mate?" A tall, blond boy patted his back, pulling him out of his thoughts. Harry Osborn, the only person there to introduce himself to Peter and actually take the time to try and make him feel comfortable. At first Peter had thought it had something to do with his family being the one hosting the gala but the youngest Osborn wasn't exactly famous for his good manners or decorum. 

"I think I'm about to have a panic attack" more like sensory overload, but Peter wasn't sure how could he explain something like that to his new friend.

"Well, you are not hungover and puking on the photographers" The blond flashed him a brilliant smile, "so you're already doing better than me on my first red carpet"

Peter couldn't help the burst of laughter, but far from offended, Harry's grin turned even brighter. The flashes went wild.

"There you go, that should make for better photographs than the deer-in-the-headlights look you were sporting"

Peter offered him a grateful smile,

"Thanks dude, really"

"Don't mention it" Harry shook his head, "You're actually doing me a favor, letting me hang out with you. You're saving me from looking all lonely and pathetic in front of these vultures, since apparently I have been stood up..."

Peter stared at the blond in surprise. With those sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes, it was hard to believe any girl could resist him. He suddenly felt a lot less bad about showing up dateless. 

"Alright, we've spent about fifteen minutes out here, we can go in now" Harry instructed, already a pro at this kind of event, gesturing for Peter to follow. 

He noticed the whispers as they walked into the massive lobby together, Oscorp and Stark Industries were rivals, just as Norman Osborn and Tony Stark used to be. His mentor used to find the other billionaire shady and his experiments, unethical. Even now, Pepper's and Norman's relationship was strained, at best, so seeing both heirs so friendly with each other was a little shocking. But if Harry didn't care about that, neither would Peter. Whatever sins the father had committed, he wasn't going to hold them against the son. That wasn't Peter's style. 

"So, what do you think of your first gala, so far?" Harry sauntered in front of him, stealing two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handling one to Peter.

"Oh, I- I don't drink, thank you"

"Good, that's a wise choice, don't change it" Harry praised, taking the glass back and downing that one too. Peter shook his head.

"I like it," He replied, looking around at the huge salon decked in lavished green and silver banners, the tables gilded with intricate floral arrangements, the huge shiny dance floor in the middle. "Stark Industries' is having one for Christmas, but it's going to be held at a hotel…"

Harry made a face,

"Yeah, that would be the norm, actually. But my father wanted to have it here this year, to prove the facilities are safe, you know?"

Peter thought back to that fatidical field trip all those years ago, to this very same building, when he was bitten by a stray radioactive spider that had escaped one of the labs. He hummed noncommittally. He seriously hoped mister Osborn was right, for the good of everyone attending the party, Harry included. Because truth was he really liked his new friend, he made everything easier just by offering Peter his company, by giving him someone his age to talk too, amongst all those old, stuck up gazillionaires that stared at him with curiosity at best, and open contempt at worst. 

But of course all good things had to come to an end, such was the Parker luck. Harry took his vibrating cell phone out of his pocket.

"Would you look at that! It seems my date has finally arrived" He announced, eyes glued to the screen, smitten smile on his face, "One would think an influencer would jump at the chance of being photographed by the press at a red carpet… But not her, of course. No, she arrives an hour late… I'll go find her, be right back, Parker"

That was when he saw you. Entering the ballroom, a siren in your long golden dress, scanning the crowd. You looked stunning, hair longer, lighter, done in elegant waves cascading down your back.   Your smile was dazzling as you found what you were looking for, and Peter didn't see his new friend make his way to you, entranced as he was by your mere presence.

Until he reached your side, and kissed your lips. 

Harry Osborn offered you his arm, and you took it graciously, and he walked you through the room, proud swag on his steps as he introduced you to practically everyone in the party, Peter's heart breaking a little more with every step you took towards him.

He hadn't heard from you since the island, and now he knew why: You had already found someone new. Someone better, more handsome, and classier than Peter. Than the awkward boy you had been sent to protect. 

Because underneath the Stark's money and his spider powers, that was all Peter was: some orphan kid from Queens who didn't belong. Harry could take you on dates to fancy restaurants without mispronouncing the names of the dishes, he could take you walking around his mother's art gallery in the upper east. He, with his aristocratic features, his british boarding school accent, his old family money, was a much better fit for a princess like you. You wanting Peter had never made much sense anyway. 

And you looked good on Harry's arm, better than ever, actually. You looked happy. Peter hated it, and he hated himself for it. 

"Parker! I want you to meet my date, Sixtine Boucher, influencer, it girl, philanthropist..." Harry was saying, suddenly in front of him, but Peter wasn't listening. You were there, close enough to touch, in the flesh. He could hear your heartbeat, smell you, sunshine and sweetness under the chemical tang of your expensive perfume for the first time after so long and it was almost overwhelming.

"S-Sixteen?"

"Sixtine" You corrected him, sighing as if it was something you did all the time and you were tired of it, "Bonsoir, Peter."

You sounded… funny. 

"You know each other?" Harry's voice asked, politely curious.

"We met during vacation, at the…" You trailed off, eyes meeting Peter in a silent request to play along, disguised as a struggle to find the right words, “... Comment dis-tu ‘plage’ en anglais?”

"Beach" Provided Peter, his brain catching up at last "Yeah, at the beach… when I was on vacation… a-at the french riviera"

"What a small world!" Harry chuckled but it sounded nervous, uncertain. No doubt he could feel the tension between the two of you, growing with every passing second. Along with Peter's understanding. The hair, the dress, the french accent? It was a costume, you were a spy after all. You weren't there for leisure, you were there for work. This was a mission. Harry was your target, or maybe your cover. Whatever it was, it wasn't you. It wasn't real. 

But then again, had Peter really met the real you? After all, not that long ago he had been your mission too…

When the next waiter passed in front of him, Peter stopped him. It probably would no nothing to his spider metabolism, but alcohol was looking more and more like a good idea. He had a feeling he was going to need all the help possible to get through the night. Harry arched a brow but luckily didn't comment, as he was beginning to get a clearer idea about how you and the brown eyed boy knew each other.

A glint on your cleavage caught Peter's eyes and he frowned. There, hanging from a long gold chain, nested between your breasts and almost completely hidden by the, admittedly low cut, neckline of your dress, rested a familiar crystal sunflower. The cheap jewel didn't match your cover, or your outfit, the only reason why you could be wearing it, was him. 

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, letting you know he understood, and you let out the breath you were holding. 

But awareness didn't make watching you, plastered to Harry's side all night any easier. It didn't stop him from seeing red every time you called Harry "baby", the endearment close enough to the "baby boy" you used for Peter to feel like a betrayal. It definitely didn't save the glass of wine he was holding from shattering under his grip as he saw you sneak outside of the room with him in the middle of dinner.

"Peter! Are you alright?" Pepper fussed over his hand, looking for cuts, and motioning to a waiter to help clean the shards of glass from the table.

"Yeah" He murmured, distractedly, eyes never leaving the doorway you had disappeared through, "I-I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me"

He didn't even wait for Mrs. Stark's reply as he got up from the table, giving chase to you and your date through corridors and elevators, following your giggles and the faint trace of your perfume. His persecution led him to the upmost floor of the building, where a single mahogany awaited him, but the fingertip scanner on the lock told him he wasn't going to be able to open it. 

He cursed, barely catching himself from making a dent on the wall with a punch. You were doing your job, that was all, he repeated, like a mantra. Whatever was happening behind that door meant nothing. You were wearing his sunflower, that had to mean something, it had to.

After a few minutes, that felt like hours to him, the door opened.

"Peter! Shit, I was hoping you would be smarter than to follow me!" You hissed, as he pushed you back, stepping inside the room and closing the door behind him.

"Where is Harry?" 

"Knocked out in the bathroom" You pointed at a door by the side. Peter took a look around the room, by far the biggest, most luxurious office he had ever seen in his entire life. And he had been inside Pepper's so that was saying something. The view of the Manhattan skyline through the floor to ceiling window was nothing short of breath taking. "I just needed him to get in here"

"Right. Of course. I knew that" 

You squinted in suspicion at his flat tone,

"Pete, are you… jealous?" You smirked, amused. But Peter wasn't in the mood for your teasing, his patience finally reaching its limit.

He was on you in a heartbeat, pushing you back against the wall, caging you with his body. There was a dangerous, possessive spark in his eyes that you had never seen before. One that promised trouble for you. 

"So what if I am?" He challenged, bracing himself on one hand on the wall next to your head, the other one slipping through the high slit on the skirt of your dress, fingertips digging on the sensitive skin at the inside of your thighs, "So what if every time I saw him put his hands on you tonight, I wanted to break his fingers? What if every time he kissed you, I felt like dying?" 

The pain was evident in his voice, breaking your heart a little. But this was you, you were a special agent, this was what you did. Peter had said he wanted you, wanted to get to know the real you. Well, this was it. 

"I'm not going to apologise for doing my job…" 

"I'm not asking you to" He interrupted

"Then what are you asking of me?" 

Peter pinned you with a long, considering look and you did your best not to squirm under its intensity.

"I'm not asking anymore, mon chérie " he finally spoke, "I'm taking"

He crushed his mouth, and his body, to yours, trapping you under his familiar weight and, for the first time since returning from the island, you felt home. He tasted like wine, and the cherries from dessert and heat. You had almost forgotten how his warmth felt like sunlight against your skin, until every starved pore opened to soak him up. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, making you moan. God, how you had missed him on your lips! 

You must have said it out loud, because you felt his smile against your jaw as he broke the kiss to let you breathe. 

"Did you, now?" He inquired, nuzzling down your neck, "Where else did you miss me, cherry?" 

You felt his long, talented fingers find their goal, tugging your underwear to the side, slipping into you with no warning once he realized how ready you already were for him.

"Did you miss me here? Did you miss me inside you?" 

There was a buzzing in your coms and the reality of what was about to happen, andwhere it was about to happen hit you like a bucket of cold water. 

"Peter, wait, not here!" Peter ignored you, lips latching onto the spot just under your ear that Peter knew made you see stars. He couldn't wait, couldn't tear himself away from you, from your body. You were already breathing hard and he knew your halfhearted resistance wasn't going to last much longer. He speeded up the movement of his fingers inside you, tearing an involuntary cry out of your mouth. He was working you expertely, wave after wave of wetness bathing his hand, undeniable proof of your pleasure. 

"Gonna leave so many pretty marks on you..." He promised, puncturing his words by biting down, hard, on the column of your neck, "Everybody's going to know who you really belong to..."

"Peter, please!" You sobbed, implored.

"Want me to stop baby girl? Really?"

You shook your head no. You didn't, you couldn't. Fuck the mission, fuck Oscorp, you only wanted to feel him. It had been too long, way too long. You took your coms out of your ear and smashed it under your hill. You'd deal with Hill later. 

Peter slid the straps of your dress down your shoulders, lowering his face to your exposed chest, all wet lips and hot tongue as you hurriedly undid his button and zipper, finally freeing his angry, hard member. You pumped him once, and he bit on your nipple with enough strength to draw a single, sweet drop of blood. 

"Oh god… feels so good" Peter's words were muffled against your collar bone, as he stretched you, burying himself deep inside you, as far as he would go, "being one with you again…"

"I missed you" You confessed, "so much, baby boy!"

Peter leaned back, stormy eyes capturing yours, holding you hostage,

"Oh no, my cherry, after your little stunt calling Harry baby all night?" He tsked, "No, you don't get to call me that anymore… now, you're gonna call me 'daddy'"

With that, he started thrusting up into you roughly, hips almost cruel in their onslaught as they slammed into you, truly railing you against the wall, unyielding, unrelenting. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding on for dear life, taking what he gave you like a good girl cause that was what Peter needed from you. 

But god, did it feel good! His large thick cock, hard as vibranium, stretching you to your limits, a fit so tight you could feel every bump, every vein, as he hit all the secret spots inside you, tearing the pleasure out of you. Your orgasm was building fast, so fast it made you dizzy with the way all your blood rushed to your center. As your walls began to quiver around him, and you met Peter's fierce, furious face, you knew he wasn't going to be satisfied with just the one. Oh, no, he was going to rip out at least one more orgasm from your ravished body before releasing you. Undoubtedly not before marking you from the inside with his own release, you had long ago learned Peter was animalistic like that, all higher reasoning disappearing when it came to making you his. 

"Tell me you're mine" he breathed, demanding, against your cheek, hand sneaking between your bodies to tease your pearl, making you explode in sensation, and prolonging your climax, keeping you there where he wanted you, right on your peak until you were at the edge of sanity, your brain unable to process that much pleasure so suddenly and for so long.

You tried, but you couldn't remember how to form words, the only sound leaving your lips a delirious,

"Peter!"

"Say it, my cherry" he insisted, feeling his own release approach much quicker than he would like, but it just had been so long, and he had missed you so much and you just felt so fucking good  "let me hear you say you're mine as I make you come again…"

"Yes!" You cried, finally finding your voice, "I'm yours, Peter… only yours!"

"Damn right… all mine… only mine…"

He was almost there, and judging from the way your muscles were tensing and locking around him again, Peter knew you were too. But something was going on outside, his super hearing catching the sound of the elevator doors, and footsteps on the hallway. Still, he couldn't stop. He was so close, so fucking close… He had to come, had to make you come, before they did. There were voices outside, one of them he even recognized, telling the others to stop, to listen. Peter sneaked an arm around your waist, getting you away from the wall, moving you up and down his cock at inhuman speed, and he finally felt you fall apart. He came with a final cry of triumph… right as the doorknob started to turn. 

Faster than any human could, he ran behind the door, with you still in his arms, to buy himself a couple of seconds as he slipped out of you, fixing your dress so you were completely covered before even thinking about tucking himself back inside his pants. 

"Oh, for fucks sake!" Norman Osborn's exasperated voice was the first thing your pleasure addled brain was able to process as you stood on shaky legs, Peter's frame still hiding you from view. He took of his suit jacket, helping you put your hands through the sleeves and fastening it close.

"Put down your weapons, you goons! High security breach?.. Horny teenagers are not a menace, I should know!" Norman was still yelling at his guards. Peter turned around to face the old man, and you muffled your histerical laugh against his sweaty back, breathing him in. 

"S-sir… sorry, we-we we-were just" Peter babbled, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, save it, boy! I know exactly what you were doing, this whole place stinks of sex!" 

You snorted and Norman finally seemed to notice who you were,

"I'm sorry, weren't you my son's date?"

You could only laugh harder.

"He passed out" provided Peter, as innocently as he managed, "in the bathroom"

"He's in the…" the billionaire's eyes widened, "Wait, you… you three were…"

"He really liked Peter" You announced, unhelpfully, fake accent restored. 

"Ignore her, please" Peter sounded apologetic, not wanting the blonde boy that had so kindly offered his friendship to him to face unjust consequences for his own fuck up "Harry has nothing to do with this. My girlfriend was just trying to make me jealous. It worked. Harry's only mistake was to get drunk"

Norman rolled his blue eyes, so alike his son's,

"A common mistake for him. Trust me, boy, you don't need to make excuses for him… God knows I got tired of making them myself a long time ago." He sighed, gesturing to his guards to check on Harry inside the bathroom.

"Now, get out of here, both of you, so I can call the cleaning crew… not Tony's son my ass, this is the exact same shit your father used to pull at all my parties!"

Peter opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but you tugged on his arm, it was pointless to try and deny it, Osborn senior was never going to believe him. 

Peter took your hand,

"Right. Of course… we'll be… going, then"

You chuckles at his cute, nervous babbling became a full on belly splitting laugh as you ran out of the office and locked yourselves inside the elevator. 

"Oh my god, his face!" You clutched at your stomach, doubled over, "that was… the best alibi in history! They didn't even search me!!" You showed Peter the tiny pendrive with S.H.I.E.L.D's logo where you had copied all the information inside Norman Osborn's computer. Peter tilted his head in confusion,

"Six, where were you even keeping that?!" Osborn's security might ot have searched you, but his own had been… pretty thorough. 

You merely winked, 

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

This time, it was Peter's turn of barking a laugh. He pulled you to him, kissing your forehead.

"Come on, let's find Happy and tell him to get the car. I want to get out of here…"

And he was taking you home with him. 

To be continued...