#Found Another Short Story in a Magazine

[jolenes-book-journey]

Found Another Short Story in a Magazine

I am so excited I finally found a copy of the magazine called, “Calling All Girls”, February 1949 with the short story called. “A Giant in the Parlor”. It is a fictional story that Mrs. Butters wrote about Abraham Lincoln. There was no mention of this story in anything I have read until I was collecting newspaper articles to include with all the republished Young Adult books the family is…

[underwhelmingalchemist]

So apparently the version of the "Isn't It Bromantic" interview that gets passed around isn't the full thing

So after seeing a tumblr post I can't find, about two and half hours of intensive internet digging, and one purchase from a sketchy second-hand site later (full story under the cut, I promise it's interesting, but also long), I got the physical magazine and scanned it

So here you go: the full "Isn't It Bromantic?" TV guide interview with Robert Sean Leonard and Hugh Laurie

Feel free to repost wherever you want- I want people to be able to find the full thing

SO, as for how I found it:

I saw this tumblr post forever ago that I can't find anymore because tumblr is just Like That with a cropped screenshot of an interview with Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard. In the interview, they're asked about the "bromance" between their two characters. Leonard makes an annoyed comment about how "everyone [is] obsessed with homosexuality", followed by the interview apologizing and Laurie immediately jumping in with, "No, no, let's talk about it. Wilson and House have an unusual relationship so you have to explore…" and the screenshot cuts off there. Cue funny comment from the OP about the interaction, roll credits.

Except, as these things tend to do, it ended up becoming a bit of a brain worm, and I wanted to find it again. But I couldn't find the tumblr post. I looked absolutely everywhere, and in the process of looking everywhere, I found what I thought was the original interview- a blog post with the full quote from the actor. I didn't think too much about it, I figured it was just a short quote given to a popular blog in 2008. There's a magazine cover above it, but I don't think too much about it, because I'm focusing on the quotes in the article instead of the rest of it.

So I send screenshots to a couple friends to make jokes, and it probably should have died there.

However, late at night I end up thinking about that interview again, because of course I did. I start to think about how it's weirdly formatted for, what I assumed at first reading, was just an entertainment news blog reaching out for comment and getting a response. So I pull up the screenshots of the article (because weirdly enough, the old-ass blog only loads on mobile) and look at it again.

This is when I realize that this isn't an original piece from a blog interviewing these two after reaching out for comment. This is a blog post quoting and commenting on a full interview from a magazine, which I had originally thought had just been the inspiration for the piece.

So naturally, I go looking for the magazine.

Luckily, the name of the magazine is displayed on the cover, and so is the title of its main piece. This should be easy to find, right?

Wrong.

This is an interview in a physical magazine. From 2008. October 13th, 2008, to be exact.

I know this exact date because searching the article title and magazine name leads me to an archive on the TV Guide website.

Of covers.

And nothing but covers.

I spend like forty-five minutes searching everywhere I can think of on the web. Internet Archive, the TV Guide website, any search result that comes up when I search any combination of the words "House" "Interview" "Bromantic" "Bromance" "TV Guide" "Archive" etc. Over and over, all that's coming up are that original blog post and the cover from the official gallery.

The only things I could find online were:

The cover and date of the issue on the TV Guide website

The original blog post that was screenshotted in the original tumblr post

Another blog post that had a much shorter version of the quote, references something Leonard says from later in the article, and makes a comment on the nature of his reaction to the term "bromance"

An entry on Leonard's IMDB page's "interview" list mentioning it in title only

And:

5. A single listing for the issue on what seemed to be a second-hand site that looked like it hadn't had its UI updated since the mid 2000's, with a listing with no date or additional information besides what issue it is.

This is the only listing anywhere. I checked every other second-hand site I could think of, and then some that only came up through google searches. There's not a single listing for that issue on any of them. There were plenty of listings of TV guide magazines, including one that seemed promising because it included issues from that year, but it was missing all of October.

It seemed like the only listing for this issue on the entire internet was this one copy on this one obscure website. For all I know, this was listed in 2008 and abandoned, and just never got marked inactive. It could also be a complete scam.

A few quick google searches show that that website seemed to be legit, albeit a bit loose on quality control (which makes sense, this website seemed like the kind of thing you'd have to use the Way Back Machine to access). It also had an option to pay via PayPal, which meant I could file a chargeback if need be.

It was $11.50 when you include shipping.

So at about half past midnight, I bought the listing.

Naturally, about an hour later, I manage to actually find a scan of the interview. I had to follow a link in the comments of a post on FanPop, taking me to an old wordpress blog, and I'm sitting in front of the damn interview at last.

But something doesn't make sense. Why would their cover story only be two pages of text that aren't even full pages, and why would it cut off so strangely? There was no concluding sentence or paragraph, even though it started with a fairly long lead-in. It also led right up to the edge of the page, which felt like there should be more to it. There were more images in the interview than text, and the fact that there are so many of them and they clearly did a whole photoshoot indicated that they had them on hand for a while. The silly string one, for instance, I imagine probably had to require a couple takes, which means cleaning off Wilson's hair and face, adjusting makeup, etc. for it. Meanwhile, the conversation itself seems like it could have taken ten minutes total. I could have been totally wrong and that was where the article ended, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there might be more.

So I hold tight. A couple days pass with no update, and then the PayPal purchase gets updated with a tracking number. Promising, but it could still be a scam. Whether or not I get the actual magazine becomes a source of anxiety for the next week.

Until today, when I get told it was delivered. And when I opened the envelope it was sent in: there it was.

When I tell you I was happy stimming in my bedroom just holding the damn issue in my own hands... And then opening it and finding out that I was right, there was a missing page... I was elated. I still am, just typing this.

So I spent half an hour getting my scanner to work, and I give you the above issues.

Like I said above, feel free to repost however and wherever you want. I want all this to mean something.

In the meantime, I have two more House-themed TV Guide magazines coming to try and get articles from.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How plausible sentence generators are changing the bullshit wars

This Friday (September 8) at 10hPT/17hUK, I'm livestreaming "How To Dismantle the Internet" with Intelligence Squared.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

In my latest Locus Magazine column, "Plausible Sentence Generators," I describe how I unwittingly came to use – and even be impressed by – an AI chatbot – and what this means for a specialized, highly salient form of writing, namely, "bullshit":

https://locusmag.com/2023/09/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-plausible-sentence-generators/

Here's what happened: I got stranded at JFK due to heavy weather and an air-traffic control tower fire that locked down every westbound flight on the east coast. The American Airlines agent told me to try going standby the next morning, and advised that if I booked a hotel and saved my taxi receipts, I would get reimbursed when I got home to LA.

But when I got home, the airline's reps told me they would absolutely not reimburse me, that this was their policy, and they didn't care that their representative had promised they'd make me whole. This was so frustrating that I decided to take the airline to small claims court: I'm no lawyer, but I know that a contract takes place when an offer is made and accepted, and so I had a contract, and AA was violating it, and stiffing me for over $400.

The problem was that I didn't know anything about filing a small claim. I've been ripped off by lots of large American businesses, but none had pissed me off enough to sue – until American broke its contract with me.

So I googled it. I found a website that gave step-by-step instructions, starting with sending a "final demand" letter to the airline's business office. They offered to help me write the letter, and so I clicked and I typed and I wrote a pretty stern legal letter.

Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I have worked for a campaigning law-firm for over 20 years, and I've spent the same amount of time writing about the sins of the rich and powerful. I've seen a lot of threats, both those received by our clients and sent to me.

I've been threatened by everyone from Gwyneth Paltrow to Ralph Lauren to the Sacklers. I've been threatened by lawyers representing the billionaire who owned NSOG roup, the notoroious cyber arms-dealer. I even got a series of vicious, baseless threats from lawyers representing LAX's private terminal.

So I know a thing or two about writing a legal threat! I gave it a good effort and then submitted the form, and got a message asking me to wait for a minute or two. A couple minutes later, the form returned a new version of my letter, expanded and augmented. Now, my letter was a little scary – but this version was bowel-looseningly terrifying.

I had unwittingly used a chatbot. The website had fed my letter to a Large Language Model, likely ChatGPT, with a prompt like, "Make this into an aggressive, bullying legal threat." The chatbot obliged.

I don't think much of LLMs. After you get past the initial party trick of getting something like, "instructions for removing a grilled-cheese sandwich from a VCR in the style of the King James Bible," the novelty wears thin:

https://www.emergentmind.com/posts/write-a-biblical-verse-in-the-style-of-the-king-james

Yes, science fiction magazines are inundated with LLM-written short stories, but the problem there isn't merely the overwhelming quantity of machine-generated stories – it's also that they suck. They're bad stories:

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence

LLMs generate naturalistic prose. This is an impressive technical feat, and the details are genuinely fascinating. This series by Ben Levinstein is a must-read peek under the hood:

https://benlevinstein.substack.com/p/how-to-think-about-large-language

But "naturalistic prose" isn't necessarily good prose. A lot of naturalistic language is awful. In particular, legal documents are fucking terrible. Lawyers affect a stilted, stylized language that is both officious and obfuscated.

The LLM I accidentally used to rewrite my legal threat transmuted my own prose into something that reads like it was written by a $600/hour paralegal working for a $1500/hour partner at a white-show law-firm. As such, it sends a signal: "The person who commissioned this letter is so angry at you that they are willing to spend $600 to get you to cough up the $400 you owe them. Moreover, they are so well-resourced that they can afford to pursue this claim beyond any rational economic basis."

Let's be clear here: these kinds of lawyer letters aren't good writing; they're a highly specific form of bad writing. The point of this letter isn't to parse the text, it's to send a signal. If the letter was well-written, it wouldn't send the right signal. For the letter to work, it has to read like it was written by someone whose prose-sense was irreparably damaged by a legal education.

Here's the thing: the fact that an LLM can manufacture this once-expensive signal for free means that the signal's meaning will shortly change, forever. Once companies realize that this kind of letter can be generated on demand, it will cease to mean, "You are dealing with a furious, vindictive rich person." It will come to mean, "You are dealing with someone who knows how to type 'generate legal threat' into a search box."

Legal threat letters are in a class of language formally called "bullshit":

https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691122946/on-bullshit

LLMs may not be good at generating science fiction short stories, but they're excellent at generating bullshit. For example, a university prof friend of mine admits that they and all their colleagues are now writing grad student recommendation letters by feeding a few bullet points to an LLM, which inflates them with bullshit, adding puffery to swell those bullet points into lengthy paragraphs.

Naturally, the next stage is that profs on the receiving end of these recommendation letters will ask another LLM to summarize them by reducing them to a few bullet points. This is next-level bullshit: a few easily-grasped points are turned into a florid sheet of nonsense, which is then reconverted into a few bullet-points again, though these may only be tangentially related to the original.

What comes next? The reference letter becomes a useless signal. It goes from being a thing that a prof has to really believe in you to produce, whose mere existence is thus significant, to a thing that can be produced with the click of a button, and then it signifies nothing.

We've been through this before. It used to be that sending a letter to your legislative representative meant a lot. Then, automated internet forms produced by activists like me made it far easier to send those letters and lawmakers stopped taking them so seriously. So we created automatic dialers to let you phone your lawmakers, this being another once-powerful signal. Lowering the cost of making the phone call inevitably made the phone call mean less.

Today, we are in a war over signals. The actors and writers who've trudged through the heat-dome up and down the sidewalks in front of the studios in my neighborhood are sending a very powerful signal. The fact that they're fighting to prevent their industry from being enshittified by plausible sentence generators that can produce bullshit on demand makes their fight especially important.

Chatbots are the nuclear weapons of the bullshit wars. Want to generate 2,000 words of nonsense about "the first time I ate an egg," to run overtop of an omelet recipe you're hoping to make the number one Google result? ChatGPT has you covered. Want to generate fake complaints or fake positive reviews? The Stochastic Parrot will produce 'em all day long.

As I wrote for Locus: "None of this prose is good, none of it is really socially useful, but there’s demand for it. Ironically, the more bullshit there is, the more bullshit filters there are, and this requires still more bullshit to overcome it."

Meanwhile, AA still hasn't answered my letter, and to be honest, I'm so sick of bullshit I can't be bothered to sue them anymore. I suppose that's what they were counting on.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/07/govern-yourself-accordingly/#robolawyers

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[rassvetsky]

would literally lose my fucking mind if you wrote carmy like touch starved, idk maybe everyone is staying after to celebrate something and he’s dragging you into his office to eat you out with absolutely zero shame because he needs it so bad

your wish is my lifelong quest i love you, hope i did it at least some justice loml

Carry You Away With Me

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

[4k] | chef ill be honest with you this is just porn, needy!carmy (he's fucking adorable), office sex if that's even a term, established relationship, cunningulus, unprotected sex, cum-play. my apologies to the church

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

It was around 11 when you returned to the restaurant with a bottle of champagne cradled in your arms, watching as Gary and Tina pushed a few tables together to make a bigger one for the rest. Eating together wasn't a rare occurrence, but it often only happened an hour before service in the morning— dinners were mostly had at home or skipped altogether, depending on the importance one put into their health. But tonight called for an after-hours get-together, one that Sydney and Marcus pushed for when Ebraheim showed up in the morning with the latest issue of Gastronomica, featuring a very familiar name this time around— Carmen Berzatto.

"You know— I bet you can like, make it to a Vogue issue sometime later on, too."

"That's not exactly food-related."

"I'm just saying, dream high and—"

The few clinks of a spoon against the glass cut Fak right off and Carmen made a mental note to thank god for that later on, his gaze lifting from the long, full table that everyone was surrounding to the source of the sound; the now-empty champagne glass that Richie held.

"Can we all take a moment to stop stuffing our faces with this whatever-the-fuck it is to congratulate my cousin right here?" he spoke up, bringing a smile to your lips as you reached for Carmen's hand from under the table and muttered out "chou à la crème", another dish that Marcus had been experimenting with lately. A short chuckle left Carmen's lips when he vaguely heard what you said, and he gave your hand a firm, appreciative squeeze before rubbing his thumb along the back of your palm. "Gastronomica isn't just any magazine. I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones, like—"

"—the Vogue of food!"

"Maybe! Who knows, anyway— really, I'm proud of this mess of a man and you all should be, too." and maybe this was the most affection that Richie could whip out in public, but it was more than enough— because despite his hate for having the spotlight directly on him, Carmen was currently busy offering a smile to Richie, which the other reciprocated shortly before sitting back down, his quiet little hum of affection drowned out by the mutterings of 'cheers' along with the clink of everyone's glasses.

Proud was an understatement for this little dysfunctional found-family.

But you knew Carmen, you knew that he'd much rather skip on the compliments and pats to the shoulder; and you were way too sure that he'd need a moment to himself sooner or later. That moment came almost fifteen minutes after, when everyone split themselves into a few groups of completely different conversations, scooped up chocolate sauce and cream and small pieces of the delicate pastry got left behind on the empty plates— you felt Carmy's fingers wrapping around your upper thigh, concealed by the dimmed out lights and the table.

"S'up?" you returned your attention to him upon feeling his fingers tapping along to some nonexistent rhythm on your clothed skin, not too invested in the story Richie was busy telling everybody with the loudest voice he could muster to begin with.

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

"Elsewhere?"

"Not too far, jus' my office. For a couple of minutes at most." he leaned in closer to your ear just so you could hear him over the 2012's pop playlist Manny whipped out earlier, a completely mesmerizing turn of events when he started singing along to a random Katy Perry song— but that leaning closer action proved Carmen to be just another self-saboteur because he was feeling specifically out of place all day and to feel your perfume so close was a pull with a force out of this world. He couldn't pull back away then, couldn't return to his own chair and you had no choice but to push him away manually. "I promise."

"Any ulterior motives I should be aware of?" you grinned, letting your fingers curl right over his own on your thigh— and making a mental note to ease him into the habit of using hand moisturizers regularly sometime, upon the roughed up feel of his skin.

"You wound me, baby." his expression seemed to linger over offense, but his eyes told a completely different story; and before you knew it, he was pushing his chair back to get up, patting Gary's shoulder on his way to the back of house, a momentary turn of his head just so he could silently tell you to follow with his eyes.

And that, you did, despite the raised eyebrows of Richie's that you met along the way.

The kitchen smelled like a different kind of citrus, one that only belonged in dishwashing detergents as you maneuvered through the stations, cleaned up from the day's worth of filth. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Carmen reaching behind to undo the strings of his navy apron, leaving out the top string that he'd have to pull over his head until you could catch up and he could get to the office. His shirt was, again, as pristine as ever and it was a work of magic how he managed to come back home with a perfectly clean white t-shirt each day, if not for a few little drops here and there.

Finally, he pushed open the door of his office for you and you stepped in, finding your way to his desk in the darkness to flip the switch of the small light that illuminated the paperwork mostly. When your eyes found him again, the apron was long gone— tucked away in a corner, folded, although not so neatly. "Happy now?"

Instead of a reply, he just plopped down on the old, squeaky chair by the desk, thighs spread and arms wide open to make space for you. You took the offer right away, seating yourself on one of his thighs but still balancing yourself on your feet too, in order to not just dump your whole body weight on him and potentially numb out his leg. He couldn't care less, as he wrapped himself around you tightly and pulled you closer. "I don't really give a shit about Gastronomica."

"I figured," you mumbled against the material of his shirt, lungs filling in with a scent that only he could carry— a surprisingly pleasant mix of cigarettes, sweat, and gravy. It belonged to him, at least. "When's the last time you gave a shit about anyone's opinion outside of here, anyway?"

A soft hum left his lips, one that feigned agreement— but he wasn't paying much attention to what you've been saying to begin with, mind all muddied with specific moments in time that included you. Come to think of it, he'd been like this all day, even when Richie jokingly smacked him across the face with the magazine or when Tina elbowed him while he was trying to explain why she had to strain the mixture twice to get a flowing consistency— on the back of his mind, there was always you; always the lack of time he got to spend with you when the rush hour got too much to bear and he couldn't bring himself to lift an arm when he came back home to you.

When was the last time he properly touched you, took his time to memorize all the little ridges and beauty spots across your body, he couldn't remember.

So as you spoke, listing out all the reasons why he should be proud of himself for all the accomplishments, Carmen's arm curled around your waist and his fingers found your thighs again, the warmth of his palm seeping through the material of your leggings and from the way they teased upwards, you knew where this was going. "... that you managed to turn— are you not listening?"

His smile was so smug that you wanted to either kiss, or slap him. "Not really. But go on."

"Carmy, if you actually think that I'll do anything non-churchy with you here while everyone's literally twenty feet away, you're so wrong." you breathed out, because that's all you could do when his lips ghosted over the side of yours, before trailing down to where your jawline met your neck. He only hummed as a reply, clearly not giving a shit about your opinion either at that moment— but to say that you weren't enjoying the attention would be a blatant lie.

His fingertips traced the seams outlining your underwear through the extra layer of fabric while his lips latched to your neck, finally, with his warm breath hitting against the sensitive skin and the usual wet nature of his kisses leaving behind a glistening spot of adoration. You leaned into it, rather shamelessly— legs parting and fingers carding through the locks on the nape of his neck, and that only encouraged him further, causing him to whisper out a curse and a few sloppy words of praise. "Just let me, hm? Please?"

The sense of desperation in his tone was enough to push back any words of disagreement that you could blurt out at that moment. You knew you had to power through, it would be so embarrassing and disrespectful to let him have his way with you right here, while everyone else was still at the FOH— but the way his palm covered your clothed core and his fingertips teased the slight outline of your slit, all while his pretty lips were oh so busy whispering absolute filth in your ear was slowly taking away all the care you had in the world. "Carm— not a good idea."

"You weren't saying that last week, right here," two weeks ago, to be exact, but you couldn't blame him for not being able to tell time apart. "Had to cover your mouth and all, s'loud for me—"

"You're getting carried away." you chuckled, the deepest of breaths still not enough for the capacity of your lungs as you tugged on his locks slightly, prying him off of your skin just so you could get a look at him.

"Let me carry you away with me. Please, fuck— I can't think of anything else when you're on my mind." he pulled away a little from your neck, eyes of pristine skies staring right at your soul with the expression of a kicked puppy— he knew exactly how to get his way when he was miserable like that. His fingers were still against your heat, expecting permission. "Ten minutes only, just let me touch you."

You could recognize that tone, that incurability way too well— it was often reserved for nights shared between hushed whispers of promises, where he was too needy to form a single thought and all he could do was to cover your body with his and curl onto you, to feel your warmth against himself and to be one body and one soul for an hour. Uncommon in nature, even rarer to take place in a room that he reserved for professional affairs only— but the heart wants what it wants.

To his surprise, you suddenly pushed your lips against his— letting his fever take over you as well, with your hands clutching onto his shoulders and hair. You could hear the slight groan escaping his lips when his fingers breached under the tight waistband of your leggings, pushing the material down slightly with the bend of his wrist before turning his hand a little to tug it all downwards, urging you up on your feet. You got up from where you were seated, now standing between his legs with your back bent just so your lips would be on his, but he broke the kiss with a smile that took over when he finally pulled down both articles of clothing at the same time. Your back straightened when he managed to push them both down to your ankles, your hands on his shoulders to help with your balance as you stepped out of them, feeling his moist lips over your abdomen for a second before he pushed you backwards slightly, towards the desk.

He took that momentary advantage to get up on his feet and pin you right in between his own body and the desk, hands blindly pushing the loose folders to the side. You felt too exposed when his palms gripped the underside of your thighs just to prop you up on the desk, lips finding and panting against yours, a clear indication of his need seeping through the way he tugged and nibbled before his tongue found its way to caress yours.

There was nothing nice about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care— not when he whispered your name against the plush of your lips so sweetly when your fist closed around his hair, not when he didn't even know what to do with his hands; grabbing, fondling at every inch of your skin that he could reach shakily. He pulled you flush against his body, letting you get a feel of the harsh dark denim against your bare center and you had to bite into his lower lip to stay quiet, ultimately earning a groan from him when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"Bear," you whispered out, his lips chasing yours when you pulled away to speak— which made you chuckle quietly, as he looked at you again. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," he parroted, the usually wide eyes of his now hooded, pupils blown out as if he was looking right at the sun. When you reached in to kiss him again, you couldn't catch him fast enough— he was already holding onto your thighs to crouch down, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin when you spread your legs a little further apart, a force of habit.

Leaning back on your palms against the desk as much as the cramped space could allow, you took a deep breath— but it wasn't enough to prepare you for what came next when his tongue trailed a bold line across your slit, spreading your folds apart gently. It was a pleasant routine, one that you never quite got used to; because when he was down on his knees with his tongue tracing abstract shapes across your clit in a teasing manner, it was all about you and to think that a guy who often rushed things and went through life at a 2x pace would slow down just to put all of his attention on your pleasure only was more delightful than any compliment one could attain.

Carmen's fingertips were perhaps digging into the skin of your thighs a bit too hard, but could you possibly complain? The tip of his tongue dipped between your folds to spread your essence upwards, a mix of his saliva and your wetness covering your clit when he closed his lips around it and sucked— letting out a blissed groan, one that he'd scold you for if you were the culprit. You could only imagine how hard he must've been at that moment, he was always a sucker for situations like this, with the thrill of doing something so forbidden, right where he could be caught and your taste on his tongue, thighs on either side of his shoulders.

Imagining it didn't help your situation at all, it was hard to focus on one coherent thought when he kept flicking his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves but you forced through— with the thought of the blunt tip of his length all flushed and leaking in your palm, curses leaving his soft lips whenever your fingers got a bit too tight around the girth. He liked it when you put your focus there, tip of your tongue tracing the slit and leaving kisses over it while the rest of your palm jerked him off— firm and slow.

And you'd always let your lips stray when he got close, deciding to suddenly bite into the skin of his inner thighs or to lightly trace his perineum with your tongue, just to have him reduced to a writhing, whining mess with not enough air to survive in his lungs. He'd spill onto your fingers and you'd clean him up right away, moving your way upwards with wet little kisses until you reached his lips. And he was one dirty fucker because tasting himself on you when you kissed him all sloppily was probably one of his favorite things in the world.

Drowned out in all the thoughts, you didn't notice how close you were until your thighs were shaking around his shoulders, and he finally added his fingers into the mix then— his middle and ring fingers easily breaching through, grazing all of your sensitive spots from the inside. You had to press your palm against your mouth to not let a sound then, when your climax finally hit you, and you'd probably slide right off the table with how quaky your whole body was at that moment if it wasn't for Carmen's strong grip on your body, holding you right where you belong.

The position was a bit merciless on his legs so far but he made it up to his feet again, giving you a light peck on your lips before his fingers found his mouth, his tongue circling the digits to clean them up as he stared right at you, into your soul. He pulled them out with a slight pop, and licked his lips clean. "How long did we take?"

"I don't know," you panted out. "I was busy imagining the way you come."

His light laughter brought a tender, yet bittersweet ache to your heart. "Fuck, you get off to that?" and you could tell him all about just how beautiful he was, and how much it turned you on to see him blissed out in pleasure— but you didn't know if your lung capacity allowed for it at that moment, as being quiet came with the benefit of holding your breath for longer than you should. "Tell me more."

You giggled against his lips when he braced himself on the desk with his two hands holding onto the edge on both sides of your thighs. Both of your hands moved down to the front of his pants, too fucked out to care about timing as you palmed him through the material just to see that grin on his lips falter. "I'm gonna make you jack off and watch sometime." you mumbled, slowly pulling the zipper down after setting him free from the belt and the button. He hummed, forehead to forehead, before reaching for another little peck.

"As much as I don't see why I should jack off while you're in front of me," he spoke, a sharp intake of breath cutting his line of thought halfway through when your fingers finally wrapped around his cock. "but— shit, if you're into that… Only if you do it w'me, though. I wanna watch too."

"You don't get to watch." you sighed, bringing him closer with your legs to line his length up with your entrance. "You're just gonna sit there and come on your hand like a loser."

Carmen couldn't help the short snort that left him. "Are you even capable of being mean to me?"

"Mm-hm, I'm very mean when I wanna be." and right after that, his tip slid right into your cavern, pulling a deep exhale from both of you when he pushed a bit deeper. His lips found yours, mostly to keep the noises at bay while his hips rolled into yours, grinding against you before retreating a little, only to push in harder this time around.

You felt so full and blessed that you didn't even have to imagine anything to get lost in the feeling.

His pants slid further downwards with each thrust until they pooled around his ankles and your thighs wrapped tighter around his body, trapping him in. His arms were so delicately wrapped around your waist that you had to hold onto him with your whole remaining power to not slide further towards the wall, but he couldn't exactly notice that when he was feeling so damn lucky, whole length wrapped in a warmth beyond his comprehension.

And again, you couldn't blame him, because neither of you managed to notice when the skin slapping against skin got a bit too loud, and your lips pulled away from his just to breathe out the filthiest little nothings, like how much you needed him to fill you right up to the brim. "Fuck, give it to me." your hips met his thrusts half-way through when you pushed yourself against him. "Carmy, come inside me, please."

"Yeah? Are you gonna take it all?" his voice sounded broken, and his fingers would surely leave imprints on your hips with how tight his grip was. "Won't let you waste a drop, baby. I won't."

Somehow, through how feral he was with the way you were begging him, the responsible side came forward and captured your lips in his again— because while his team was full of respectful people, they were also little shits who would never live it down if they heard those beautiful sounds that escaped your lips with each hit of his blunt head against your sweet spot. The thought somehow egged him on further— he couldn't exactly decide if he was too possessive to let anyone hear or if he was possessive enough to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you, but at that moment, both of those thoughts turned him on too much, enough for him to feel his high approaching. And judging by the way your walls cramped down on him tighter with each passing second, you weren't too far behind.

You could feel yourself gushing around him, coating both of you in your essence beyond simple cleaning, but that was a matter to worry about later, not when the love of your life was balls-deep inside of you, his rough grunts right against your ear when he reached to press his lips right below it. "Close?" he mumbled, and even though your mind was too busy to hear and comprehend him properly, you nodded— feeling his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you closer to the warmth his body provided. And while as much as you'd like to keep this going for longer, witnessing his pace falter and voice break as he moaned out your name, filling you up in the most delicious way slowly was enough to have your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, and to have the knot finally snap.

Your whole body was buzzing, shaky even when he held you so tight against his chest as if you'd vanish right there and then— something that he always did after sex, no matter the circumstance. You giggled wearily against his shoulder, leaving a few kisses here and there before he pulled away slightly to pull you into a kiss— nothing like the ones you shared in the past minutes, this one was all sweet and loving. "Might drip if I pull out."

"You can't stay there forever, Carm."

"Oh, but I want to." he huffed out but still moved to slowly pull out of you anyway, having you both hiss in sensitivity and just like he thought, his come was ready to spill all over the place. Quick-thinker in nature, he caught his seed with his fingers right before they could go further, pushing them back into you just to hear you gasp— and slap his shoulder playfully.

"You're a fucking freak."

"Shut up— round two at my place? Kinda wanna see where that watching me jerk off fantasy of yours might lead us."

a/n: once again i could be easily manipulated into breaking into your house with a part two, who knows

also @carmensberzattos consider this a marriage proposal

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. “It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.”

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid

My Masterlist!

[satxnsupreme666]

Between ice cream and love: Agatha Harkness/Agnes x Fem!reader

Masterlist

Requested by: @celasteria

Summary: You’re the new neighbor in town, and Agnes becomes jealous of you and Wanda’s friendship

Words: 4k+

Warnings: None, just Agnes being jealous

Author’s notes: Hi, this was a requested story, I do not know if I should tag the people who requested at the time, I want to be respectful, so I am not sure if I should tag them, I will try and do it since it was their request and their idea and if any of the people who requested back at the time now feel uncomfortable being tagged, please let me know and I will delete the tag.

I put f/f for favorite ice cream flavor

This was one of the first stories I wrote three years ago, I had posted them on Tumblr on my old account, but due to my mental health, I had to take a break from Tumblr and the toxicity and hate that had suddenly increased, I deleted all of my stories and my old account, now I have decided to upload them again here on Tumblr and also on Ao3.

Again, as this was one of the first stories I wrote for Agatha Harkness is a little bit short, I will be uploading the rest of the stories from time to time, I have to edit them and make sure they are legible enough and with not a lot of grammatical errors.

I hope you like it!

Taglist: @eliscannotdance

If you enjoy, could you comment, like or reblog? it would help a lot really ♥️

Agnes was looking through her window, she was curious, not many things in Westview could catch her attention, and even though she was aware of the situation that she was in, living in Wanda´s illusion could be very boring, every day was the same, so she craved some good gossips, but the only gossips she usually got, was at the reunions with Dottie and the other girls at the club.

She didn’t mind getting to know the other girl´s secrets, they weren´t that bad, but still they were boring, the girls would usually chit-chat about how their husbands wouldn’t pay the attention they deserved and from time to time they would share new recipes that they had discovered while reading a new book, but at the end of the day everything was the same.

Wanda didn’t show anything abnormal anymore, after her twins arrived nothing had changed, and any other magic anomalies happened, so now she found herself peeking through her curtains to see why there was a moving van parked right alongside the other house in front of hers.

Now she was curious, who had arrived at town? Or more like why Wanda had let someone else entered Westview?

Her thoughts were drifted away when she saw someone walking outside the front porch of the house, she squinted her eyes a little to try to see who was the person, the sun was hitting right on her face, so she put her hand over her forehead to cover her eyes from the sunrays.

Now that she saw who it was, she became more curious, Wanda was the one who left the insides of the house and was talking to someone who was inside by the door, she couldn’t see who was there because Wanda was covering the other person, she couldn’t see, she got frustrated she really wanted to see the mysterious person standing inside the house, she grimaced when she saw Wanda leaving the front porch and the other person closed the door.

Wanda passed the street and saw Agatha standing there, she waved her hand at her and smiled, Wanda was going to keep walking but stopped and put on a thoughtful expression, then she started to walk towards the entrance of Agnes ‘house, she smirked, now maybe Wanda would tell her who was the new neighbor in town.

Agnes walked towards the door and before she could get to it she heard a knock, opening her door, she smiled at Wanda and greeted her

“Wanda, how lovely to see you dear, come in, now, do you need something dear? Want another one of those magazines?”

Agnes let her walk in the room and closed the door behind them, Wanda laughed and shook her head

“No, no, thanks Agnes, actually I´m here because I want you to have dinner with us, you see one of my long-lost friends just arrived to town and I- we, we want to make her feel welcome"

Agnes glanced at Wanda and smirked, so it was a girl, it seemed as if Wanda had known you before trapping an entire town, now she was invested, why was this girl so important?

She smiled before speaking again

“Oh, dear I will be there, I want to know this girl who´s so important to you, so, what do I have to bring? Do you want me to bring a bottle of wine? Champagne? You tell me dear”

She said and walked towards her kitchen with her usual cheerful tone

“Oh no, Agnes, you do not need to bring anything to dinner, I think it would better if I leave and star preparing dinner, thanks Agnes, we will be waiting for you, see you later”

Wanda said to her smiling and turned around and walked outside.

Agatha couldn’t help her excitement, now this was different.

She had a lot of time, so she decided she would prepare herself later, for now she would just read some of her ancient magic books, she had read all of them but still, she loved doing it again.

When the time came, Agnes looked at herself in the mirror, and with a flick of her hand her clothes changed, now she was wearing a black sweater with a white collared shirt attached under it, and she also had black pants, she looked in the mirror one more time and smiled at herself, she went to give señor Scratchy a quick look to see if he was alright, she took the bunny out of his tiny house and placed it in her back garden, he would roam freely in the grass.

Closing her door, Agnes started to walk to Wanda´s house, this night would be interesting, she went to know on the door and waited for someone to open, she thought Vision or Wanda would open the door for her but she was wrong. Someone opened the door for her and Agnes announced herself.

“Hello again Wanda, let´s get the party started”

However, when the door was opened completely, her eyes widened, there you stood, with a vintage patterned dress, she couldn’t help but stare at you, you were beautiful.

“Hi, sadly I´m not the person you were waiting for, but she´s in the kitchen, come in, I will call her”

You smiled at the woman in front of you, her dark brown long hair made a perfect match with her blue eyes, and of course you noticed her cleft chin, how couldn’t you? She was really beautiful, you felt drawn to her from that moment.

You left her come in, and you went to the kitchen to announce to her that someone was calling for her.

Agnes couldn’t stop staring at you, she was lost for words, she was not waiting that the new neighbor would be so damn beautiful, she instantly felt drawn to you, she wanted to know you more, she couldn’t put her finger, but she knew for sure that she was going to ask you on a date, this turned out to be better than what she would ever had expected.

Agnes saw you coming back with Wanda besides you, but she frowned she saw Wanda’s hand on your waist.

“Agnes! I’m glad you came, Y/N was just helping me to finish dinner, I told her that she shouldn’t, that she’s out guest but she insisted, she can be little stubborn”

Wanda added the last sentence while covering the side of her mouth with her free hand trying to act as if she was telling Agnes a secret.

You laughed at her comments and smacked her shoulder slightly, Agnes loved the sound that left your mouth, she wanted to make you laugh too. She didn’t know where all of that feelings were coming from, but she didn’t mind, she wanted to make you laugh and talk to you too, you looked so carefree.

“I may be a little stubborn but so are you”

Wanda smiled at you and rolled her eyes

“Agnes, this is my friend, she just moved into town earlier, Y/N this is Agnes she’s our neighbor, she lives in front of the house which is right in front of yours”

Agnes had a smug little smiled and her confidence went back to her, she stretched her hand out towards you and you took her hand, she gave it a slightly shake

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N aren’t you a pretty thing”

You blushed at her comment and you bit your lower lip, you always did it without thinking whenever you felt nervous, how could you not feel nervous when a woman like Agnes had just complimented you, also she hadn’t dropped your hand so you were blushing furiously.

Agatha noticed it and smiled to herself, now at least she knew she could make you nervous, that was a good sign.

Wada interrupted both of you of your stares at each other and said something about going back to the kitchen to turn off the oven.

You were left alone with Agnes in the middle of the dining room.

“Hey, want to go sit on the couch? We could watch something on the tv, now that the boys are playing outside, they were playing video games and wouldn’t let the tv alone for one minute"

Agnes nodded and both of you started to walk to the living room, she rested her hand on your shoulder and she left it there, you liked the feeling of her hands in your body, so you didn’t complain.

Agnes took this opportunity to be physically closer to you, you sat happily in one of the couches, and she sat down next to you, you felt really nervous, she was so close to you, her tight touching yours and you felt your face getting heated again.

Giggles sounded close to you, and you knew that Billy and Tommy had entered back at the house, they went straight to where both of you were sitting, and threw themselves beside Agnes

“Hey Aunt Agnes, have you meet Y/N yet? She’s super cool, she helped us pass one of the hardest levels of our game” You smiled at what Billy had said, and Agnes turned her face to look at you she was so close that you were able to see the little green tint that Agnes had in her eyes.

Agnes looked at you, she believed you were the prettiest girl she had ever seen, and she had lived quite a long life, now that she thought about, you were younger than her, you looked like Wanda’s age, maybe two or three years younger, there was a little bit age gap there, but she shrugged the thought off, it didn’t matter.

“Hey Y/N did you know that aunt Agatha has a Bunny called señor Scratchy? He’s really cute, you should see him one day, he lets us pet him, he’s so fluffy and cute” Tommy commented while he had his eyes glued to the tv

“That’s right, maybe you would like to visit him one day” Agnes said and she patted your knee, you bit your lip again and nodded

“yea, I love animals so, yes I would like to meet him”

Wanda called the four of you to the dining room, and you saw Vision putting the table.

Everyone started to sit down in the chairs, and Agnes decided to drag one chair out indicating you to sit down before her, you found her action quite charming and you thank her, Agnes had a grin on her face whenever she made you blushed, she was loving it.

Dinner passed peacefully, with some glances and some winks that Agnes had been throwing at you.

Whenever Agnes got the chance, she would brush your hand or your arm, she even asked you politely to handed her the salt and when you gave it to her the tiny container, she took your hand and with her fingers, she brushed the back of your hand, god she was so charming.

When dinner ended, the boys, Wanda and Vision said their goodbyes and Agnes offered herself to accompany you to your home.

You were feeling butterflies in your stomach, was she really offering to get you home? Your day couldn’t get any better, both of you left Wanda´s house and she linked her arm with yours, Agnes liked watching you, you were a little shy under her gaze and she was loving it, she couldn’t wait to see every part of your personality.

Walking through the street alongside Agnes felt everything to be lovely, the streetlights decorating the sides of the avenue had just a dim light, and it help the lovely mood that you were in, Agnes would have loved that the way to your house could have been a little longer.

Agnes sighed when you arrived at your front porch and both of you turned to face each other, so you smiled at her.

“Honey would you like to come to my house tomorrow? I have a new recipe that I would like to try, maybe we could have some tee too” Agatha said quirking her eyebrows

You were about to say yes but remembered something and your face fell, Agnes watched your expression and got confused.

“I´m sorry Agnes, I really would love to go to your house and pass time with you, but Wanda is coming to my house tomorrow with her children, she told me she wants to spend time with me” You looked at her apologetically

Agnes felt herself tense, she knew you were Wanda´s friend and even still she didn’t know the entire story, she sensed that Wanda cared for you, like a lot, she clenched her jaw, but quickly her expression changed to a grin

“Oh, sweetheart it´s ok, do not worry darling, we could arrange another day” Agnes said and she grabbed your hand

“So, can I get a hug? It was lovely to meet you, I enjoyed your company at dinner, and I hope you and I get more time to talk” Agnes opened her eyes in a motion to hug you, you smiled at her you leant into her arms, she put you closer to her, resting her arms in your waist while you put your hands around her neck, you let your head in her chest.

You could smell the perfume all over her, it was a sweet scent and you felt safe in her arms.

Agnes didn’t want to stop hugging you but she had to let you rest, she removed you a little to look again at your face

“That was a very good hug, hope you give me more darling” Agnes said winking at you

You blushed for like the tenth time that night.

“I will, maybe we could meet the day after tomorrow, I´m not sure how much time Wanda and the kids will be in my home” You said feeling a little shy

“I would love to, so is a date darling” She said and you bit your lip again, you couldn’t hide your grin at the mention of the date, Agnes laughed a little and stared at your eyes

“Darling I have to leave but, I´m very excited for our date ” You nodded and Agnes squeezed your hand a little and ran her thumb over your fingers, then she left your hand after what felt like hours holding it, she turned herself to walk towards the exit of your garden and to the sidewalk, then she turned herself to look at you, you were there still standing at the entry of your house, you smiled at her and Agnes waved her hand at you again, you did the same and decided to finally enter to your house.

Agnes watched you a little amused and felt her heart warmed, she was looking at you, she turned around to go back to her house, she felt mesmerized by you, you were something, you had something in you that made her feel drawn to you, she was arriving at the entrance of her house when she noticed a hasty movement in one of Wanda´s windows, she frowned a little, had Wanda been spying on both of you? That was weird, she shrugged it off, and entered her house

The next day in the morning Agnes saw you through her window watering your plants and the bushes there, she couldn’t help but smile, you looked so peaceful and focused on the task you were doing.

Tilting her head slightly to the side, she kept staring at you but she frowned when Agnes saw Wanda walking towards you, wasn´t she supposed to go with her kids? Why was she going towards you again? Wanda had already seen you yesterday, she shook her head and clenched her jaw, Wanda wanted to have all of your attention, that was not fair, she squinted her eyes and kept looking.

Wanda walked towards you and you hadn´t notice that she was behind you, then she put her hands over your eyes, and greeted you. Then when you turned around you were smiling and Wanda hugged you closer to her.

Agnes couldn’t help herself, she felt jealous, she wanted to hold you and touch you too, and it looked like Wanda was having all of your attention, she needed to do something quickly, so with a flick of her hand she made señor Scratchy appear in your garden, after that Agnes took the opportunity to go after you. She left her house in a hurry and started to almost run towards you and Wanda

“Oh my, thank you´re here, senor Scratchy got lost, I can´t find him anywhere, sometimes he used to disappear but I would find him in my back garden, and now he´s not there”

She said this looking right at you not at Wanda, and Wanda was amused by this, she smirked but said nothing.

“Oh Agnes, do not worry, we will help you look for him, he couldn’t have gone too far from here let´s- You were going to say that it would be better if the three of you looked separately but you felt something tugging on you jeans, you looked down to see what it was and saw a light brown fluffy bunny with white stains, you felt you heart melt at the sight of the cute bunny and bend down to grab him in your arms

“Agnes is this señor Scratchy?” You asked while petting his tiny head, his fur was so soft

“Oh, darling you found señor Scratchy, I had no idea he was here, how could he have ended up here, in your garden?” Said Agnes with a worried look on her face, then she saw this an opportunity to hug you being careful not to squeeze señor Scratchy who was between your arms, and she kissed your forehead, then she grabbed you gently by your shoulders

“Thank you dear, I don´t know what I would do if you hadn’t found him, what can I do to show my gratitude?” Do you like ice cream I can take you to the nice ice cream parlor that

“Oh Agnes you´re so sweet, I would love to, you know what? Later Wanda and the kids will come maybe we could all go to the ice cream parlor” You said to her excited, you wanted to spend more time with her and this could be the perfect time to spend time with Agnes and your friend Wanda.

Agnes wanted it to be like a date, just the two of you, but you looked so excited that she couldn’t say no, at least, she was going to spend time with you.

Wanda was smirking she had seen the grimace that she had done when you mentioned her and the kids, she hid her smile with her hand before speaking. “Yes, Agnes that would be lovely, you can come along with us, we can have a nice evening together with the boys"

She smirked and saw Agnes trying to smile, oh no, Agnes just wanted to have you all for herself

“I will tell the boys, so we can get ready to go, see you later” Wanda said amused and went back to her house, leaving Agnes and you alone

“Oh Agnes, I´m glad you accepted” You smiled at her and the look of excitement warmed her heart, suddenly she was not feeling annoyed, you still had senior Scratchy in your arms so you handed him to Agnes

“Here´s señor Scratchy, all good, how did he arrive here? Wouldn’t I have seen him coming here?” You asked when Agnes took the bunny into her arms brushing her hands with you.

“He´s a tricky bunny, he can get lost if I´m not watching darling, next time I will be more careful” Said Agnes, and then again you two got lost in each other´s eyes.

The mood didn’t last longer because Tommy and Billy appeared behind you, Agnes sighed she could have more time with you without someone interrupting.

“We heard that senor Scratchy got lost and that Y/N found him, can we pet him?” Asked Tommy and Agatha smiled, she passed the bunny to Tommy who carefully took the bunny in his arms.

“Well dear, I´ll have to take senor Scratchy back to his home, boys would you help me take him back to it? See you later dear, I can’t wait to see you again” You blushed at her last comment and she smiled “You look cute when you blush darling” She said before turning around with the boys going back to her house.

Later when you were ready to leave you heard a knock on you door, you thought it would be Wanda and the kids, but when you opened the door you saw Agatha standing in front of you, you could smell her sweet perfume, without thinking you hugged her, she smiled too and hugged you back.

“So, are you ready to leave?” You were about to answer her when again the boys interrupted you, they were laughing and greeted you, behind them you saw Wanda walking towards you.

“Heyyy, can we leave now? I really want some ice cream as well as the boys” She was smirking and the boys cheered up, they were excited you could see it.

“Well we should leave then” You said and the two boys put themselves at your sides, they were asking you what was your favorite ice cream flavor, they wouldn’t stop asking questions and you were entertained by them that you didn’t notice that Agnes had a disappointed expression, she just wanted to spend some time alone with you.

When the four of you arrived at the center of the town, you were excited, Westview had some pretty sight to be a little town.

Wanda showed you some of the little coffee shops there, she told you about the library, when she put her arm around your back, Agnes didn’t like what she was watching, she sighed annoyed and was about to use her magic to stop Wanda touching you, but the you separated from her and went to link your arm with hers.

“Agnes this town is beautiful don´t you think?” Her annoyance went away when she felt you soft touch

“It is darling but there are pretty things more beautiful than just a town” Agnes said looking directly at your eyes

You were snapped out from the moment when you hear Billy´s voice “C´mon, let´s get the Ice cream” This time Wanda didn’t hide her amusement “Ok guys let´s go” Said Wanda to them

You smiled and started to walk to the ice cream shop, your arm still linked with Agnes´.

You entered de shop and the boys quickly went to look at the different things the shop offered, ice cream, frozen yogurt, the popsicles and the fruit juice bars.

Agnes pulled out a chair for you, you blushed and smiled at her while sitting “Oh Agnes you didn’t have to do that” You couldn’t help the smile growing wider

“I know darling but I wanted to, so now tell me, what do you want? I heard that f/v is your favorite ice cream flavor” Agnes winked at you

“Hey Y/N my mom bought this for you” Said Billy handing you a two medium scoops ice cream of your favorite flavor

Agnes couldn’t help herself, this time she rolled her eyes, you thanked Billy and smiled at Wanda

An idea popped into your head “Agnes, do you want to share the ice cream? Billy gave me two spoons” You said to her showing the spoons.

She nodded and sat next to you, her thigh brushing against yours, you handed one of the spoons to her

You started to share the scream with her, she playfully took some ice cream with her spoon and brought it to your mouth, you opened it playfully and accepted her offering.

The taste of the ice cream was so good, they served a really good one, without thinking you moaned and Agnes was delighted when she heard that sound leaving your mouth.

You had some ice cream at the corner of your mouth, Agnes brought her hand to your face and with her fingers she cleaned the rest of the ice cream, her finger was near your mouth, and she gasped when you licked the tip of her finger.

She couldn’t wait anymore; she leant into you and captured your lips on hers, you kissed her back, your hands on the collar of her shirt, and you pulled her closer to you.

Agnes broke the kiss and lifted your chin “You do not know how much I have wanted to do that”

Wanda had seen all of the interaction and decided to go outside the ice cream shop, she didn’t want her kids to bother you more.

“It was about time that you kissed me, you could have waited until our official date tomorrow” You caressed the side of her face

“Well, I´m sorry, I wanted to spend more time with you, but Wanda had all your attention”

You smirked at her comment, and unconsciously searched out for her hand, with her thumb she traced circles on the back of your hand.

“I would have never thought you were jealous of her, she´s my friend Agnes” You stared at her beautiful baby blue eyes, she grabbed your waist to pull you closer to her.

“Well you can´t blame me, you are very beautiful, but now I will make sure that everyone knows that you´re taken” She said and kissed your lips one more time

“So, are we officially a couple?” You asked her, blushing again.

“Only if you want to honey” She brought your hand to her lips and kissed the back of it

“Of course, I want to Agnes” You said to her

“Wonderful honey, also I will take you out on more dates” Agnes said and you nodded, you were exited.

“So, what about we stay here and enjoy the rest of our night?” Agnes asked you and you nodded excitedly, you hugged her and she smiled, finally, she could spend time with you with no one interrupting.

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Brother's best friend

Summary: You go to spend the summer at your grandparents, along with your family and the Wayne's. Will something rise between you and Damian?

Warnings: Reader is half kryptonian, meaning they can hear heartbeats.

Gender Neutral

Series Masterlist

~☆~

It was quiet. There was no sound of cars in a busy street, voices of pedestrians that became too much as they all overlapped, no musty smell of used up air. It was quiet, only the sound of the TV, animals outside, and the heartbeats of your loved ones could he heard.

Your grandparent's farm was your escape. It was where you could go when you wanted to get away from the city that you and your family lived in. Apparently, everyone agreed, because now you're spending the summer on the farm, along with your mother, father, and brothers.

Your mother was helping your grandmother clean up after breakfast. Your father was helping your grandfather with the animals, you and Jon were watching a cartoon, and Kon was still sleeping.

Despite your grandparents being two lonely farmers, more people were still going to be joining you. Everyone had decided that it would be nice to invite Bruce Wayne and his children to join in on your short vacation. You had barely gotten Jon to sleep the night he found out that they said yes, he was far too excited about what was to come. Eventually, your mother had to come in and scold him for still being up.

If you listened close enough, you could hear their plane, and if you listened even closer, you could hear their hearts and words. Which Jon had been doing the entire time he had been awake, anxiously waiting for his best friend and his family to arrive, your father and Kon doing the same. Was it a little weird that Clark, Kon, and Jon were all best friends with members of the Wayne family? Yeah, a little bit. But did you care? No.

Jon had been going on for years now about his best friend, Damian Wayne. Apparently, the two of them met due to being Robin and Superboy. Jon had told you about the many adventures the two of them had, the times they would hang out at Wayne Manor, and how much he adored Damian. You've heard similar stories about Bruce, and Tim aswell, your father and Kon sharing the same excitement as Jon over their best-friends.

Almost all of the Wayne family has heard about you, too, but not as much as Damian has. Jon is always talking about his older sibling, born just two years before himself, and a year after Damian. Jon is always talking about the things the two of you have done, what you like, any new changes you've made to your appearance. To some extent, Damian feels as if he already knows you. You also feel the same.

"I can't wait for you to meet him." Jon excitedly tells you, taking his eyes away from the small TV and looking at you. You turn to meet his gaze and offer a small smile, hoping it will get him to stop gushing about this family you've never met. Maybe you're excited about meeting a certain older brother, one that your family said came back from the dead. It's not that you don't want to meet them, it's just that you don't want to spend your summer with some strangers.

~☆~

It was about lunchtime when you could hear the plane getting closer to the farm, your family raced outside to greet their friends.

A grown man was the first to jump out of the plane, his hair wavy and black, eyes blue and skin tan. He had one of those Hollywood smiles that instantly got you plastered on a magazine. He ran up to your father and welcomed him into an embrace. He was far too young to be Bruce Wayne, but also too old to be Damian.

Another boy hopped out and jogged over to Kon. Obviously, that's Tim. His pale skin and shaggy black hair gave it away.

Who you assume was Bruce emerged next, the wrinkle between his eyebrows and his strong physique being a sign. You could hear your father whisper his name as he went up to hug the man.

An even younger boy walked out, instantly earning a yell from Jon. He looked almost identical to Bruce. Only his skin was tan, and his nose was stronger. His eyes were green, a strong contrast from the three blue-eyed men that he had traveled with. His hair was black and clean cut, styled upwards. He was gorgeous. His description could only mean that he was the one and only Damian.

Another man walked into the light. He was tall and muscular. His wavy hair was black with a stripe of white and out of his face. He was wearing sunglasses, blocking his eyes from your view. Even from the distance, you could see the scars that adorned the side of his face. Jason Todd.

You watched as your family exchanged their hellos, obviously excited about the entire situation. Just as you were about to turn and go back inside, you heard your father introducing your grandparents. That could only mean that you were next.

His arms gestured around your family before finally landing on you, "And that's, Y/N." He spoke.

The first man(whom you overheard the name of) started walking towards you, his flashy smile on display.

"Hi, I'm Dick!" He introduced himself, offering you a handshake. After you reciprocated the gesture, he put his arm over your shoulders, holding you to his side. His hand rose up to point at the other people he arrived with. "That's Bruce," he stated, pointing at the man next to your father. "That's Jason," His finger was now pointed at the man with the white streak in his hair, "Tim" was all he said as he gestured to the boy conversing with Kon. "And that's Damian." He said, pointing at the boy that was being bombarded with questions by Jon. To your surprise, he was staring right at you. His gaze was sharp and felt like he was seeing right through you.

Your eye contact was interrupted as your grandmother came rushing past you with a pitcher of tea and some cups.

~☆~

New series alert!!!

Update's will be slow.

[ilynpilled]

GRRM on morality, heroism, villainy, and parallax in ASOIAF:

Time magazine wrote of you, “What really distinguishes Martin and what marks him as a major force for evolution in fantasy is his refusal to embrace a vision of the world as a struggle between good and evil.” Do you agree?

I think the struggle between good and evil is central to fantasy and, indeed, in some ways, central to most fiction. It's certainly a worthy subject for fiction. But I regard the struggle between good and evil as being waged within the individual human heart. […] You know, the greatest monsters of history, as we look back on them, thought they were the heroes of the story. You know, the villain is the hero of the other side, as sometimes said. That doesn't mean that it's all morally relative. That doesn't mean that all things are equally good and evil. I think there is good and there is evil in the world. But you know, it's sometimes a struggle to tell one from the other and to make the right choices. I've always been attracted to great characters, maybe because that's what I see when I look around the real world, whether I read about it in history books or the news or just people I meet. I mean, all of us have it within ourselves to be heroes. All of us have it within ourselves to be villains. We've all done good things in our lives, and most of us have also done selfish things, cowardly things, things that we're ashamed of in later years. And to my mind, that's, I don't know, the glory of the human race. We're such wonderfully contradictory, mixed-up creatures that we're endlessly fascinating to write about and read about.

via

In your work, you have essentially captured Mikhail Bakhtin's concept of polyphonic fiction, where the characters are equal, and the reader can root for any of them. This has been impossible to convey on the TV series.

I wouldn't say all the characters are equal, but they have (hopefully) human traits, especially the viewpoint characters. I have seven viewpoint characters in the first book, and each book has a few more. So, by now, we're probably up to 12 or 13 viewpoint characters, and those are the ones where I go actually inside their skin, so you're seeing the world through their eyes. You're hearing their thoughts. You're feeling their emotions. And I try to paint over those viewpoint characters, and some of them are noble and just, and some of them are kind of selfish, and some of them are very intelligent, and some of them are less intelligent and even stupid. But they're all human, and I want to portray their humanity. […] I think the battle between good and evil is fought all over the world, every day, in the individual human heart, as we all struggle with the choices that define us and define our lives. And we have to choose what we are going to do, and sometimes the choice is not easy; it's not this absolute juxtaposition of the good guys and the bad guys. And I wanted to get to that with my characters, and show some of the difficulties that they face.

via

Another element I liked about the series was the moral relativism of many of the characters. Too many Fantasies rely on the shorthand of truly evil villains in the absolute moral sense, but your characters, while they might commit terrible acts, generally do so either from short-sighted self-interest or because they truly believe they are acting for the best. Was this a deliberate decision, or is it just more interesting to write this way?

Both. I have always found grey characters more interesting than those who are pure black and white. I have no qualms with the way that Tolkien handled Sauron, but in some ways The Lord of the Rings set an unfortunate example for the writers who were to follow. […] Before you can fight the war between good and evil, you need to determine which is which, and that's not always as easy as some Fantasists would have you believe.

via

Do you purposely start a character as bad so you can later kill them?

No. What is bad? Bad is a label. We are human beings with heroism and self-interest and avarice in us and any human is capable of great good or great wrong. In Poland a couple of weeks ago I was reading about the history of Auschwitz - there were startling interviews with the people there. The guards had done unthinkable atrocities, but these were ordinary people. What allowed them to do this kind of evil? Then you read accounts of acts of outrageous heroism, yet the people are criminals or swindlers, one crime or another, but when forced to make a choice they make a heroic choice. This is what fascinated me about the human animal.

via

Martin's realm is not one of unambiguous heroes and villains. His characters, from royals to peasants, tend to be ethically mutable. So-called good people, like the noblemen Ned Stark, his son Robb Stark or the indomitable Daenerys Targaryen ("the Mother of Dragons"), make terrible mistakes - out of weakness, pride or an overly rigid sense of right and wrong. And horrible people, like Jaime Lannister, known as "the Kingslayer," do terrible things and then, over the course of several books, reveal themselves to be capable of heroism and sacrifice.

As we're discussing this in the theater, Martin quotes Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" from memory: “The evil that men do lives after them ;/ The good is oft interred with their bones.” Then he adds his own version: “We shouldn't forget about the evil that good men do. But we shouldn't forget about the good either,” he says. “I do think a society needs heroes. They don't have to be flawless.”

via

Your books have a very strong storyline associated with the atonement of sins. For example, the way of Jaime Lannister, do you yourself believe in karma?

I don’t believe in karma per se, although sometimes I have my doubts because sometimes I think I see things that could be explained by karma. But no, I don’t really have any beliefs in the supernatural. I do believe in the possibility of redemption. And I believe that human beings, all human beings, are grey. And I try to remember that when I write my characters. We are all heroes, we are all villains, we all have the capacity for great good and we all have the capacity to do things that are selfish and evil and wrong. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. In your lifetime, you can be both. And it’s making choices that defines us as human beings. There’s this sensation of compartmentalism. This eagerness to judge everybody based on the worst thing they ever did, not the best thing they ever did. And you know, I think Shakespeare in "Julius Caesar" wrote “The evil that men do lives after them ;/ The good is oft interred with their bones.” And sadly that’s true. And I think it should be the reverse. We should remember the good things and the noble things that people did, and forgive them for their failures and moments of selfishness or wrongdoing because we all have them. When we forgive them, we are essentially forgiving ourselves. Redemption should be possible.

via

Are there any characters that you've kind of fallen out of love with, that you just don't, you know, get excited about any more?

I still love all the characters. Even some of them who aren't very lovable. At least the viewpoint characters. When I'm writing in the viewpoint of one of these characters, I'm really inside their skin. So, you trying to see the world through their eyes to understand why they do the things they do. And we all have, even characters who are thought of to be bad guys, who are bad guys, in some objective sense, don't think of themselves as bad guys. […] “What evil can I do today?” Real people don't think that way. We all think we're heroes, we all think we're good guys. We have our rationalizations when we do bad things. “Well, I had no choice,” or “It's the best of several bad alternatives,” or “No it was actually good because God told me so,” or “I had to do it for my family.” We all have rationalizations for why we do shitty things or selfish things or cruel things. So when I'm writing from the viewpoint of one of my characters who has done these things, I try to have that in my head. And I do, so there's an empathy there that makes me love even people like Victarion Greyjoy, who is basically a dullard and a brute. But, he feels aggrieved and sees the world a certain way. And Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, they all have their own viewpoints. I love them all. Some I love more than others, I guess.

Who do you think to be the most important characters?

They're all important. I don't favor them, or I don't think of them in terms of importance. The viewpoint characters in the first book I have are Bran, Tyrion, Catelyn, Ned, Jon Snow, the two girls Arya and Sansa. There is the core of the Stark family plus Tyrion to represent the Lannister family. Then I have Dany on the other side of the sea, Daenerys Targaryen, whose story runs parallel and some ways doesn't connect to the others, but some day I'll eventually bring those two stories together. In each subsequent volume I drop some of my viewpoint characters and add new ones. Although the same core still dominates, the cast changes somewhat, and I like to do that. In the third volume which you haven't gotten to yet (he refers to me) I have a new viewpoint character. He's been a major character, but now you see things for the first time through his eyes. Which I think changes your perception of things somewhat. I like to play that kind of game, because we all have our own way of looking at the world. Something occurs and two people witness it. They might have very different versions of what happened, and very different explanations. I like to play with parallax in my fiction, and get different versions of the same thing.

via

A Song of Ice and Fire has much of the complex texture of authentic history, both generally and in its specific echoes of actual historical episodes. What laws and principles (if any) in your view govern human history, and how has your understanding of historical processes shaped the series?

Historical processes have never much interested me, but history is full of stories, full of triumph and tragedy and battles won and lost. It is the people who speak to me, the men and women who once lived and loved and dreamed and grieved, just as we do. Though some may have had crowns on their heads or blood on their hands, in the end they were not so different from you and me, and therein lies their fascination. I suppose I am still a believer in the now unfashionable "heroic" school, which says that history is shaped by individual men and women and the choices that they make, by deeds glorious and terrible. That is certainly the approach I have taken in A Song of Ice and Fire.

A Song of Ice and Fire undergoes a very interesting progression over its first three volumes, from a relatively clear scenario of Good (the Starks) fighting Evil (the Lannisters) to a much more ambiguous one, in which the Lannisters are much better understood, and moral certainties are less easily attainable. Are you deliberately defying the conventions and assumptions of neo-Tolkienian Fantasy here?

Guilty as charged. The battle between good and evil is a legitimate theme for a Fantasy (or for any work of fiction, for that matter), but in real life that battle is fought chiefly in the individual human heart. Too many contemporary Fantasies take the easy way out by externalizing the struggle, so the heroic protagonists need only smite the evil minions of the dark power to win the day. And you can tell the evil minions, because they're inevitably ugly and they all wear black. I wanted to stand much of that on its head. In real life, the hardest aspect of the battle between good and evil is determining which is which.

via

When you are writing the different conflicts in Westeros, do you personally pick a side? Or feel that one side fights for a more just cause than the other?

Yes, certainly. I mean, I’ve often said that I believe in grey characters, I don’t believe in black and white characters. But that’s not to say that all characters are equally grey. You know, some are very dark grey, and some are mostly white but they still have occasional flaws. I’ve always been fascinated by human beings and all of their complexity— even human beings that do appalling things, you know, the question is ‘Why?’ And it’s interesting to get inside their head and see why. Some of my viewpoint characters have done some incredibly reprehensible things: Theon, for example, or Victarion Greyjoy. Why? Were they born a monster? Weren’t they born like a cute little kid wanting to be loved and all that? We all start out that way, right? But things happen to us on the way that lead to junctures in our lives where we make decisions, and those decisions and the consequences of them color everything that comes after. You look at [historical figures] and what’s the verdict on these men? Are they heroes, are they villains? Are they great people, or people we should despise? I mean, they are fascinating characters because of their complexity.

via

“I don't concern myself over whether my characters are “likeable” or “sympathetic.” (I had my fill of that in television). My interest is in trying to make them real and human. If I can create a fully-fleshed three-dimensional character, some of my readers will like him/her, or some won't, and that's fine with me. That's the way real people react to real people in the real world, after all. Look at the range of opinions we get on politicans and movie stars. If EVERYONE likes a certain character, or hates him, that probably means he's made of cardboard. So I will let my readers decide who they like, admire, hate, pity, sympathize with, etc. The fact that characters like Sansa, Catelyn, Jaime, and Theon provoke such a wide range of reactions suggests to me that I have achieved my goal in making them human.”

via

“You want the reader to care about your characters — if they don’t, then there’s no emotional involvement. But at the same time, I want my characters to be nuanced, to be gray, to be human beings. I think human beings are all nuanced. There’s this tendency to want to make people into heroes and villains. And I think there are villains in real life and there are heroes in real life. But even the greatest heroes have flaws and do bad things, and even the greatest villains are capable of love and pain and occasionally have moments where you can feel sympathetic for them. As much as I love science fiction and fantasy and imaginative stuff, you always have to go back to real life as your touchstone and say, ‘What is the truth?’”

via

[crepes-suzette-373]

One Piece Magazine Reiju short story

I recently bought One Piece Magazine to read the Reiju short story. I don't know how to share this experience other than just straight up translating the whole thing, but it was utterly hilarious chaos with the brothers trying to cook and it just ended up being a disastrous mess.

I'll give a summary, I guess...

Reiju and her brothers went to another kingdom for a diplomatic discussion, but once they were done, the Germa ships that were supposed to pick them up got delayed by the weather. The bros can't wait so they demand the locals to be given a ship.

Niji/Yonji: "Oh good, they understand. So we don't have to steal a ship."

Well, they did tell the people that Germa will compensate them, but still.

And yeah, the guys were so hungry that they were like "Even though royals shouldn't do menial things like cooking, we're dying of hunger here so it can't be helped."

All writers apparently agree that Niji misses Sanji like an utter dumbass because in the kitchen he out of nowhere says "Didn't we used to have a younger brother called Sanji who likes to cook?"

Yonji says "Yeah, he was kind of lame" and Ichiji says there's been wanted posters of him being spread around.

(Edit: I saw another post saying that the one who brought up Sanji first is Ichiji. To be fair, in the actual text there's no dialogue tags indicating who was talking. It's definitely not Yonji, because it specified "younger" brother. I personally read this as Niji because the sentence was more informal-sounding)

Based on the info they got, Reiju is aware of Sanji's history with Baratie and the Straw Hat crew, and thinks that because he's listed as just a cook on the wanted posters and not "fighter/combatant", he's probably still not much stronger than before.

Ichiji found some pork, labelled to be from Broc Coli. Reiju mentioned that Broc Coli specialises in pig farming and the pigs have been selectively bred to improve the meat quality. Ichiji commented "Oh, it's similar to our lineage factor modification, then", but then the next second he suddenly gets mad about it himself, throws the meat to the ground and was like "How could pigs compare to our Vinsmoke royal family."

Reiju: "You brought it up yourself out of nowhere though? :/"

Ichiji is grumpy and wants to go fishing instead. With the Raid Suit. Don't know how, wasn't explained, maybe he Sparking Valkyrie'd the fishes.

Niji wants to make chocolates, but had a meltdown because the recipe calls for cooking/confectioner's chocolate. He was like "Why?? do you?? need chocolate?? to make chocolate??? If the chocolate is already there I'll just eat that directly???"

(Note: It's not making cake or brownies or anything, it's making something along the lines of chocolate truffles or milk chocolates or other forms of chocolate that isn't just straight up dark chocolate/confectioner's chocolate. He's confused because the final product is still just "chocolate")

Yonji wants to make bread because it looks easy. Reiju decided to try to make something too, and wanted to make tamagoyaki (Japanese rolled omelettes) because she remembered reading about it in a story book with Sora before.

Reiju's logic: "If a penguin (in the story book) can cook, then even a beginning like me can do it." (so much for Reiju being the rational one)

Yonji starts shouting for help. His bread is a goopy mess and is a total failure. Apparently he didn't add the yeast because the recipe says 3g of yeast, and that's almost 0, so he didn't add any. Reiju tells him to make sure to follow the steps properly.

Ichiji comes back with a giant fish, and is asking for poison check. No poison, so Reiju left him to cut the fish.

Yonji is still having trouble, and he says he had added the ingredients properly this time. The dough is still gloopy and will not firm up even after kneading. Reiju said that maybe because of the exoskeleton, their skin are too cold for the fermentation process to start activating.

Yonji is grumpy and asks if this means he can't make bread. Reiju suggest using hot water to warm his skin, but he's already really disgruntled and says that it's so lame that they have to rely on microorganisms to make bread (well, at least he knows yeast is microorganisms, not just another type of flour).

(Note: This part really does not sound right to me, honestly. Maybe this was just meant to show that Reiju and Yonji have zero knowledge in cooking, but bread dough not firming up and gloopy is usually not related to yeast or fermentation, but the gluten. Most cases that I know of are either caused by adding too much water, not enough kneading, the flour itself is not suitable for bread, or even the dough being over fermented. I've never heard of sticky dough problems being caused by hand temperature.)

(Edit: I've discovered that Japanese bread making guides do mention temperature affecting the dough, but it's nevertheless because of the gluten and not the yeast. This one might a goof on the author's side.)

Ichiji gave up fileting the fish because there's bones everywhere. he dumped all the dead fishes he caught back to the sea. Yonji gave up trying to make bread and tossed the failed dough away (and also threw away Reiju's egg attempt even though it was fine :/). Niji can't find any chocolate, so he has nothing.

They can't do anything except wait until they reach Germa and then just go "AAAAAAA FOOODD" (well, they act cool in front of the servants, but still).

Reiju herself showered and got cleaned up first before going to eat. Seeing the poisoned stonefish served, she wondered how normal chefs handle the poisonous ingredients and so she went to the kitchen to ask.

There was a young cook on cleaning duty that immediately panics, but then a senior cook named Beryl came out to answer her questions. Reiju says old lady Beryl has been there for a very long time, even before the kids were born.

Beryl explains that to treat the armoured stonefish to make it safe to eat is to let it swim in a tank with Ruby Wakame seaweed. The seaweed will absorb the toxins and after 3 weeks, the fish will change from purple to blue, and this indicates that the toxins is completely gone and it will be safe to eat.

An easier method would be to just skin the fish and take out the poisonous organs, but fish skin is a delicacy, and so the chefs would do this so they can serve cuts of the fish with the skin attached.

Reiju makes a comment that cooking must be very hard because her brothers are all picky eaters (not just Niji, apparently), but Beryl says she and the other chefs are happy to adjust the prep to make the food palatable to the boys.

"Ichiji-sama dislikes green vegetables, but if you chop it up finely and mix it with meat dishes such as hamburg steaks, he will eat it without noticing."

Reiju: Is he a toddler?

(Note: Dunno if this is a universal thing, but it's a Japanese thing that when toddlers hate vegetables, the parents would chop up vegetables and put it in meatballs or the toddler's other favourite food so that they can get the vegetable nutrients even though the child dislikes the vegetable's taste)

"Niji-sama dislikes things with complex seasonings, so things like the sauces and such has to be made to be very simple to the utmost extent."

Reiju: That's dumb.

"Yonji-sama doesn't like food with dry texture, but if it's served to him when he gets hungry between meal times, he'll usually eat it."

Reiju: Is he a dog?

(Note: There is a section where Reiju muses that the cooks "safeguards" their meals just like how "Germa 66 protect peace". What peace? In the main series they're fine with siding with whoever, as long as they get paid. This comment doesn't make sense unless maybe she was being ironic/sarcastic here.)

Reiju apologised for bothering the cooks at this time, and Beryl then lets slip that Sanji has been to the kitchens often. When Reiju presses further, eventually Beryl reveals that Sora likes to make desserts often. Sora would say that she hoped to someday be able to cook together with her kids.

Hearing this Reiju briefly fantasised baking together with her mother and Sanji. Knowing it's just idle fantasy, though, she thanks Beryl for telling her all these and helping her appreciate cooking more.

Reiju thinks of Sanji and reevaluates her opinions on him. He's not "just" a cook. People's lives are basically in the hands of the cook, especially on long voyages at sea. She is glad that him having a place as a ship's cook means that he's found good friends who rely on him and trust him.

She then transforms, and uses her ability to suck out the poison from the fish, saying that the cooks are welcome to ask her for help to take out the poison if they need to cook with the stonefish.

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Rabbi Herschel Schacter 

Rabbi Herschel Schacter was a young U.S. Army chaplain who helped traumatized Holocaust survivors rebuild their lives, and later became an influential leader in the Orthodox movement and a strong advocate for Soviet Jewry.

Herschel Schacter was born in Brooklyn in 1917, the son of immigrants from Poland and the youngest of ten siblings. His family was religious, and he was educated at the finest yeshivas before obtaining smicha (rabbinic ordination) in 1941. Rabbi Schacter served as a pulpit rabbi for a year before enlisting in the Army after Pearl Harbor. After attending Army Chaplain school at Harvard, he was sent to Europe with the VIII Corps and fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

Rabbi Schacter was one of the liberators of the Buchenwald concentration camp. He stayed in Germany for two and a half months after the war, tending to the broken spirits of survivors, most of whom had lost their entire families. Many were the only survivor from their entire town; everyone they ever knew had been murdered. A famous photograph shows him leading Shavuot services at Buchenwald (above). This photo occupies an entire wall at Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem.

What Rabbi Schacter saw at Buchenwald was hell on earth. The inmates who were still alive – barely -were emaciated, lying on filthy planks and covered in lice, hollow-eyed ghosts blinking in the sunlight and without the energy to even lift their heads. The stench of rotting flesh and feces was overwhelming. 

Rabbi Schacter noticed Yisrael Meir Lau, 7 years old, hiding behind a pile of corpses. Known as Lulek, the child had lost most of his family and had been on his own since age 5. Rabbi Schacter cared for the boy and helped him immigrate to Israel, where he would one day become Chief Rabbi.

Rabbi Schacter’s son Jacob, a prominent Orthodox rabbi and professor at Yeshiva University, wrote in a piece for Tablet Magazine, “My father spent the rest of his life describing what he saw in Buchenwald and what he did during his 10 weeks there. His work focused on a number of different areas: he tended to the psychological needs of survivors; he worked hard to reunite families; he founded a kibbutz outside Weimar for young survivors preparing to make aliyah [move to Israel]; and he organized a transport of children to Switzerland.”

Another story that illustrates Rabbi Schacter’s massive impact concerns Yoav Kimmelman, a 16 year old from a Hasidic home who lost every single member of his large extended family, around 60 people. The Holocaust destroyed Yoav’s faith and identity as a Jew. According to Rabbi Jacob Schacter, Yoav was “done with God, done with Jewish life, done with Jewish destiny, done with the Jewish people.” Rabbi Herschel Schacter reached out – literally – and singlehandedly brought Yoav back to Jewish life. It happened when Rabbi Schacter was taking 200 child survivors to Switzerland. He wanted young Yoav to go with him, but the boy had no interest in being around fellow Jews and he refused to go. Rabbi Schacter asked him to come to the train station to say goodbye and while there, the rabbi reached down and physically dragged Yoav onto the train. The teen was angry and sullen, but the rabbi convinced him to join a minyan and read Torah in the DP camp. Long story short, Yoav Kimmelman remained religious and at his death, he left 80 descendants, all of them Torah Jews. “That’s all because my father had the guts to pull him onto that train when it left the station,” said Rabbi Jacob Schacter.

Rabbi Herschel Schacter became a prominent leader of Orthodox Judaism in America, helping to rebuild from the ashes and grow the movement. He was elected president of the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations in 1968. Dr. Rafael Medoff, in his book “The Rabbi of Buchenwald,” wrote: “He was the first Orthodox rabbi to reach that level of leadership. Until then others saw Orthodox leaders as fit to be heads of Orthodox groups, but not larger ones. Rabbi Schacter broke that mold. He was sufficiently savvy and sophisticated to represent the entire [Jewish] community, not just the Orthodox minority.”

At the very beginning of the movement to free Soviet Jewry, in 1956, Rabbi Schacter was part of the first rabbinical delegation to visit the USSR since 1917. He then went to Hungary to help Jewish refugees flee during the Hungarian revolution. 

Rabbi Schacter served as a pulpit rabbi in the Bronx for more than 60 years and was known as a brilliant and inspiring orator, beloved by his congregation. He passed away in 2013 at age 95 and was survived by his beloved wife Pnina, two children, four grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren. Pnina Schacter died in 2018.

For healing the broken spirits of Holocaust survivors and helping them rebuild their lives, and for his devotion to the Jewish people and his decades of leadership, we honor Rabbi Herschel Schacter as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[ofmdrecaps]

10/20-22/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Happy very Belated Birthday Rachel House! David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Con O'Neill; Samba Schutte; Vico Ortiz; Kristian Nairn; Nathan Foad; Boris McGiver; Tiny Boats Raffle! Articles; Fan Spotlight; amuseoffyre; Love Notes!

== Happy Birthday Rachel House! ==

Oct 20 was our dear Mary Reed's Birthday! She's been a staple in so many Aotearoa films and TV, and we hope to keep getting to see all her fantastic work for many more years!

Img Src: Screengrab from TheylorSwift Gif

== David Jenkins ==

Chaos Dad has confirmed that the "summer teeth" was Alyssa Lane and Alex Sherman's doing!

Source: David's Twitter

And some love for this OFMD pumpkin!!!

Source: David Jenkins' Twitter

== Rhys Darby ==

Okay so this is really for Rhys AND Taika, and Jemaine-- but Guess what? It's been 10 years since WWDITS 2014 came out! In celebration there's a a limited edition bluray out! I'm still waiting to hear back whether or not it's region free.. because it's got some cool stuff!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Madman (@madmanfilms)

Source: Rhys' Instagram

I didn't see him in the trailer, but it's also been announced that Rhys will be joining Ke Huy Quan and Sean Astin in the new movie Love Hurts coming to theatres on Feb 7, 2025!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Love Hurts (@lovehurtsmovie)

Source: Ke Huy Quan's Instagram

== Taika Waititi ==

Taika was out in Tokyo with Rita for her concert! We got some silly behind the scenes shots of him and Bret from Flight of the Conchords!

Source: Roara Magazine Instagram

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Bret McKenzie (@bretrospective)

Source: BretRospective's Instagram

Also -- more news for Taika -- he helped to Executive Produce all 10 episodes, but also directed one of the episodes! It premieres on Nov 19 on Hulu!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Taika Waititi (@taikawaititi)

Source: Taika's Instagram And in case you haven't seen enough of Taika -- he's out taking selfies with fans!

Source: Instagram

== Con O'Neill ==

For those of you who still have access to Max-- Our Izzy Hands, Con O'Neill showed up episode 5 of The Penquin as Gotham's Chief of Police!

Source: Gotham Chief Twitter

== Samba Schutte ==

Samba's been so busy with interviews about Advanced Chemistry! First up is Beyond the Glam!

Source: Beyond the Glam

Next up is Watch or Pass with Samba and the writer Alec Moore!

Source: Youtube

Not an interview-- but Samba did a voting short that he shared on his Instagram as well!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Samba Schutte (@sambaschutte)

Source: Sambas Instagram

== Vico Ortiz ==

Did any of yall join Vico for Drag Your King this Saturday? I wasn't able to make it but looking forward to the video once it's available! You may already know this-- but Vico has been doing A LOT of voice work lately. They've narrated Metal From Heaven (August Clarke) which you can check out here! They are also the narrator for The Stars Too Fondly!

Are you in LA on October 25th? Hit up the LA Femme Int'l Film Festival where you can see Vico's film Lesbophilia! Get tickets here!

Source: Vico's Instagram Stories

== Kristian Nairn ==

Kristian was digging through some old stuff and found these awesome Wonder Woman Bracelets <3

Source: Kristian's Instagram

Reminder UK Crew! Kristian and Nathan will be at MCM Comic Con in London Oct 25 - 27!

Source: Nathan's Instagram

== Boris McGiver ==

Another trailer for Father Bonnet's new show Teacup! Warning-- it's creepy AND bloody! Just in time for Halloween!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Scott Speedman ✰FANSITE (@sscottyfan)

Source: Boris McGiver's Instagram

== Tiny Boats Raffle ==

Okay so I'm MANY days late on this one-- the Tiny Boats Charity Raffle is up! They've announced all their charities! Wanna learn more on how you can win one of Auntie's tiny boats? Visit their Linktr.ee! Or @ofmd-buys-boats on tumblr! It's super cool that all the charities were chosen by the cast! Here's the Entry Form: TinyCrewBigRaffle Entry Form and Entry Guide!

Source: TinyCrewBigRaffle

== Articles ==

== Fan Spotlight ==

= A Muse of Fyre =

Back again with a new muppet is @amuseoffyre! I can't tell you how damn impressive this Ned Low is! He's practically sinister!

Source: amuseoffyre's Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies. It's been a long beginning of the week for me.. as you can see I'm several days late again.

I just wanted to send a quick reminder that I badly needed this week.. and that is that we are not defined by our low points.

Sometimes things are not gonna go our way, no matter how much we plan, or try to make them do it, and sometimes we just gotta let the tide take us in a direction until it calms the hell down. When it finally does, you're gonna still be the same kind, and wonderful person you've always been-- maybe with some new outlooks or experiences, or even some new lessons learned. We're never the same person we were the day before, but we can still hold onto the things that make us us. Your kindness, your love, your laughter, and your tears... and so much more. Hard times don't define us lovelies, we define us. I hope this week goes in an upward direction for you, and the tides calm down a bit. Please know, even when I'm not around I'm always thinking of you. Take care <3

Source: The Latest Kate's Tumblr

[moonstruckme]

IN a week - what I’ve never seen in a Steve 80’s pop star AU!!! his hair? joes actual voice? THE FACE? He’s always giving pop star to me

Yessss thanks sm for requesting honey!

join the party

popstar!Steve x fem!reader ♡ 705 words

“Oh wow.” You swipe a magazine from the rack by the checkout. “The sexual exploits of heartthrob Steve Harringon? Inside source tells all?” You raise an eyebrow at your boyfriend. “Stevie, is there anything you’d like to tell me? Has Robin sold you out?” 

“She would,” Steve allows, not even looking at the magazine as he sets your groceries on the conveyor belt. Nancy has told him a million times to not risk being out in public like this, but he says he misses the mundanity of it. I just want to go to the mall and shit like that with my girlfriend, that shouldn’t be a big ask. So they’d compromised; Steve sacrifices the volume of his hair every time he goes out by squishing it under a baseball cap, and Nancy gets the peace of mind knowing that there’s no chance of her most big-time client being recognized while his hair (practically trademarked, at this point) is covered. “But she has even more fun with feeding them ridiculous stories. She says my real life is too boring.” He wraps his arm around you, drawing you away from the magazine rack. “Monogamy, you know?”

“Such a drag,” you agree, gratified when he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Wanna see what she told them?”

Steve makes a noncommittal humming sound, but he leans over to watch as you leaf through to find his page. “Ooh, this is a good picture of you, babe.” Steve winks at you from the page, skin glossy and laminate. “Okay, so you slept with every single girl at Hawkins High while you were there, you…apparently had a very passionate fling with an heiress on vacation in Bora Bora, and you were found in a closet, completely naked with two girls at a party…in uptown?” You gawp at him, feigning betrayal. “Stevie, was that the party last week? When did you slip away?”

He jostles you by the shoulder. “Shut up.” 

“You’re so sweet to me. Hey, look—” you pick up another magazine, reading off the cover, “The seven-step regiment Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington doesn’t want you to know.” 

“You’re joking.” He scrambles to see over your shoulder, and you laugh, showing it to him.

“I am,” you confess, and Steve actually sighs in relief. “It says five steps.” 

“Suckers,” he scoffs. “Don’t fuck with me like that, babe, that’s my income you’re joking about.” 

You laugh again, reaching up to take his hand where it’s slung over your shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short,” you say, intertwining your fingers. “It’s only like, ninety percent of your income. You’ve got some talent.” 

Steve looks at you, eyebrows rising nearly to the brim of his hat. “Oh yeah? Changing our tune from the car this morning, are we?”

You scoff, but he only wrestles you closer, pulling you tight against his side. “I didn’t say you were a bad singer, I said you couldn’t hit the same notes as Madonna.” 

“But I did,” he says smugly, taking out his wallet as you approach the checkout. 

“Well, you tried.” 

Steve hums disappointedly. “M’gonna have to rethink all these free, private concerts if my audience doesn’t appreciate them,” he says. 

You smother a laugh, pressing a hand to your chest in a show of dismay. “What? No, please, Mr. Harrington, you can’t do that. I’m your biggest fan!”

“Harrington?” The cashier, a man not much older than you or Steve, looks up from the groceries. “Like, Steve Harrington?”

Steve tenses, and you feel instantly guilty for your dramatics. “Yup,” you say quickly. “I’m a big fan of his.” 

The man nods. “Me too. Heard he’s back in town for a bit.” 

“You don’t say.” 

“Yeah, but I mean, we probably won’t be seeing him around much,” he says matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders. Steve looks down as subtly as he can, hiding his face under the brim of his cap. “When you get that famous, you can’t just be going out in public like the rest of us. Poor dude would probably get mobbed.” 

“Probably,” you agree, smiling as you squeeze Steve’s hand in your grip. He sneaks his other hand to your waist where the cashier can’t see, pinching scoldingly at your side. “Wouldn’t want that.”

[planefood]

Hey I made a new guy a couple days ago, I was saving him for something and hadn't posted him but I don't really have much time for anything like that rn so here he is! His name is Icarus (a name he chose himself) and hes a side/short story character in my main robot story

Many years ago he fell into a deep depression and found himself getting slight motivation everyday to keep going by the rising of the sun and its rays coming through the cracks in his curtains almost everyday. It eventually motivated him enough to get out of his depression enough to live, somewhat functionally in society again at the cost of him falling helplessly in love with the Sun itself to the point of extreme obsession. His life literally revolved around the Sun at that point forward, his happiness depending on the number of hours the Sun was out at a time (he would count) and his walls spread with pictures of the Sun he'd rip out of books and magazines. Ironically these pictures would end up sun-bleached by the amount of time he had his windows and curtains open to see the sun as much as he could.

But nothing else could make him happy, other people to him were a waste of time and he only ever spoke to them if he needed to. He knew he'd never meet anyone with the wisdom and beauty of something like the Sun so he never bothered. He only ever ate food to not be hungry than getting any enjoyment from the taste of it. But despite all this obsession he never viewed himself as the Suns lover or that the Sun was in a relationship with him, because he viewed himself as just another human that the sun had lived through countless generations of. He doesn't view himself as any better than other person or worthy of the Suns full love and attention in particular.

He dreams and fantasies about things most people would find disturbing. He wishes he could take a rocket up to the Sun and be charred by its hot embrace. He envies the generations that live far into the future when the Sun will engulf the earth. He dreams of some solar flare coming down and scorching the earth with him on it somehow.

In his mind his only path to true happiness is dying while finally being intimately connected to the Sun somehow, in the mean time he just does whatever he can to get as close to the Sun as possible.

[arliedraws]

Okay, I’m feeling the pull of James Potter and Slytherin!Sirius Black again. Verrryyyy short drabble below. It’s just sexual tension.

—

a good little errand boy

James was twenty-six when he became an Auror. He avoided it for years, ignoring the whisper in the back of his head that the only way he would put Sirius Black in Azkaban was to put the chains on Black himself.

He denied it. He promised himself that he could be satisfied hiding with Lily and Harry until Harry turned eleven, but the damned stories in The Daily Prophet and magazine covers that lauded the most eligible bachelor in the country persisted in mocking him until he finally gave up and told Lily he was getting a job.

By that time, Lily was already working from home as a freelance enchanter, fixing and strengthening charms on magical objects for a repair shop in Diagon Alley. She told him with a cheeky grin to get his lazy bum out of the house.

It took several brutal years of training to become an Auror, and he quickly understood why so few people were admitted to the program. But James was clever and his experience with the Order of the Phoenix propelled him to success; he was satisfied that each agonizing trial and stage of his education brought him closer to bringing Sirius Black to justice. The obsession drove him to wake up early and study before Lily stirred; it compelled him to stay late in Frank Longbottom’s cubicle, rifling through old files and cases, memorizing the history of the department until he knew better than anyone how dark wizards came to power. He traced Black’s long history from his great grandparents to his involvement with two Ministers for Magic and a little-known scandal with a witch from The Daily Prophet who claimed Black tried to pay her off when she dug too deep into his business. She eventually retracted her accusation and left her career as a journalist and refused to talk to James about it when he found her.

Before he was an apprentice, he thought he would have to hunt for Sirius Black once he became a fully qualified Auror. He imagined chasing him through seedy clubs or breaking into old country houses, but it became very clear that Black would eventually come to him.

Black was a frequent visitor to the Ministry. He slithered into the offices of department heads, spilling Galleons from his palms into the hands of tired bureaucrats who simply wished for the whole war to end so they could go back to delegating instead of handling one disaster after another. Black eased their troubles. He was so generous and helpful with his robust understanding of wizarding politics and clever insight.

James recalled seeing Black in action for the first time when he stumbled upon a very pleased Sirius Black shaking Wilmot Blevins’ hand the day after Blevins was made head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Black had turned to James, his smile broadening with delight.

“James Potter,” said Black. There was a feral look to him that made James too furious to consider its implications.

“What are you doing here?” James demanded, looking between Black and Blevins.

“Mr. Black is very kindly congratulating me on my new position,” said Blevins. His long, face appeared dizzy with admiration and he was perspiring slightly beneath his shining fringe of blond hair. “I was telling Mr. Black that I look forward to working with our most prominent families to ensure I serve our community to the best of my ability. Input from exceptional wizards like Mr. Black keeps our fine institution functioning.”

“It was a well-deserved promotion,” added Black. “Don’t you think, Potter? Mr. Blevins has proven to be an incredibly valuable and cooperative component of this governing body. Wouldn’t you agree?”

James wanted the pale, colorless eyes to turn elsewhere but they were observing him with keen interest.

“Yes. Congratulations, Mr. Blevins,” said James, gritting his teeth. Of course, he did not think so at all. Blevins was a half-blood who desperately pretended his mother’s pure blood made up for his father’s muggle heritage. No doubt Black was falsely promising a place for the greedy Blevins among the notable families.

At this, Black smiled again, but somehow, his teeth appeared sharper and whiter.

“Was there something you needed, Potter?” said Black.

“A signature,” said James, locking eyes with Blevins. “It’s about—well, Auror Moody should have sent a request this morning about the matter. I’ve come to confirm your approval.”

Blevins looked uncomfortable as Black’s expression slipped into something neutral.

“Er—well, I’m afraid, Potter, I won’t be signing that just yet.’

“Oh,” said James. “Er—why not? I mean—er—is there a reason? I apologize, sir, I mean, what should I tell Auror Moody? He was expecting this to be signed—”

“Tell him I have not had adequate time to investigate whether or not an entire Knight Bus is necessary for this sort of thing,” said Blevins. His eyes shifted from Black back to James. Assured by a flickered look from Black, he straightened and looked down his nose at James. “Assure Auror Moody I am taking the matter very seriously. The trouble is, as much as I would like to help, I’m afraid my hands are tied. I will do my best, but I can’t make any promises.”

James heard the dismissal in his voice. “Thank you, Mr. Blevins. I’ll let him know.”

He left, avoiding the smirk on Black’s aristocratic face, hoping the humiliation wasn’t evident on his own. He left quickly, hearing Blevins apologize to Black for the interruption. Had he heard the clink of gold exchanged? Maybe he’d imagined it: Black wasn’t that brazen.

Moody would be livid—he’d warned everyone that Blevins was trouble, but James insisted he could get Blevins to approve their request, and now he was returning to his department with his tail between his legs. It was Black’s fault.

He waited for the lift, breathing deeply. Lily told him to count to ten whenever he had a run-in with Sirius Black. Now that they were no longer in school and James was an Auror, the consequence of James attacking Black would not be detention and points from Gryffindor. It would be foolish to blow all that he had done to become an Auror.

“What a good little errand boy. So polite and obedient.”

James went rigid.

“Three years of training, a year of apprenticeship, months of excruciating exams…” said Black. “All that so you can obey the petty commands of an old codger who should have died twenty years ago. I’d be disappointed if I were you.”

James gripped the unsigned, rolled-up parchment as Black made a pitying sound beside him. Don’t look—don’t dignify that with a response. Just do your duty. Ignore him, Potter.

Black sighed. “I suppose you must regret rejecting all of those recruiters for Quidditch teams while we were at school, don’t you? Imagine—you nearly played for Puddlemere United. I don’t doubt you would have been made Captain, and I reckon you might’ve even played for England in the World Cup this summer. Personally, I find it rather disappointing that you didn’t. I would have liked to buy kit with your name on it.”

“What were you doing in Blevins’ office?”

“Welcoming him to his new position.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t on your knees.”

To his surprise, Black laughed. “No need for that with Blevins. He was practically foaming at the mouth when I came in. I suppose we’re lucky you didn’t catch him on his knees.”

“Blevins would suck off anyone with pure blood.”

“Yeah, reckon he might.” Black bent forward, trying to catch James’s gaze. “He’s not propositioned you, has he, Potter?”

James nearly responded with a quip he knew would make Black laugh again, but he bit the inside of his cheek instead. It made him furious. Although they hadn’t spoken in years, there was an ease between them that was almost irresistible.

“Of course,” Black went on when James was silent, “I wouldn’t expect you to take him up on the offer. Ugly bloke, isn’t he? Bit of a downgrade from what you’ve already got at home.”

“What?” James snapped his gaze to him.

Black grinned. “Oh, I meant, I am sure you would much prefer to watch Evans and her pretty little mouth suck you off than Blevins’ ugly mug.”

The lift doors opened suddenly and Black slipped inside, disappearing amongst the throng of passengers.

It was full of people, so much so that James had to squeeze his arms to his sides to wedge himself between them. Like everyone in the lift, he turned and faced the doors, gripping the handle overhead as he quelled the waves of rage that were slamming down on him. Black loved to taunt James about Lily—he’d always done that, long before Lily admitted she had feelings for James.

The lift took off, and James, distracted by his fury, lost his grip and stumbled backward. A strong pair of hands squeezed his hips, steadying him.

“Easy, Potter.”

The shock of Black’s hands on him, carefully keeping him from falling over, dispelled rationality. His mind scrambling, James lurched with the lift, still unable to find his footing; he felt Black curl fingers over his wrist to guide James’s hand back to grip the handle above him.

“Don’t touch me,” James hissed.

The damned lift jerked to a halt, and he staggered again into Black’s hard body. There was a low rumble of laughter in his ear as the doors opened, and people streamed in and out, all of them oblivious to the way his heart palpitated so loudly, the sound of it lost to the shuffle of feet and murmured greetings. He felt like a complete idiot. He was not some bumbling fool, but Black was directly behind him, breathing down his neck, the smell of tobacco leaves and bergamot suffocating and intoxicating all at once, and when the lift doors closed and more people pressed inside, James was shoved firmly against Black.

Heat pooled in his face as he stared at the back of a witch’s coarse, silvery head, pretending he did not notice or care that he could feel Black’s body flush with his. Around them, memos fluttered aloft, and people gazed dully at the lift doors, waiting for their turn to get out. Everything was so ordinary. This was simply another day at work. James pretended to feel the same even though Black’s heart was thudding against his spine.

It felt like provocation even though Black said nothing at all. Hatred and excitement were welling inside of James as he felt Black’s chest expand and release. Something about the soft, warm breath skimming the damp sweat above his collar made James tighten his fingers on the handle overhead. The body behind him was a comforting threat. It electrified him.

When at last the doors opened to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, James wriggled out between people, eager to leave the stifling lift behind. As he cleared the throng of people, he chanced a surreptitious glance at Black.

Black slid his gaze to him from beneath eyelids that seemed a heavy burden to raise as if looking upon James was an arduous chore. His clear, pale eyes swept over him with disinterest. Then the lift doors closed, and James hurried to find Moody and tell him the bad news, desperately trying to forget the brush of Black’s breath against his neck.

[leiascully]

X-Files OctoberFicFest Day 17: Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man

TW: canon-typical gun violence

“Hey, Mulder, check this out.” Langly pushed a magazine into Mulder’s hands. “Roman à Clef has reached a new low.”

“Just when you thought it was safe to do some light reading,” Mulder said, flipping through the pages. “A Jack Colquitt adventure, huh?”

“They could hand it out at poison control as an emetic,” Frohike grumbled.

“Emetics are rarely recommended these days,” Scully said absently. She was reading a different magazine, some article Byers had found for her on cryptopathology that cited one of her own articles. “Poison control is more likely to suggest activated charcoal.”

“It’s like food poisoning on the page,” Frohike said, and pretended to gag.

Langly snorted. “I’m pretty sure Raul Bloodworth is a war criminal.”

“Based on the content of the story?” Mulder asked.

“Based on the quality of the writing,” Langly said. “I mean the story itself is a crime. The worst kind of cliché.”

“I’m sure the author was proud of his accomplishment,” Byers said.

“You don’t think a woman wrote this?” Mulder asked.

Byers looked ill at ease. “It seems very focused on presenting a specific view of masculinity that I don’t think most women embrace.”

“Listen,” Frohike said, “if a woman doesn’t have better things to do with her time than write that, she’s probably dating Langly.”

“Har har,” Langly said sarcastically. “Eat my shorts.”

“Real sophisticated, boys,” Mulder said. He tried to read a few paragraphs, winced, and put down the magazine.

Across the room, a window shattered. Everybody ducked. Mulder found he’d flinched toward Scully, covering her with the wide skirt of his coat as they sheltered under the high table. For a few minutes, nobody said anything. But there was no second shot. Maybe it had just been a rock or some other accidental projectile. Unlikely, but not outside of the realm of possibility.

“Someone must have taken issue with your latest periodical,” Scully said, and Mulder couldn’t help grinning as he helped her up. He cherished the moments she made jokes; they seemed to be fewer and farther between these days.

“The price we pay for being truth tellers,” Langly said, pushing his glasses up.

“Cardboard and duct tape,” Frohike said. “Ten bucks at the hardware store will fix us right up.”

“Maybe we should install some mesh behind the glass,” Byers suggested. “Something to reinforce it.”

“Nah,” Langly said. “Cuts into the paper budget.”

“I think we’ll be on our way,” Mulder said, putting his hand on Scully’s back.

“Byers, do you mind if I borrow this?” Scully asked. She brandished the journal she’d been reading, her finger still wedged between the pages.

“By all means,” Byers said.

“Maybe go out the back door,” Frohike said. “Just in case.”

“Three wise men,” Mulder joked.

They exited the building and made their way to Mulder’s car. Though the hair stood up on the back of his neck, nothing happened. There wasn’t so much as a flicker of a sniper’s laser sight. He drove home, Scully absorbed in her article. They’d order Chinese food and talk about cases. Maybe she’d make another joke.

He hoped the Gunmen tossed that issue of Roman à Clef into the furnace.

[sunniedesi]

Searching for a Future Diary Crossover

Calling out to the Future Diary community 🗣🗣I’m asking for help once again.

In today’s installment of things that keep me up at night, we have yet another piece of Future Diary media that has yet to be translated. For context, the author of Future Diary, Sakae Esuno, has written four original mangas in the following order: Hanako and the Terror of Allegory, Future Diary, Big Order and Detective Akechi is Berserk. The latter of these is the only one that hasn’t had an official English translation, and the only fan translations available are for chapter 1 alone. With that out of the way, let's get into the subject of this post.

The Future Diary x Detective Akechi crossover is a side story that was written after the release of volume 1 and 2 of Detective Akechi. It features the main characters of not just the two aforementioned stories, but all of the four mangas created by Sakae Esuno, making this his second and biggest crossover work. I found out about it through this post a couple of years ago and kept it on the backburner, until I decided to add it to the list of future translations I wanted to tackle. I thought it wouldn’t be too big of an issue since it seems like a short story that will be easy to find… oh my naivety.

According to the post above, the story seems to be situated in chapter 10 of Detective Akechi is Berserk. However, when I go into that chapter of the manga… it is nowhere to be found. In fact, it is nowhere in the manga. So, we have two options here: either the story is in an updated version of the manga (one different from mine), or it was published somewhere else. The first crossover Sakae Esuno wrote, which involved Future Diary and his first manga (Hanako and the Terror of Allegory), was originally released as a standalone piece, so maybe that’s the case for this story as well. That theory seems to be backed up by this tweet I found from Shonen Ace’s account.

The photo in the post is the first page of the crossover, and the bubble on the top-left corner claims that this is a special project to celebrate the release of volumes 1 and 2. If we take a look at the bottom-left corner, we see that this is page 103… of what? This is clearly a digital scan, so it’s not a regular Shonen Ace magazine issue (since those aren’t released digitally). It’s also important to note that in each volume of Detective Akechi, the page numbered 103 does not have this story, and in fact, that page is always situated in the middle of a chapter. This means that we’re dealing with a digital release that isn’t in the original manga.

Another confusing thing is that chapter 10 is the first chapter of volume 3, which would not coincide with it being on page 103. It would also be a discrepancy for the dates, since that tweet was from January 31st, 2018, and volume 3 was released in September 2018, meaning that the crossover was released before volume 3 itself.

More evidence for this would be the fact that I found a blog from someone who owns a physical release of this crossover, as seen in the following pictures.

The blog entry was from February 2018, so the crossover had to be released, both digitally and physically, before volume 3. Another thing to note is that, while the blog doesn’t contain much information, it does say at the end that they “unexpectedly came across the crossover while thumbing through the pages.” Pages of what exactly? We don’t know. What we do know from this is that the crossover was released between January and February 2018, before Detective Akechi finished publication, and it was probably featured in an unrelated issue of something (like a magazine) according to the blog entry.

So my question is then… where was this released? Shonen Ace? Another magazine? An updated version of the manga? I can’t seem to find the answer anywhere, as there’s practically no information about it online. And I’m still confused as to why the original poster mentioned chapter 10. I feel like I’m probably missing some information here, and that’s why I wanted to ask the community: does anyone know where this crossover was originally published?

PD: While the blog had plenty of images, it’s missing a few pages and the picture quality leaves a lot to be desired. So even with those images, I can’t create a proper TL. Anyway, I’ll keep this project on the backburner until I find more information about this. And also… I’m not planning to translate all of Detective Akechi, just the crossover because of Future Diary. I’ll be honest, Detective Akechi is by far my least favorite series of Esuno’s. It is practically an ecchi with the sheer amount of fan service that it has. And while normally this wouldn’t upset me… there’s a lot of scenes where the female characters are being straight up assaulted. It’s so heavy-handed at times that it really takes away from the story. I’m not a puritan by any means, after all, Future Diary has some questionable scenes too, but not to the point where it’s basically softcore porn. When it comes to my work (whether it be art or translation), I like keeping it SFW. So, even if it’s Esuno’s, it’s not something I’m inclined to work on.