#I would like to not live through unprecedented times for five minutes

[thepurplebones]

[joelalorian]

Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Summary: When Marcus Pike lost himself in work after that debacle with Theresa, he didn’t expect to take on a sizzling new case in the quirky town of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Nor did he expect to meet you, an up-and-coming agent also looking for a fresh start. An unprecedented heatwave, mind-boggling art thefts, ancient Aztec legends, this case had the works. How would he ever solve the case with the temperature rising between you both?

This fic is my contribution to @iamasaddie's Little Lady Kinky May writing challenge. Prompts were Marcus Pike and Temperature. This is my first time writing Marcus Pike and I hope I did him justice. I learned a few things about myself during this process, the most important being that I am incapable of writing porn without plot, or a romantic angle, apparently. This story turned out waaaaay different than intended because of that. I apologize now for the plot heaviness between sexy bits.

WC: 10.4k – I’m sorry, I have no idea where all these words came from

Warnings: Explicit 18+, too much plot, heat making people cray cray, sexy sweatiness, lots of cursing (I’m from New Jersey, I can’t help it), nonsensical crime stuff, a plot that came straight outta left field, protected and unprotected sex (p in v), pussy eating and cock sucking, inappropriate use of an ice cube and hot springs. No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname and boobs, otherwise, I tried to keep her a blank slate. Some terms of endearment. IDK, there’s probably more but I can’t think right now.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this utter ridiculousness. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Moodboard by me.

Masterlist

Still reeling from the aftermath of Theresa Lisbon choosing that pontificating windbag Patrick Jane over him nearly a year ago, Marcus Pike buried himself in work. The transition from Texas to DC and adapting to leading a whole new team took his mind of his misery. However, the lonely nights in his new home, the one purchased with hopes of building a life with Theresa in mind, were untenable and he took on more fieldwork than someone at the director level typically would. Hence why Marcus found himself driving through the desert to some quirky small town in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences.

What the fuck kind of name was that for a town, he wondered idly as his right hand pumped the rental car’s AC to full blast. Having already stripped off his suit jacket and tie, Marcus sweat clear through his lavender dress shirt within minutes. The heat was ungodly. Surely it couldn’t be normal. How could people live like that?

Eyes scanning the dashboard display of the mid-size SUV the agency rented for him, they nearly bugged out of his head at the temperature reading. Lit up in glaring red, the numbers 121��F taunted him as sweat dripped down his temples.

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

Marcus steered the vehicle toward his hotel, opting to change into something a little more suitable for the local climate before checking in with the agent representing the local field office. The FBI put him up in a supposedly nice hotel, though he didn’t have high expectations of what that meant in a town like this. As long as the AC worked, he’d survive.

Thirty minutes later, Marcus took his second shower of the day, this one much colder than the last, and jumped back into the SUV in an outfit more typical of a golf outing than an FBI investigation. It was the best he could do with what he packed. The local agent texted him the address of an art gallery, the first in a series of apparent crime scenes, and he plugged the address into the GPS.

Normally, you didn’t mind the heat, preferring that to cold winters, but this current heatwave was beyond ridiculous. You sweat just by simply existing. You never experienced anything like it in the five years you’d been stationed in Albuquerque, and you suddenly found yourself longing for the bone-deep cold of a northeastern winter as you waited for the DC agent to arrive.

The chilling sea breeze of a New Jersey winter sounded like heaven right now.

A sleek silver SUV pulled up next to your government-issued sedan and you watched with an assessing gaze from the driver’s seat as Director Marcus Pike exited the vehicle clad in khaki shorts and a turquoise polo, trendy aviator sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare of the desert sun. His dark brown hair was short and styled back off his forehead, and a neatly trimmed scruff lined his top lip and jaw.

You knew from a quick glance at his FBI profile that he was a decorated agent, but his government photo did not do him justice. The man was fucking gorgeous in person. Exiting your own vehicle before he caught you staring, you introduced yourself.

He flashed you a smile full of boyish charm when you gave him your name, causing your heart to thump double time. “You can just call me Jersey, everyone else does,” you finished, holding your hand out to shake his.

“Marcus Pike, Director of the Art Crimes Squad in DC,” he replied, his larger hand engulfing yours in a firm, yet not overbearing, shake. “Just call me Marcus.”

The two of you gazed at each other, the sun beating down on you both like laser beams. Holy fuck, Marcus was even hotter up close. Yeah, his FBI file photo did not do him any justice at all. Not wanting to make things uncomfortable by staring too long, you gestured toward the door to the gallery.

“Shall we?”

Marcus cleared his throat and nodded, following behind you as you strolled casually through the entrance. “Wanna give me a rundown of what we know so far?”

“Sure,” you replied. “We’ve had paintings stolen from several galleries in town. Despite its odd name and small-town status, Truth or Consequences has a rather robust art scene. Lots of expensive art showcased in these galleries.”

Marcus nodded as you gave him some background. He likely read most of this in the file on his flight out here, but you could appreciate the necessity of running over it again verbally. Repetition was the mother of… whatever the fuck that saying was. Your brain was already too fried from the heat.

“The thefts started almost a week ago, not too long after the start of the extreme heatwave this area is currently experiencing. There has been one painting taken every other day so far, always at the peak heat of the day when the townsfolk are too overheated and tired to pay much attention. No eyewitnesses and the thief artfully avoided any surveillance or security cameras so far.”

You watched Marcus jot down some notes, tapping the end of his pen against the small notepad as he reviewed the information.

“So, three paintings taken so far, and it’s still early in the day. I’m guessing we can expect another theft today?” You nodded and Marcus tapped the pen against his bottom lip this time, causing you to avert your gaze before he caught you ogling the plump flesh.

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Just in the types of paintings taken so far. They all depict scenes of cool, serene landscapes.”

Dark brown eyes held your gaze. “So, the exact opposite of the current weather situation.”

Again, you nodded. “That’s the only pattern so far. We haven’t been able to determine any order to the galleries hit and, unfortunately, this town doesn’t have the law enforcement manpower to guard all of the galleries and still attend to their normal duties. We do have unis posted at the galleries that haven’t been hit yet, just in case. That’s the best the townies could do though.”

Humming in thought, Marcus walked around the gallery, causing you to scramble to keep up. It was fascinating watching his mind work, his big, brown eyes taking in every minute detail around him. When he stopped in front of the empty spot marking the first stolen painting’s former home, you paused next to him, debating on sharing the only other piece of information you had so far.

“There’s, uh, something strange that may or may not be related to this case.” That got Marcus’ attention and his eyes shot to you once again, brow arched curiously.

“Do tell,” he replied with an encouraging smile. You blinked slowly, trying in vain to maintain your concentration in front of such a handsome man.

“I will on the way to the other galleries. Just… just promise to hold judgment until I finish telling you everything. It’s a little… unorthodox compared to what we’re used, I’d say.” You led the way back to your car, gesturing for Marcus to get in on the passenger side. It made more sense to ride together. Thankfully, you left it running while inside the gallery, making the interior still nice and cool.

Once seated, his head cocked to the side endearingly, the tilt of his lips bordering on an indulgent smile. “Ok, I promise.” The cadence and depth of his soft-spoken voice set you aflame and you had to practically shake yourself to not fall to your knees in praise of this man.

Jesus Christ, Jersey, have a modicum of professionalism and self-respect, will ya, your inner monologue chided. Your libido hyperfixated on the veritable stud before you whether you wanted it to or not. It’d been too long since your last tumble in the sheets, apparently. Recentering your focus, you pulled out onto the main road heading to the next crime scene.

“Good,” you croaked. Feeling the heat creep up your already overheated flesh, you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you can tell, the weather here is ungodly hot – hard to miss it. This is not entirely normal, from what I understand. It’s tempting to chalk it up to climate change, except for one strange thing. Drive twenty or thirty minutes outside of town and the temps are far lower, though still hot by some standards. The temps within the surrounding towns are in line with the more normal averages.”

Brows furrowed, Marcus’ dark eyes searched your face, clearly looking for more context clues. “The heat certainly seemed excessive on the ride over from the municipal airport. I had to stop at the hotel and change or I would have melted to the pavement in my suit.”

You chuckled. “I know the feeling. The average temperature here is supposed to be in the low 90s this time of year, not thirty degrees higher. And the usually cooler desert nights haven’t existed for the past couple of weeks. It’s very strange.”

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

Pulling to a stop in front of the next gallery, you nodded. “Strange, right?”

“Very,” Marcus replied, deep in thought as he followed you inside.

It carried on like that the rest of the afternoon until the heat became just too much after checking out the last crime scene. Like everyone else in town, you sought refuge in the coolest place you could find, which happened to be a hole-in-the-wall pub just off the main street.

Just when Marcus thought things couldn’t get weirder with this town, you led him into a dark and dingy little pub, settling right up to the aged bar. If you weren’t a certified agency employee, he would be terrified that you were luring him to his untimely death.

As it was, the scraggly old barkeep gave him the creeps when he shuffled over, eyeing the pair of you with the same attention he would three-headed aliens. “Coldest beer in town. Two pints?” The man’s voice as rough as he looked, he didn’t wait for an answer.

Marcus shot you a look, eyes wide and uncertain, but you merely shrugged in return. He didn’t normally drink on the job, but between the heat and the early start for traveling, Marcus decided his day was finished. He chugged at the frosty draft when the barkeep placed it in front of him. The old man was right, the pint glass was frozen and small chunks of ice floated in the foamy beer.

“Damn, that’s good,” he nearly moaned, feeling refreshed.

“I know, right?” you replied, nearly half done with your own pint. “I don’t normally like beer, but I could drink it all day long when it’s ice cold like this. Especially in this heat, you know?”

The first round went down easily, and quickly, and the old barkeep, whose name turned out to be Harry, placed another round down before Marcus even thought to ask. The pair of you settled into easy conversation, getting to know each other outside of the job. The more you drank, the more your Jersey accent started to peak through. He found it cute and kept asking you questions just to keep hearing you talk.

Soon enough, any thought left in his mind about Theresa evaporated. How could he still think about his ex-fiancé when a hot, smart, sweet little thing like you sat before him, chatting, and flirting away the evening. Theresa had nothing on you.

It took exactly a fraction of a second to be struck by your beauty that morning. Confident and intelligent, not mention damn good at your job, he quickly realized your natural beauty served as icing on the cake. You were the entire package, and he was trying his damnedest to not charge ahead trying to get you into bed.

Turned out you both had similar relationship history, married too young and divorced, no kids, longed for a dog if only your job didn’t call you away so often. You were practically the female version of him, Marcus thought. It made him all the more curious about you.

Before long, you both ordered some bar grub and went back to talking about the case. Neither of you could make sense of what you had so far. There were vital pieces of the puzzle missing, that much was apparent.

Harry unceremoniously dropped plates full of burgers and fries in front of you, not even trying to hide the fact that he eavesdropped on your conversation.

“You think your case has something to do with the heat?” the old man questioned, leaning heavily on the bar top.

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

“There’s some local lore you might find interesting, then,” Harry said, pausing for dramatic effect and you gestured for him to continue. “Well, as the legends go, the Flame of Quetzalcoatl was hidden somewhere in town centuries ago. They say it was a gem gifted by the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl himself, but who the recipient was no one knows. The gem is said to hold the power of the sun and the wielder of it has the ability to control heat.”

You and Marcus sat there in silence, absorbing the tale Harry just shared. After a few minutes, Marcus glanced at you, doubt clear in his expression.

“This town just gets fuckin’ weirder by the minute, I swear,” he said, sipping at his pint once again. “I might actually believe that little story if I was a few more beers in.”

You laughed, but your face didn’t hold the same doubt as his. “I don’t know, Marcus. If living out here for the past few years has taught me anything, it’s that these Aztec legends are often too close to the truth to blow off.”

Harry harrumphed. “I’d say so, little lady.”

“Besides, it’s the best we’ve got right now,” you said, nudging Marcus’ shoulder with yours. “Couldn’t hurt to play that angle until a better lead pops up.”

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

Over the next few days, you and Marcus researched as much as possible about local lore related to Aztecs, searching for any hint of what Harry told you. In that time, three more paintings were stolen. The thief started leaving little clues as if to goad law enforcement.

The first cryptic clue further convinced you of the potential voracity of the Aztec legend. Written in drip red paint in the spot where the fourth painting had been located, Marcus suspected the thief meant it to look like blood.

When the feathered serpent sheds its skin, the heat will rise.

“Holy shit,” you gasped when you first read it. Turning to Marcus, you declared, “Quetzalcoatl was known as the Feathered Serpent.”

His dark brown eyes widened, meeting yours in shock. “No way.”

You nodded, flipping through your notepad to find your most recent notes on the case. “Yes way. That book we borrowed from the Historical Society talked about it. Remember?”

Marcus nodded slowly as the information came back to him, his eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of this completely bizarre case. “Didn’t the book say something about Quetzalcoatl being a signal of transformation? Think the clue has something to do with that?”

“Yeah, could be.”

The pattern continued the next day with another clue left behind.

Where the earth boils and the water steams, the gem of the sun awaits.

The pair of you debated the meaning of the second clue over cold beer at Harry’s pub. As the case evolved, so did the connection between you and Marcus. You both flirted unashamedly when you weren’t talking about the case. It turned out the agency put you both up at the same hotel – your rooms on the same floor even. You were beginning to hope that he would make a move, yet completely terrified of that happening at the same time.

Despite your best efforts, the thief remained one step ahead of law enforcement, somehow managing to steal from galleries you had actively guarded. How in the world was this guy doing it?

Things were slowly coming together once a third clue was discovered.

Seek the place where fire and water dance, and there you will find the sun’s heart.

Without a local FBI office to work out of – the Albuquerque one you worked out of was over two hours away – you’d decided to setup camp in a quiet booth at Harry’s. He kept you full on pub grub and refreshments – soda and water during work hours, of course – and chipped in with his local knowledge whenever he thought it needed.

In fact, it was Harry who guided you toward understanding the latest clues.

“Have you two heard about the hot springs? This town is famous for them.” The old man dropped the nugget of knowledge along with a plate of fries and shuffled away, leaving the two of you to stare after him.

Marcus turned to you; his lips pursed in thought. You ached to nibble on the plump flesh of his bottom lip, to feel the gentle scratch of his facial hair against your soft skin as you did so.

“Where the earth boils and the water streams,” Marcus recalled the second clue in that delicious, soft-spoken voice of his, sending a wave of gooseflesh over your skin. “Seek the place where fire and water dance.”

Shaking your head free of naughty thoughts, you focused on the clues and the knowledge bomb Harry dropped, picking right up on Marcus’ thought process. “Fire, heat, and water... The hot springs!”

Marcus beamed at you; eyes sparkling as he came to the same realization. “It has to be. Makes sense, right?”

“Sure does,” you agreed, grinning back at him. “But there must be a ton of them. How would we ever find the right one?”

Sitting back in his seat, Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to keep digging. Do you still have that book from the Historical Society? Maybe there’s something else in there to help us.”

“It’s back in my room,” you reply. “Fancy ordering room service at the hotel while we go over the clues again?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was he thinking, agreeing to go back to your room to continue working on the case.

An unwitting temptress already, how was he supposed to control himself when you invited him into your room for dinner, drinks, and after-hours casework?

In the already excessive desert heat, Marcus was sweating bullets as he followed you into your room, conveniently located only a few doors down from his own.

“I have a bottle of cab, is that good?” you questioned, kicking off your shoes with a sigh before reaching for the screw cap bottle.

Audibly gulping, Marcus squeaked out an assent and wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. He glanced around the room to distract himself, noting happily that you were a tidy traveler, much like himself.

“I have bottled water as well. Would you like one?” Marcus nodded. With an indulgent smile, you held out the small ice bucket. “I like mine over ice. Would you mind?”

Eager for a moment to clear his head, Marcus grabbed the bucket. “No problem.” The echo of your chuckle followed him as he rushed out the door.

“What is wrong with you, dude?” he whispered to himself as he strolled down the hall to the ice machine. “You don’t even know if this woman wants anything more than just reviewing the case. Calm the fuck down.”

Feeling a little calmer and more under control after his private pep talk, Marcus knocked on your door with the full ice bucket in hand. You let him in with a broad smile that nearly made his heart stop.

“Perfect.” Plucking the bucket from his hands, you returned to the makeshift kitchenette area to fill two cups with ice and water. Two glasses of cabernet were already sitting on the tiny table in the small designated sitting area of the hotel room.

Marcus joined you on the couch, case file in hand, seated close due to the limited space. You dove right in to discussing the case, easing his nerves. The pair of you compared the facts of the case, debating theories and potential connections. Without any physical evidence, you still didn’t have any viable suspects, which was incredibly frustrating for both of you.

“I’ve never had a case like this,” Marcus said. “It’s hard to believe that this could all relate to a myth about an ancient god. It feels weird even saying that aloud.”

“I know. It’s giving me Twilight Zone vibes.”

With the lack of viable suspects serving as a brick wall in furthering the investigation, conversation switched to other topics.

“You’re from New Jersey?” Marcus asked. “What brought you out here?”

“Yep, born and raised at the Jersey Shore,” you replied, that northeastern accent peeking through as you drank more wine. “Classic reason for relocating – I followed a guy, the one I told you a little about. We got married young and one day he woke up and decided he wanted a change of scenery. I followed along without argument, and we wound up out here. Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Ahh,” he said with a nod. “That asshole.”

“Yeah, that asshole.”

From what you told Marcus about your ex-husband, he knew the guy was a real piece of work. Classic narcissist who beat you down emotionally the entire time you were together. Marcus was happy that you kicked the guy to the curb two years ago and the divorce finalized last year. No one deserved to be treated like that, especially you.

“Are you going to stick around here now that’s all over with?” He found himself curious about your future plans.

Shaking your head, you laughed. “Hell no. I put in for a transfer already, for anywhere on the east coast closer to home. I’m no picky.”

Marcus perked up at that. The DC headquarters always had openings. He’d get to see you again if you were transferred there. “I could put in a good word for you, if you’d like. You’re a great agent from what I’ve seen so far.”

Ducking your head bashfully, you peeked at him through your lashes. “That’s pretty high praise coming from a director,” you deflected.

“I mean it, Jersey.” He kept his voice low, using your nickname for the first time, and watched in delight as you shuddered.

The air in the room shifted, sexual tension thick and nearly overpowering. Marcus watched as your pupils dilated, lust overtaking the previous sparkle. He gulped when your tongue darted out to lick your lips tantalizingly.

Shifting ever so closer, your scent washed over him. You smelled fucking delicious, hints of cocoa butter and salty sweat, reminding him of the beach. His shorts suddenly became tighter, his cock twitching to life. He wanted to devour you.

The next thing Marcus knew, your lips were pressed to his as you basically ripped the clothes from each other’s bodies, the now empty bottle of wine knocked from the table to the carpeted floor in the process. Despite the cool air pumping from the air conditioning, your skin felt hot to his touch.

Licking into your mouth, savoring the taste of you mixed with the bite of wine on your tongue, Marcus steered you backwards until your hamstrings bumped against the mattress. He eased you down onto the bed, detaching his lips from yours to take in the electrifying sight of your naked body splayed before him.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his fingertips tracing down your smooth skin slowly, teasingly from your neck to your toes.

Your eyes, blown wide with need, burned into his before dipping down to take in his naked body with a gasp. His cock bobbed eagerly as you stared.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Marcus said, his soft voice filled with awe, matching the wonder in his eyes.

“Me either,” you replied, “but I’m happy it is. You are so fucking gorgeous, Marcus.”

Marcus couldn’t help the blush that pinkened his cheeks. Reaching behind him to the bucket, he plucked a large ice cube from the slowly melting pile. His eyes remained locked on yours as he popped the frozen cube into his mouth, sucking lightly before his tongue pushed forward and his lips puckered as a portion of the ice cube stuck out.

The breath left you when he dipped his head down to run the cube along your clavicle and down across your breasts. Your nipples pebbled beneath the chilly wetness as Marcus directed the ice cube back and forth a few times. He watched delightedly as goosebumps peppered your skin when he moved the cube down your belly in a zigzag pattern.

“Oh, fuck.” Your chest heaved and fingers tightened their grip on the bedsheets when Marcus dipped further down, running the quickly melting cube over your mound and through your slit. The cold nearly shocking to the overwhelming heat of your labia.

Using his tongue to increase the pressure, Marcus circled the ice cube over your clit until you cried out, one hand loosening its grip on the sheets to tangle your fingers in his thick hair. He shifted, plunging the cube into your entrance, pushing as far as his tongue would extend, then leant back to watch your pussy suck the cube further until in melted into mere dribbles of water.

You laid there panting, eyes hooded and wanting, as Marcus dove back in, using his tongue to continue the work he started with the ice cube. He lapped and sucked at your clit, two thick fingers slipping inside you, until you became a blubbering mess, blurting out unintelligible words and moans, finally falling apart beneath his ministrations.

Marcus slurped at the evidence of your long overdue release, savoring the sweet, tangy taste of you. His hips thrust against the mattress of their own accord, his body seeking any sort of friction against his aching cock it could find.

“Your mouth is a lethal weapon, Marcus,” you said breathlessly, hands reaching under his shoulders to drag him up your body. “Now let’s see what you can do with your cock.”

His hair flopped forward over his forehead from your fingers tangling in it and he grinned in satisfaction at your comment. His boyish charm proved too much to handle, and you yanked his face down to yours, tongues tangling in a scorching kiss. You nibbled on his plump bottom lip between fervent kisses, savoring the plushness between your teeth.

Whining when he pulled away suddenly, your fingers grasping for purchase to pull him back, Marcus winked at you when he slid off the bed. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m coming right back.”

Digging in his shorts to find his wallet, Marcus pulled out a long-forgotten condom from the tri-fold leather and checked the date on the foil packaging to make sure it hadn’t expired. Content with the remaining half-life, he ripped the package open with his teeth and slid the latex material over his cock.

You beamed at him when he climbed back onto the bed. “I knew you were a smart man.”

Marcus slid up beside your body, turning you so your back pressed snug against his chest. “Safety first, baby. Wrap it before you tap it, right?”

Your laughter became strangled when he slid inside you, splitting you open on his cock. “Oh my god. You feel so good!” you cried when he began to move inside you after a long pause to let you adjust to the sheer size of him.

Marcus started at a slow pace, getting a feel for the way your walls tightened around him. Gripping the bed covers with your right hand, you reached your left hand up and around to tangle in his hair behind you. He picked up the pace as you tugged gently on his locks, his lips peppering your neck with soft, wet kisses.

When, at last, Marcus began pounding into you, you reached between your legs with your right hand to rub your clit. Despite the cool air blowing over your bodies, the heat between you had your skin glistening with sweat. You cried as Marcus hit a particularly pleasurable spot deep within you, his own moans morphing into grunts as you clamped down on him.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight around me. I can feel you clench every time I hit this spot.” His words were murmured into your ear, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin. Marcus plunged forward to hit your g-spot, proving his point when you clenched tightly around him once again. “Yeah, just like that.”

You plunged clear over the precipice then, crying out his name and any number of praises as an orgasm overtook you. Marcus talked you through it, his voice like sugary syrup, while he never once let up on his thrusts. Minutes, hours later, he followed you into the overwhelming bliss with a shout of your name followed by a string of curses.

“That was amazing.” Marcus nuzzled your neck as his hips slowed, the last shots of his cum dribbling into the condom. “You are amazing.”

Lost for words, you just hummed in agreement. Knackered from the excessive heat, long day of investigative work, the alcohol, and the mind-blowing sex, you hovered on the edge of sleep while Marcus got up to dispose of the condom. He returned with a wet cloth and cleaned you up with tender dedication. Tossing the cloth aside, he paused, standing naked and uncertain next to the bed.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” you replied sleepily, tossing the covers down so you could both slide under them. “I hope you like to cuddle, Mister.”

Grinning at you, Marcus wrapped his arm around you, curving his body around yours. “You bet your ass I do.”

You both fell into an exhausted sleep feeling hopeful and satiated for the first time in a long time.

Waking up in Director Pike’s arms was not something you expected would happen on this case. You fantasized. You hoped. Sure, all of that. But you never, ever expected it would actually happen. But it did and it felt fucking incredible.

You already knew he was damn good at his job. It was impressive to see that his single-minded focus and massive talent carried over to his skills in the bedroom as well. You replayed the night before in your head as you showered, remembering with fondness all the ways Marcus surprised you, how cherished he made you feel, the sheer pleasure he brought you.

How were you supposed to focus on the case now when your mind was completely overcome with thoughts of Marcus. You were almost relieved when he slipped out of the room after sharing a cup of hotel room coffee with you. You weren’t sure you could keep your hands to yourself if he stayed much longer, the rumbled, sleepy look proving almost too adorable to resist.

Marcus met you in the hotel lobby, two large cups of iced coffee and a brown paper bag clutched in his hands an hour after waking up together. “Good morning, Jersey girl,” he greeted you with a wink, dark brown eyes sparkling in the soft morning light filtering through the windows.

You chuckled at the variation of your nickname, already knowing that would become his signature endearment for you. “Good morning, handsome. Long time, no see.”

His grin grew wider. “Come on. Let’s ride together. No sense in taking two cars anymore.” He handed you one of the iced coffees and the paper bag, pulling the keys to his SUV out of his pocket.

Clad in gray cargo shorts, blush polo shirt, and a pair of boat shoes, Marcus looked ready for a day spent on the water rather than investigating art theft. The sight made your mouth water and you gulped at the iced coffee. As he drove, you both munched on the bagels he picked up along with the coffees while waiting for you.

“I figured we’d start taking a look at some of these hot springs to get a feel for them and see if anything else in the clues pops out at us,” Marcus explained between bites. He always chewed with his mouth closed and waited until after he swallowed to speak. You loved a man with impeccably manners.

“Great idea. I put a list of them in the file.”

“I know,” he beamed at you. “I saw it last night, before… It’s what gave me the idea. Thought we’d start with La Paloma and work our way down the list. What do you think?”

You nodded, sitting back in the passenger seat contentedly. Much to your surprise, there wasn’t an ounce of awkwardness between you two after last night’s surprising turn of events. Everything felt natural, like it was meant to turn out this way and you basked in the effortless interactions between you and Marcus.

Marcus spoke to the manager upon your arrival at La Paloma Hot Springs & Spa and the gentleman gave you a quick tour of the facility before allowing the two of you to investigate on your own. You split up to cover more ground, the scent of mineral-rich water tickling your nose as you worked your way through the facility.

Searching the private soaking tubs, you ran your hands along the edges looking for evidence of hidden compartments that might contain the artifact. Still uncertain if that was what you were actually looking for, it didn’t hurt to search. When you found nothing, your focus shifted to the vintage décor including the old photographs hanging on the walls, looking for any signs or symbols that might be a clue.

An hour later, you and Marcus reconvened at the front desk, disappointed that you both came up empty, yet undeterred in your drive to figure out this case.

You visited a number of other hot springs, conducting the same kind of searches yet never finding additional clues or evidence.

“It’s like we’re missing something,” Marcus said as you both climbed into the SUV, burnt out and sweaty, after your latest search came up empty. You’d spent the entire day running from hot spring to hot spring across the small town to no avail.

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not just any old hot spring? We need more to go on.”

Just then, your phone buzzed with an incoming call from the TCPD. Another painting stolen right under their noses – or rather, right behind the officer’s back as he turned around while patrolling one of the galleries. The thief had lightning-fast reflexes, apparently.

“Alright, thanks Chief. We’ll head over there now.” You ended the call and relayed the information to Marcus.

“This guy sure is brazen. I’ll give him that,” he lamented, carefully spinning the SUV around to head toward the latest crime scene.

“He’s got some balls, nicking a painting while an officer is standing right there. It’s like he’s begging to be caught.”

“That or he’s just a fucking lunatic.” Marcus met your gaze for a long moment after parking the vehicle. “Is it wrong that part of me hopes we don’t catch him too soon?”

Your heart thumped in your chest, lips quirking upwards into a shy smile. “No, not after last night…” you admitted. “We could always stay a few days after solving the case and explore this.” You gestured between the two of you.

Shutting off the car, Marcus bobbed his head. His previously styled hair fell across his forehead, the heat having worn away the product he used this morning. “I’d really like that.”

The TCPD officer met you at the door and led the way to the scene of the latest theft, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I never saw him; he was there and gone in seconds. Managed to leave this behind though, taped where the painting had been.”

Marcus accepted the paper, holding it up so you could read it.

Where the serpent bathes in earth’s warm embrace, beneath the soothing waters, the heart of the sun lies hidden.

“This message is different. Different, but the same. I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” you sighed frustratedly.

Marcus patted your shoulder in a manner appropriate for a professional audience. “No. I get what you mean. It’s tying the clues together in a different way. Giving us more hints at once.”

Heaving a sigh of your own, you nodded. What a great relief to feel understood. “Exactly.”

Conferring with the forensics team first, you and Marcus departed when they confirmed the thief left no trace evidence behind. No fibers, fingerprints, or hair. Nothing to clue you in on who the thief could be. Nothing, not even on the adhesive used to tape the clue to the wall or the paper itself. The perp was either lucky or extremely tidy.

Seated once again in the corner booth at Harry’s dingy pub, Marcus devoured his burger while you daintily nibbled at your fries. The extremely high temperature ruined your appetite. The case file sat open on the table as you placed sticky notes on a photocopy of the latest clue.

“’Where the serpent bathes’… that has to refer to the hot springs, right? And the serpent would symbolize this Quintessential guy?”

“Quetzalcoatl. The god’s name is Quetzalcoatl, for Christ’s sake,” Harry chimed in as he dropped off a fresh round of cold draft beers.

“Yeah, that guy,” you said, pointing a fry at Harry in thanks. Marcus laughed at your adorable ridiculousness. You made investigating this mind-boggling case fun.

“Right. And ‘in the earth’s warm embrace’ refers to the warm waters of the hot springs as well. That’s caused by geothermal activity, is that correct, Harry?” Marcus questioned.

The grizzled old barkeep lingered by your table, too caught up in his own curiosity to return to his duties. “Mmhmm, that’s what they say. I’m no rock scientist, mind.”

“You mean a geologist?” you chirped, a shit-eating grin gracing your pretty face.

“Yes, you mouthy little shit. Don’t sass me or I won’t help solve this case,” Harry grumbled. For a moment, Marcus worried you would be offended by the old man, but your tinkling laughter convinced him otherwise.

Marcus stifled a laugh when you rolled your eyes playfully and re-focused his attention on the clue. “That could be the earth’s warm embrace part, then. And ‘beneath the soothing waters’ refers again to the hot springs.”

“Uh huh,” Harry chimed in again, pulling the case file closer to him, aged eyes squinting to read your notes. Neither of you would normally let a civilian get so involved in a case, but Harry proved himself integral to solving this particularly challenging and unusual case. Pointing an arthritic finger to the final line of today’s clue, beneath the soothing waters, he added, “It refers to the artifact being hidden there, beneath one of the hot springs.”

Harry slipped into the booth on your side, and you flashed Marcus a smile. The old man was fully invested now. Thankfully the bar was empty but for a few regulars who could help themselves as far as Harry was concerned.

“Ok, so to summarize, we know the hot springs are involved,” you stated, processing the facts aloud as well as in your head. “And we know that the artifact is hidden beneath one of them. The question we’ve been chasing all day is which one, right? So, do any of the known hot springs have a serpent symbol or painting or something along those lines associated with it?”

Marcus shook his head as you flipped through pages of notes. “Definitely didn’t see any in the ones we checked out today.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, you two idiots will be my age by the time you figure this out,” Harry stood from the booth, his voice gruff with annoyance, though whether that was from dealing with the two of you or the effort it took to stand with aged, arthritic bones was anyone’s guess. “You’ll want to check out Riverbend Hot Springs in the morning. You’re welcome.”

Mouths agape, you both watched the cantankerous old man shuffle back to the bar, grumbling to himself the whole way.

“Did he just solve the case for us?” Marcus asked when his gaze shifted back to you.

“I think so,” you laughed. “Thank fucking goodness. My eyes were starting to cross from looking at this file so much.”

Looking it up on his phone, Marcus confirmed that the Riverbend Hot Springs were closed until morning. Knowing their work was done for the day, he flashed you a heated look. “Want to go back to my room? Maybe cool off in the shower?”

Marcus had a nicer room than yours, the walk-in shower encased in glass and large enough to fit a few people. The perks of being a director, you guessed.

You barely glimpsed at the room before Marcus backed you against the already deadbolted door. His mouth pressed against yours, tongue dancing along the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You let him in eagerly, tongues tangling and teeth clashing with urgency. His hands were everywhere, stripping away your clothes and sliding against already bare skin in turn.

Once you both gave into the spark, stoking the fire into flames last night, the want turned into a blazing inferno that neither of you could extinguish. Not that you wanted to, anyway. No, you were content to burn to a crisp as the fire raged.

Marcus had you stripped naked within minutes, his mouth having never left your own in the process. Eager to return the favor from last night, you sunk to your knees, undoing his belt and shorts as you stared up at him. Marcus tore off his shirt while you shoved his shorts and boxer briefs down his slim hips to pool at his feet.

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus moaned as you wrapped your hand around his hardened length, testing the girth and weight of it in your grip. You tugged playfully a few times, getting to know the feel of him. Still staring into his lust blown eyes, you slowly leaned forward to glide the head of his cock around your plump lips before slipping him inside your mouth. A delicious whine fell from his lips when your tongue lapped at the little droplet of precum without breaking eye contact.

Not wanting to torture him unnecessarily, you began to move, taking more of his cock into your mouth until he bumped the back of your throat. Bobbing your head, you soaked his cock with your saliva, sucking every now and then to increase the sensation. Your left hand tugged the base of him where your mouth couldn’t quite reach, twisting with each upward stroke to further enhance his pleasure, as your right hand massaged his balls.

Panting heavily above you, Marcus slapped his palms against the door to support himself as you continued sucking his cock. Experimenting with how far you could take him, you hollowed your cheeks, easing farther down his length and breathed through your nose.

“Jersey girl… ungh. Please, I’m gonna come down that pretty little throat if you don’t stop.” You could feel his thigh muscles flex and twitch with the effort of not blowing his load down your throat as he stuttered out the words.

Taking pity on the man, you eased back until his cock audibly popped out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you until Marcus severed the link by stepping backwards on shaky legs.

“You are too good at that, my little minx. Come here.” Marcus helped you up, leading you into the shower once you regained your balance. He kissed you deeply as the cool water from the shower head cascaded over you both.

The water felt good on your overheated skin and Marcus pressed you backwards against the sturdy glass. Hiking a leg up around his waist with one hand, he gently cradled the side of your face in the other. Your gazes locked as he reached around your thigh and teased your clit.

“So wet for me, my Jersey girl.” Already on edge from sucking his cock, you were drenched and ready for him. “Did sucking my cock turn you on that much, my Jersey girl?” You mewled and, with the slightest shift of his hips, Marcus notched his cock at your entrance, feeding you inch by inch until your walls gripped his entire length tightly. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

Droplets of water rained down your bodies as he thrusted into you, your lips pressed open-mouthed against each other, noses bumping, exchanging breaths and moans without actually kissing. The stretch was intense but pleasurable, and you could feel every ridge of him inside you.

You suddenly realized why that was.

“Shit, we forgot a condom,” you said in between moans, your hands grasping his plump ass to make certain he didn’t stop.

Marcus showed no signs of stopping, his hips almost seemed to pick up the pace. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no!” you gasped; eyes fluttering shut as he nudged that spot inside you just right. “Please don’t ever fucking stop.”

“Ok,” he breathed against your lips. “I’m clean and it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone.”

“Same,” you replied. “And I’m on birth control, so please, come inside me.”

Marcus groaned deeply at that, his head shifting so he could nip at your neck, soothing the sting with little kitten licks of his tongue. Pulling back, he murmured, “Turn around.”

You did so, whining as he slipped out of you. With a gentle hand, Marcus pushed your upper body against the glass and pulled your hips closer to him so your back arched perfectly. Your tits were pressed up against the glass wall of the shower and, just beyond it, you could see your reflections in the mirror. Only a slight mist of steam swirled in the air from the temperature of the water, and it didn’t hinder your view at all as Marcus closed in behind you, slipping his cock back where it belonged.

You watched your reflections, mesmerized, as he fucked into you, his wet hair flopping over his forehead when he bent forward to kiss along your shoulders and neck. Your hands came up on either side of your head to brace yourself against the glass, hoping that the strength of his thrusts wouldn’t cause it to shatter.

Marcus reached a hand around your thigh, slipping between your legs to pluck at your clit as you fucked you. Every single cell in your body felt aflame, ready to burst at the pleasure racing through you. It didn’t take long for you to explode, eyes squinted shut as you keened.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Come on my cock, my little Jersey girl. I can feel your cum gushing around me. Fuck, baby.” Once again, Marcus talked you through it in the soft voice of his. He continued thrusting as your walls trembled around him, driving him right over the edge after you, rope and rope of cum splashed your walls as he made the loveliest sex sounds in your ear.

You stayed like that, pressed up against the glass with the weight of Marcus leaning against you, chests heaving, until you both came back down from the high. Taking a few minutes to actually wash the day off each other, you settled on the bed wrapped in towels afterwards.

The two of you talked long into the night and, unable to keep your hands or mouths off each other, you had sex twice more before falling asleep.

Unable to come to an agreement on whether backup would be necessary at this point, you and Marcus finally decided to bring one officer to investigate the Riverbend Hot Springs with you. An extra pair of eyes could be useful, on that you both agreed.

Known for its scenic outdoor pools on the banks of the Rio Grande, visitors usually flocked to Riverbend. The facility not only had the hot springs, but hotel rooms and spaces for recreational vehicles as well. The manager was less than pleased when Marcus informed him that any guests present would have to stay in their rooms and out of both the common and private pools during the search. The last thing the investigation needed was public interference or contaminated evidence.

Searching the private pools first to appease the guests and resort manager, Marcus swiped his hand over his sweaty face when you found nothing.

“Let’s check the common pools now,” he sighed, wondering if it would be another fruitless adventure.

Another two hours of searching – lifting stones, moving decorative displays, going inside the pools themselves, even going so far as to request a shovel from the grounds crew to poke around in the landscaping – turned up nothing.

“At least there’s only one pool to go,” you said, trying to stay positive about finding something. “This has gotta be the one, right?”

“Let’s hope,” Marcus replied. Drenched in a mixed of sweat and mineral water, he wanted nothing more than to slip between cool sheets with you and an ice-cold drink. This case sucked.

Located at the far end of the property, overlooking the Rio Grande, a rock wall encased the final pool for support given the topography on the side along the river dipped lower. Marcus directed the officer to start at one end while he joined you in working your way up from the riverbank. Thorough in your search, you left literally left no stone unturned. One particular large slab placed in the landscaping next to the pool like a decorative display required your and Marcus’ strength combined to lift, and you gasped when you saw what sat in hiding beneath it.

“Is that a fucking trap door?” Marcus asked with a grunt as he glanced down and pushed the rock slab to the side.

“Yeah, it fucking is.” Bending down to open it, Marcus stopped you.

“Wait a second, Jersey girl. We don’t want to just go rushing down there.” He called the officer over for a quick chat, asking him to find the manager and see if anyone knew anything about where the trapdoor led.

Minutes later, the manager and resort engineer joined the group. No one knew a damn thing about what they found. It wasn’t depicted on the as-built drawings or any other schematics the engineer had on file. That did not bode well. Turning to the officer, you asked him to call for back up.

“We’ll head down to scope it out. Come down once backup gets here. In the meantime, please keep the guests away from this area,” Marcus directed the officer and manager before turning to you. “Ready, Jersey girl?”

Pulling your service weapon from its holster, you nodded confidently. “With you at my side, I’m ready for anything.”

Marcus flashed that boyish grin before wrenching the trapdoor open. As suspected, narrow steps carved into the stone descended down into darkness. Before Marcus could ask for one, the facility engineer handed him a flashlight.

Stepping carefully down the steps with the flashlight held high in one hand and his service weapon in the other, Marcus descended into the dark unknown with you right on his heels. At the bottom, a pathway led through more rock, dim light visible in the distance. You reach out while walking along the pathway to find the rock is surprisingly warm.

“I expected it to be cool to the touch,” you murmured, not wanting to make too much noise in case someone or something waited in the shadows.

“Hmm?”

“The walls,” you pointed when Marcus turned around. “They’re warm.”

Directing the beam of light in the direction you pointed, Marcus touched the back of his hand to the wall and looked back at you with a questioning brow. “How?”

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

“Latent heat from the surface?” he took a guess.

“Your guess is as good as mine. We’re below ground deep enough that it shouldn’t be this warm.”

Marcus continued on down the path, the rock walls growing warmer the farther you progressed. Finally, you turned a corner into a dimly lit chamber, the air filled with oppressive heat making it hard to breathe. You both scanned the room for threats, finding none. The chamber was oddly free of spider webs or bugs or people, aside from the two of you, but a pool of water bubbled inside a ring in the stone floor. Above the pool, an abnormally large, fiery opal appeared to float in the air, the glow from it the only source of light in the chamber aside from the flashlight in Marcus’ hand.

“What the fuck?” you questioned, confused as all hell why the gem just floated in air. “I’m getting some real X-Files type vibes and I DO NOT like it.”

Marcus couldn’t help the twitch of his lips even though he was just as confused as you. “This must be the Flame of Quetzalcoatl.”

“Ya think?” Your nerves made you snarky, a trait Marcus found profoundly adorable and endearing.

Stepping closer to the artifact, Marcus shielded his eyes from the fiery glow. He reached out with one long finger, nearly touching the object when the grinding sound of rock against rock reverberated through the chamber. Jerking back instinctually, both you and Marcus drew your pistols on the sudden intruder.

“Who the fuck are you?” you blurted at the man, your nerves shot to shit, your FBI training the only thing holding you together at that point.

Wild-haired, with oddly composed attire, the man practically vibrated with energy, a glint of insanity in his eerily green eyes. Under one arm, he carried another landscape painting, likely just stolen from another gallery. As if by magic or something equally befitting the utterly odd nature of this entire case, the other stolen paintings appeared, strategically placed along the rock walls rounding the chamber.

“I really don’t like this, Marcus,” you said through gritted teeth. His concerned gaze met yours briefly. “Me either, Jersey.”

It happened, as these things tend to do, suddenly and unexpectedly. The man lunged forward, dropping the painting without thought, and reached a trembling, emaciated hand toward the artifact. Marcus matched the man’s movement, reaching for him rather than the floating, glowing gem. In the process, a glass pedestal you didn’t even know was there, nearly invisible but surely the reason the artifact appeared to be floating in air, toppled over, sending the artifact flying.

You watched, awestruck and frozen in shock, as Marcus tackled the crazy man to the hard ground and the artifact shattered against the rock wall, simultaneously. Almost immediately, the temperature plunged until a damp coolness filled the formerly stuffy chamber, and the man shrieked in despair.

“No! No! No! You’ve ruined everything!” The man continued screeching. Moments later, TCPD officers rushed into the stone room, a few assisting Marcus with securing the thief in cuffs.

Among the backup that just arrived, the police chief stepped up to your side as you gave Marcus a hand in getting back on his feet. “Strangest thing,” the thick-bearded, squat man in uniform said, “the temperature dropped at least twenty-five degrees out of nowhere, just as we started making our way down here. Am I to believe it had something to do with whatever happened down here?”

You and Marcus shared a look before shrugging at the police chief. “I have no clue what even happened down here,” Marcus admitted. Tilting his chin in the crazy man’s direction, he added, “Your boys will bring him in for questioning? We’d like a shot at him, too.”

“Of course. We’ll get him processed. Come by the station whenever you’re finished up here.” The chief followed the officers escorting the man from the chamber, leaving behind a forensics team to gather evidence.

Standing above the shattered artifact, you sighed. “How the hell do I write this up in a report?”

“Very carefully and creatively,” Marcus replied with a smirk.

The interrogation didn’t take long, the man caving like a deck of cards in the wind. His name was Edmund Fawkes, a local starving artist driven mad by the excessive heat. Already obsessed with ancient mythology and local lore, he discovered the hidden chamber containing Quetzalcoatl’s Flame and, seeking the power and prosperity described in the legends, decided to take possession of it by appeasing the ancient god with landscape paintings.

It didn’t work, clearly, but Edmund was relentless in his insanity, continuing his thievery until you and Marcus caught him.

None of it made sense and there were so many things that could be attributed to entirely coincidental circumstances that you didn’t really care how the pieces fit together. The thief had been caught, the paintings returned to the appropriate galleries largely undamaged, and the town was no longer in the clutches of a deadly heat wave. That was all that really mattered.  

On your way out of the police station, the case solved as far as the bureau was concerned, you turned to Marcus. “How long are you sticking around?”

Gazing at you with those chocolate puppy eyes, his lips twitched into a grin. “I have several weeks of PTO saved up. Figured I’d use some of that. Maybe all of it if I have a reason to.”

You grinned back at him. “I’m sure we could find a reason for that.”

An hour later, the sun dipping past the desert horizon, you found yourselves naked and neck deep in the soothing mineral water of a private hot springs pool. Given that business was completed, you checked out of the hotel the bureau set you both up in and reserved a room at the best resort in town for a couple days of relaxation.

“I’m going to miss this odd little town, especially Harry and his dingy pub,” Marcus said, pulling you closed to his side as you soaked in the soothing water.

“Me, too. I’m going to miss you most, though. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, both professionally and otherwise,” you admitted, leaning your head against his bare shoulder.

Marcus stilled for a moment before tightening his hold on you. “Why don’t you come back to DC with me?”

“What?” Your head tilted back to meet his eyes.

“You said you put in for a transfer back to the east coast, right?” You nodded and he continued. “Well, come back with me and we’ll have that transfer fast tracked. I’m certain there’s a position for you in DC. We won’t be on the same team, but that’s probably a good thing.”

You giggled at the boyish grin he flashed you. “If you’re sure, I’m game. I just don’t want you to feel like we’re rushing into anything.”

“Pssh, rushing, smushing. I’ve waited long enough to find someone like you. Now that I have, I’m not letting you go,” Marcus insisted. Gesturing between you, he added, “I mean it. There’s something amazing here, I know it. We can leave in a few days, spend a week or two exploring the city and each other before getting back to work.”

At a loss for a worthy response, you pressed your lips against his. The soft kiss quickly turned heated as you spun, straddling his lap, with your hands gripping the stone edge of the pool. Marcus ran his fingertips down the slick skin of your bare back as you squirmed into place, his cock swelling to life at the feel of you above, against, around him.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to ride you yet,” you murmured against his lips, grinding your bare pussy down on him.

“Now’s your chance, Jersey girl,” Marcus gasped through a moan. “Take me and use me, baby.”

Overheated despite the contrasting bite of cool air on your damp skin and warm water engulfing half your body, you eased yourself down onto his cock. You’d never get used to the exquisite stretch as he split you open. Drawing out the anticipation, you slid down his length with agonizing slowness, eliciting delicious whines from Marcus.

“Don’t torture me, baby. Please,” he begged to no avail. Peppering his handsome face with kisses, you kept the pace slow and torturous until he writhed beneath you.

At last, you took his full length inside you and started to move, bouncing eagerly on his cock with your head thrown back in pleasure. Marcus’ eyes stared at your breasts, bobbing along the water line and glistening from splashes of the mineral water as you moved on him. Mesmerized, he could look nowhere else, and his fingers shifted to pluck at the hardened peaks of your nipples.

The air temperature continued to drop as night set in, steam rising up from the warm water of the pool, dancing along your skin in beautiful swirls of water vapor. The clear, starry sky the perfect backdrop to your love making – for that’s what it was now, so much more than sex this time as you gave your whole self over to this wonderful, unexpected man who changed your life in a matter of days.

Overwhelmed with feelings, you keened as his cock nudged at all the right placing, your clit stimulated by grinding on his lap. “Fuck, Marcus. I’m gonna cum.”

Marcus thrust his hips upward at that statement, eager to drive you straight over the cliff into that beautiful abyss. “Do it, baby. Come all over my cock, my beautiful Jersey girl.”

Always good at following instructions, you did just that. Your eyelids slipped closed as you spasmed around him, head thrown back in ecstasy, his name falling like a prayer from your lips.

“That’s it, just like that,” Marcus crooned, pressing soothing kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re strangling my cock, baby. Gonna make me come too, sexy girl.”

A few more erratic thrusts upward and Marcus came with a fury, cock pulsing with rope after rope of his spend deep inside you. Breathless and exhausted, you clung to each other until shivers settled in from the plunging temperature.

“Let’s get inside, my Jersey girl. We’ll clean up, climb under the covers, and cuddle while we make plans for the future.”

fin

[joesbnbg]

cruel summer

part one of everybody wants to rule the world

in which the girls get ice cream, robin has a meet-cute, steve throws a pool party, and everybody gets high [4.4k words]

The summer of ‘85 in Hawkins, Indiana was a scorching one. Tarmac sizzled under the butter yellow sun, cotton candy clouds spun on the saccharine sweet taste of summer freedom. Perfect for soaking sunburnt bodies with chlorinated water at the Hawkins public pool; perfect for long bike rides against the wind, speed and sun burning the rubber of the thin tires; the perfect weather for ice cream. 

Which was right where April and DJ were headed, AC blasting in April's beat up ‘74 Chevy Vega, sun reflecting off its faded orange hood as the two teenagers drove towards the Starcourt Mall. Blondie blasted from the speakers and April sang along lazily as DJ chattered over Debbie Harry with unprecedented speed about everything and nothing at all, fumbling with the fringes of her cut off shorts. 

April's fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she turned into the crowded parking lot, eyes scanning for a place to park as DJ craned her neck towards the entrance, watching couples and teenagers and families alike clamber inside the mall like sweaty zombies who sought cold air instead of brains. 

April pulled into the closest spot she could find, which of course wasn’t close at all, and quickly turned the car off, as ready to escape the summer heat as the rest of her town. She pushed her sunglasses back onto the crown of her head, black frames against copper hair, watching as DJ snaked out of the car window, falling to the ground with an ungraceful thump. April's passenger side door hadn’t worked since she had bought the car over a year ago, but DJ still hadn't gotten the hang of an elegant landing. 

“Let’s go,” April said with an impatient smile, head tilted towards the mall. DJ grumbled, wiping bits of rocks from the indents they had created on her palms as she scrambled to her feet, the old canvas of her black converse tearing slightly at her movement. 

“I thought when you got a car it would come with less injuries,” DJ said, catching up to her best friend as they began towards the building, beat-up shoes moving in tandem against the blacktop. “I’m fighting for my life out here.” April huffed out a laugh, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“If you were behind the wheel, we’d be fighting for our lives every five minutes. I much prefer these odds.” April responded, pushing through the glass double doors and into Starcourt, a well welcomed whoosh of cool air greeting her. DJ sputtered as she removed the wind blown hair from her face, tucking dark strands behind her ears.

“What, because I went airborne? That was one time.” DJ said as they rounded a corner, making April laugh again. 

“Two times.” 

“One and a half. Only the front two wheels came off the ground the first time.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Dot, but a car’s wheels aren’t supposed to come off the ground ever. Front or back.”

“They won’t be saying that when cars can fly.”

“Emphasis on ‘can.’ My car is not built for that. No car is built for that. Honestly, I’m starting to think you might have a better shot getting your pilot license.” April said as they walked into Scoops Ahoy, Hawkins’ newest and nicest nautical themed creamery. DJ whistled at the boy behind the counter whose face perked up slightly at the sight of the girls. How this schmuck in an ill-fitting sailor’s suit had managed to win over her best friend was still a mystery to her, but she tabled the thought for later as they approached the counter. 

“Too expensive. Yo, Harrington! How do we feel about another driving lesson?” She called at him, a grin tugging her pink lips upward. Steve shook his head vigorously as he moved towards the tubs of ice cream, head bent as he scooped USS Butterscotch onto a wafer cone. 

“Absolutely not,” He said, and although amusement colored his tone, it was clear he was being completely serious. He stood upright, passing the cone to April, who took it with a bright smile, one he shared as their brown eyes met. 

“Well, take it up with your girlfriend, because apparently, she’d rather sacrifice my palms than get her wizard cousin to fix the car.” DJ said, holding up her scratched up hand as April rolled her eyes.

“Okay, first off, he’s not a wizard, he’s a thirteen year old who happens to know a lot about science, and secondly, he’s not a fucking mechanic. He’s just a kid.” She shot back. DJ shrugged, taking a cone of cookies and cream from Steve’s outstretched hand. 

“Close enough,” She said as she licked a dribbler off the side of the cone. “But I’m pretty sure I saw him blow up Older Sinclair’s blender, so really, what’s the difference?” DJ asked, dropping a loose quarter from her pocket into the tip jar, which made Steve involuntarily grimace. 

“He’s also not even here,” April reminded her. “He’s at that science thing for another three weeks.” 

“Camp Know-Nothing or whatever,” Steve added.

“Camp Know-Where,” April corrected. 

“You want a bandaid for that battle scar?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised and eyes focused as DJ inspected the broken skin on her hand. DJ shrugged like it was nothing, because things like this were always happening to her. Steve turned, opening the partition to the back room, calling towards the coworker neither April or DJ realized he had. “Robin, can you get the first aid kit?” 

“What, did you sprain your wrist slinging ice cream, Stevie?” The voice called back, and Steve rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth with annoyance as he turned back towards his friends. April trained her eyes on the floor and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from laughing, but DJ couldn’t help the snicker that escaped her. 

“Yeah, Stevie, hurt your little baby wrist?” DJ said, pouting at him. Steve’s eyes narrowed as he turned towards the back again. 

“It was for my friend actually, but forget it, because she’s being an absolute dick right now.” He said, and this time April couldn’t stop herself from laughing into her ice cream. “Let her bleed.” 

“Are you allowed to curse in uniform? Isn’t that, like, against the company image or whatever?” DJ asked, clearly getting more joy out of teasing the boy than the quickly melting treat in her hand. 

“Company image? What is this, Disneyland?” Steve retorted. 

“What? King Steve wasn’t an animated Disney classic? Since when?” DJ replied, eyes widening. She laughed, loudly this time, but all confidence and joy seemed to drain from her face as Steve’s coworker stepped out from the back room, first aid kit in hand. 

“Who needs the first aid kit?” The girl asked. “Had to look through, like, seven different cabinets to find it. I’m also pretty sure the instructions on this thing are in Russian.” She frowned, head bent as she examined it with bright blue eyes. DJ gulped, trying to steady herself, and April and Steve shared a knowing, amused look. 

“Robin, this is April, my girlfriend, and DJ, April's leech. April, DJ, this is Robin.” Steve said, and Robin looked up at them for the first time, eyes training on DJ’s just as DJ’s had trained on Robin’s. Pink rose to her freckled cheeks and she quickly looked down again, focusing on opening the first aid kit again. 

“Hand,” DJ blurted, pointing it out towards Robin, who looked at it like DJ had just shoved a knife in her direction. 

“She hurt her hand,” April quickly supplied. “Climbing out of my car, because the door doesn’t work.” 

“Oh,” Robin said, clearly nervous herself as she awkwardly opened the kit. She pulled out a bandaid and when she grabbed DJ’s hand to inspect it closer, DJ held her breath. Delicately, Robin placed the bandaid over the spot, patting the brunette’s hand lightly as she let it go. The air was thick with the smell of vanilla and tension, and Robin cleared her throat, stepping into the back room again. 

“...Huh,” Steve said after a moment, head tilted in thought. “I mean, she’s usually awkward, but she’s not that awkward.” 

“I wasn’t-” 

“I didn’t mean you, shit-for-brains.” Steve said, eyes on DJ, whose eyebrows knit in frustration. 

“I should slap that stupid hat right off your head.” DJ replied. 

“You’d be doing me a favor.” Steve said, and April chuckled. 

"How long has she been working here for?" April asked. "I've never seen her around." Steve shrugged.

"Dunno. She just sort of showed up and started insulting me."

"I like her already." DJ said, and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Clearly." He muttered.

“So, Stevie-” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Stevie, you know it’s really hot out today.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And you know what people like to do when it’s hot out?” Steve stared at DJ, unamused.

“Go inside and leave other people alone?” 

“Go swimming,” April supplied, and Steve turned towards her, raising an eyebrow before wagging a finger between the girls. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” He asked, before turning his attention back to DJ. “Don’t you have a pool?” 

“Yeah, but you have something I don’t: absentee parents.” DJ said with a grin, and Steve glared at her, playing with his ice cream scooper. 

“Gee. Thanks. Rub it in my face, why don’t you?” 

“I’m just saying,” DJ continued, leaning on the counter to get closer to him, “We could have a super-fun-no-parents-pool-party to kick off the summer? I’ll get the drinks!” 

“You look younger than Henderson.” Steve shot back, and DJ grinned brightly at him. 

“Okay, then you get the drinks.” DJ amended, and Steve smiled with disbelief, shaking his head slightly. 

“Is that a yes?” April asked, looking at the boy hopefully. Steve rolled his eyes before finally nodding his head in agreement. 

“Fine,” He said. “Fine. Seven o’clock.” DJ broke out into a sly grin. 

“You’re the best, Harrington.” She said, and Steve rolled his eyes again, waving his hand. 

“Whatever.” He said as April dug into her purse for her car keys, extending them out towards her friend. 

“DJ, why don’t you go ahead and get the car started? I’ll be out right behind you.” 

“I don’t think the good patrons of Scoops Ahoy will appreciate the make-out session in the middle of their nautical ice cream experience,” DJ said as she took the keys, twisting them around her finger. 

“Shut up!” April said as Steve ducked his head down, blushing. 

“Wear protection!” DJ called as she headed towards the exit. “I am too young to be an aunt.” April laughed, turning back towards Steve, who gave her a smile. 

“So…” April started, leaning closer to him, “I was thinking…” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve said, grin growing with the girl’s words. 

“We should invite Robin to the pool party tonight.” Steve’s smile faded as he crossed his arms, looking at the girl in front of him. 

“Seriously?” He said, blinking. “Why?” 

“Because!” April responded, lowering her voice slightly. “She and DJ were really hitting it off back there.” 

“That was hitting it off? I’ve seen babies communicate more gracefully than that.” Steve argued, but April pressed forward. 

“There’s something there. Invite her, please.” 

“How do you even know she’s a lesbian?” Steve whispered, and April's eyes darted towards the back room, making sure Robin wasn’t listening. 

“I don’t,” April said, “But I have a feeling if we invite her, it’ll be a good thing. Come on, please?” Steve was silent, thoughtful as he weighed his options. “You know,” April said, closing the space between her and the boy even more, “If DJ has a friend, or somebody, she won’t be as interested in what we’re doing.” Steve stared at her blankly. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you, Steve?” 

April watched as the idea registered in his brain, eyes filling with recognition and mouth opening slightly. “Oh,” He said slowly, starting to break out into a thoughtful grin. “Okay. Okay.” 

“See?” April said, smiling, too. “Invite her.” Steve groaned, looking towards the back room, nose scrunching with disgust at the girl who sat inside of it. “Come on,” April pushed back Steve’s cowlick, moving the chocolate colored hair out of his face. “Please.” 

Steve huffed. “Fine.” He said. “Fine. God, I just do whatever you two tell me to, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” April agreed. “You must be real fucking whipped, Harrington.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Get the fuck out of here. I’ll see you at seven.”

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When seven o’clock rolled around that evening, April and DJ found themselves once again inside April's car, bikinis on under cut off shorts and big graphic tees. The sun was dipping below the trees, filtering through the leaves and houses as they drove through Hawkins, the cool breeze that accompanied the late hour playing with the ends of their hair. 

“I wonder what else we could get Steve to do because he’s in love with you.” DJ said, watching the clouds pass by as they drove, hand draping lazily out the window.

“He’s not in love with me.” April said quickly, and DJ quirked up an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean? He’s definitely in love with you.” DJ said. “I mean, come on, who else would put up with me just to date you? Not many people.” 

“Found that out the hard way.” April added. “But can we not… we’re just taking it slow for now, okay?” 

“O…kay,” DJ said finally, a little lost. “I wonder what we could get him to do because he likes you so much,” She amended. “Do you think he’d kill someone, or is that, like, a six month anniversary present kind of deal?” 

“Jury’s still out on that one,” April replied after a moment. 

“No, the jury definitely thinks he’s innocent. They’d think a man who uses that much hairspray probably wouldn’t have any brain cells left to murder ‘cause the aerosol in the can would have killed them all.” 

“Okay, he doesn’t use that much hairspray,” April argued, although she barely even believed herself. 

“Have you ever seen him without hairspray before, or are you guys not that serious yet? Does that also come with the six month anniversary murder?” DJ kept going. “Like, maybe he murders someone because they’ve seen him without hairspray, or maybe they discontinue it so he murders whoever makes - or, I guess doesn’t make - the hairspray, or-” 

“Okay, we get it.” April said as they turned onto Steve’s block, pulling into the empty spot in front of his house, right beside a tree with a branch convenient enough for DJ to use to haul herself out of the car. 

She managed the escape a little better this time, huffing as April retrieved her things from the back of the car. DJ frowned at the sight of an unfamiliar bike resting in the driveway as they got closer, nudging April to make sure she saw it, too. 

“Is that Steve’s?” DJ asked, and April stared at it, doing her best to pretend she didn’t know who it belonged to. 

“Hmm, I don’t know.” She said. “Maybe it’s one of the kids.” 

“He’d invite the kids to a pool party where there’d be alcohol?” DJ said incredulously. “Mr. Mother-of-the-Year? I don’t think so.” 

“Well, who knows?” April asked as she knocked on the large wooden door. “They like to just randomly appear in places. Could be one of them.” It was a few more seconds until the door swung open, and Steve stood behind it, looking far more comfortable in clothes that fit his body correctly. 

“Retired from the navy so soon?” DJ teased. “I thought they were about to promote you.” 

“Shut up,” Steve replied before kissing April in greeting as the girls walked inside. 

“Where’s mine?” DJ asked, puckering her lips at him. He made a face at her as they walked through the house. Music played softly on a speaker outside as Steve made a pit stop in the kitchen, passing cold beer cans to the girls before sliding the glass door to the backyard open. 

“Hey, guys!” DJ almost dropped her drink at the sight of the sandy haired girl in front of her, laying out in a navy blue two piece, nursing a beer. 

“You guys remember Robin,” Steve said, gesturing at her as if it wasn’t April's idea to invite her in the first place. 

“Yeah!” April said brightly, hoping her excited attitude would draw away from the fear growing in her best friend’s eyes. “It’s good to see you. Isn’t it, DJ?” She turned towards her friend expectantly, whose green eyes only grew wider. 

“I-it’s great! Or, or cool! Or, it’s very normal. Awesome. Fun…tastic to see you.” DJ sputtered on her words, drawing a quiet laugh out of Steve. Robin didn’t seem phased as she took another sip of her beer. 

“You know, I think we had English together sophomore year,” She said, eyes focusing on April, who smiled with recognition. 

“Yeah! I think you’re right. God, Mr. Shipman was an absolute trip.” April replied, twisting her hair up into a bun. 

“I took English!” DJ offered, and Steve moved towards her, patting her on the shoulder. 

“Take a lap, champ.” He said, and DJ nodded, still flustered as she moved to dip her toes in the deep end of the pool. “That went so badly I hope she doesn’t drown herself.” Steve muttered softly against April's ear, causing her to stifle a laugh. 

“So how long have you two been going out?” Robin asked. DJ was still on the other side of the pool making splashing sounds with her feet that were loud enough to cause a scene. Steve and April looked at each other.

“Like… five months at this point?” Steve asked, and April shrugged in agreement. Robin looked between them with a smile.

“How exactly did you pull her, Harrington? She seems a little too cerebral for you.” Robin tilted her head, smile taking form into a shit-eating grin as April giggled and Steve’s face dropped. 

“That’s what I’m saying!” DJ shouted from the other side of the pool. 

“Well, considering the fact that I don’t even know what ‘cerebral’ means, yeah, you’re probably right.” Steve said coolly. “We met through her cousin-” 

“Her cousin who is a child.” DJ added in a yell, cutting Steve off. 

“Who I, y’know, look out for sometimes-” 

“He’s a glorified babysitter who doesn’t get paid.” DJ continued, and Steve turned towards her, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Shut the fuck up, Dorothy.” Steve shouted as DJ padded her way back over to them, wet feet slapping on the concrete. 

“Make me, Harrington!” DJ gestured towards him and he moved ever-so-slightly before April put a hand on his arm, redirecting the conversation back to where it had started. 

“I tutored him.” April said. “And to be honest, I thought he was a major douche. But he actually turned out to be a big softie.” 

“Is that why he can’t get it-” Before DJ could finish, Steve turned towards her and pushed her in the pool, causing all three of the girls to yelp as DJ landed smack in the middle of the water. 

“Jesus, Steve!” April exclaimed, though she was laughing. Robin was laughing, too, and Steve cracked a smile, guzzling the last of his beer. 

“Took care of that problem, huh?” Steve said as DJ spluttered, spitting chlorinated water out of her mouth and pushing her sopping wet hair out of her eyes.

“Not fair!” DJ exclaimed, although she was smiling, too. Before she knew what was happening, a whiz of a blue bathing suit was making its way into the pool with a whoop, landing beside her. Once she had popped back up out of the water, Robin smiled at DJ, eyes reflecting the color of the pool. 

“Couldn’t leave you alone in here, could I?” Robin said, and DJ did her best to keep her body from short-circuiting. Still on land, April eyed Steve nervously, body tense as she waited for him to push her in, too. Steve stared at her, his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll at least give you the dignity of taking your clothes off first.” He said, eyes drifting towards DJ, whose large shirt was fanning around her like an underwater overcoat. 

“Gee, what a gentleman.” April grinned, stripping off her denim shorts and t-shirt to reveal an emerald green bikini underneath. Steve waited with amusement as April tossed them to the side, then scooped her up bridal style and tossed her into the pool before chucking off his own shirt and cannon-balling after her. 

DJ swam towards the shallow end to peel off her now soaking denim shorts and t-shirt, tossing them with a loud plop onto the side of the pool. She felt a lot lighter in just her maroon bikini. 

Once the group was officially cooled off and fully chlorinated, they removed their soaking bodies to lay out by the side of the pool, each nursing cold beers, condensation dripping onto the already wet concrete. 

“So,” Robin said, a grin plastered on her face as she reached her free hand towards her bag, “I brought something that might make today a little more interesting.” Steve raised an eyebrow, his interest piquing. Robin whipped a baggie out of her purse, holding it up for the friends to see, and April laughed. 

“Magic oregano,” DJ said, making April laugh harder as Steve stood up, grabbing the bag from Robin’s outstretched fingers. 

“Brownie points for Buckley.” Steve moved towards the nearby table to begin rolling the joint. 

“I didn’t know you smoked, Robin,” April said, prompting the girl to shrug. Steve scoffed.

“Are you kidding? Look at her. Her nails are painted black and she’s in band.” Robin made a face as both April and DJ laughed. 

“Okay, okay, fair,” April conceded. 

“I wouldn’t think you guys smoked,” Robin said. “DJ, maybe. Steve, sure. Definitely not you, April.” 

April shrugged. “I like to have fun.” 

“She likes to have a break from talking all the time.” Steve translated, licking the rolling paper. April grinned. 

“What does that mean?” Robin asked. 

“I go really quiet when I get high.” April explained, and DJ nodded enthusiastically. 

“Nonverbal, almost.” DJ added. “It’s really kind of funny.” 

“Wish you’d go nonverbal,” Steve muttered, and DJ’s head whipped towards him. 

“Do I have to remind you you’ve never won a fight, Harrington? Want to make that record zero to three?” DJ said, and Steve gave the girl a wary look, going the long way to avoid her as he moved towards Robin, who held her lighter outstretched towards him. “You’re lucky I don’t have that. All it would take is one jab of that fire in your direction and the amount of hairspray up in that wig of yours would make you go bald in an instant.” April couldn’t help but laugh as Steve flicked the lighter in DJ’s direction before bringing the joint to his lips, taking a puff. 

He handed it to April, who took a small drag and suppressed a cough as she handed it to Robin, who took a similar hit, who passed it to DJ, who held it to her lips far too long just to stop herself from thinking about the fact that her hand had brushed Robin’s. She coughed up a storm, handing the joint back to Steve, who laughed. 

“Little smaller next time, Wilkerson.” He advised, and she glared at him with watery eyes, trying to stop the coughs from coming out of her. They each took one more hit, then another, until a little less than half the joint was left, which Steve stubbed out to save for later. 

It didn’t take long until all of their brains were humming, tuned on the frequency of a certain kind of tranquilness that only came from joints like these. They all stared up at the sky, admiring the way the clouds went by, the shapes they made, the way they danced in the air. 

“This is nice.” Robin said. “I honestly wasn’t gonna come, but… this is nice.” 

“Yeah,” DJ agreed with a lazy smile. 

“If I’d have known you’d had weed up your sleeve, I would’ve invited you over a long time ago, Robin.” Steve said, turning towards her slightly. “Where’d you get it?” 

“You guys know Eddie Munson?” Robin asked. Steve frowned.

“Who?” He asked. 

“He’s a senior. He’s in that Dungeons and Dragons club, with the long hair? Looks like he could be straight out of Metallica, or something, and he’s kind of weird, but in a harmless way, and definitely nicer than he looks - but anyways, he sells weed, good weed, obviously, and my friend told me about him, and his prices aren’t too bad, so around last year, I started buying from him and was like ‘Oh! This is cool!’ and so I’ve kept going back and-”

“I think you've made your point.” Steve said, shutting the girl down before she could continue. DJ sat up, staring at him. 

“Let her speak.” Steve rolled his eyes as DJ laid back down again.

“So, anyways, yeah. I buy from Eddie. That was really the end of the story.” Robin said with a shrug. 

“I have such an urge to jump in the pool right now.” DJ said, eyes on the sunlight that danced across the water’s surface. 

“Don’t,” Steve warned, shielding his face from the sun with his arm, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

“No, I’m not,” DJ argued. “And even if I did, you’re a lifeguard, right? So you could just save me or whatever.” Steve gave her a pointed look. 

“I’ll go in the pool with you!” Robin offered, sitting up in her own chair. DJ grinned, looking towards Steve again. 

“See? Two against one. April, you in?” April shook her head. 

“No, I’m good.” She said, eyes closed as Steve played with the ends of her hair. DJ shrugged, moving towards the edge of the pool.

“Okay, still two against one. That’s fine. Majority rules. But don’t worry, Mom, I won’t, like, backflip into the pool or anything.”

“You don’t know how to backflip.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Get in the pool before I push you in.” Steve said, and though he made no effort to move, DJ cannonballed into the pool without another moment’s hesitation. 

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i hope you guys enjoyed this part! these characters are so special to me and i'm having such a fun time with their dynamics :)

[blog-name-idk]

The Plot Twist | 02

Written by @blog-name-idk and @eserethriddle

Summary: Once upon a time you would have jumped at the chance to live the idol girlfriend life. The cameras, the action, the whirlwind romance. But what was once a dream has now become your worst nightmare, and you fully intend to fight the universe as it repeatedly conspires to set you up with your seven perfectly good soulmates from Bangtan Sonyeondan.

In which we punt Y/N into all the fanfiction tropes and you do your feral best to subvert the love story.

Because nani the fuck, you are The Plot Twist.

Pairing: OT7 X Fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, crack, humor, idol!AU, light angst, slow burn, romantic comedy, just a fun silly old time

Rating: 18+

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Chapter 2: "Ahjussi, go back to MapleStory."

Life is truly unremarkable as a soulmate-less bachelorette.

Thankfully, none of the symptoms Junior Liaison Officer Choi Mijin mentioned to you have occurred – no bodily anomalies, no universal conspirations – and, on the way home from your parents’ place, you chide your anxious self for letting a thirty-minute phone call upturn the joyous revelries of turning twenty-five.

Though of course, even someone like you can see the grandeur behind it. The potential.

Soulmate. Not half of one’s heart, not ‘mi media naranja,’ but soulmate. Someone utmost, born from the same fabric of life – possibly indelicate, and not without flaws – but beautiful, blameless, and immaterially yours.

It’s great. Really great. But it’s daunting, too. There’s unprecedented pressure in that kind of ordeal, and… you like unremarkable. It’s safe. If you were ever going to be remarkable, it would be in ways you can directly control – like getting to the last floor of skull caverns or politely tearing incompetent coworkers to shreds when they challenge you.

But real life? Real personal relationships, with people that matter? That becomes a polynomial. There are too many variables outside of your ability to dictate, too much that could go wrong for you to spend too long mourning the absence of any soulmate symptoms. And anyway, your singularity isn’t your sob story – it’s your defense. Your most effective one.

You get back to your apartment at half past nine the following morning, heavy tupperwares of side dishes prepared by your mother hoisted in tow. At ease, you whistle a cheery tune as you get settled around your kitchenette, arranging each fully packed box amongst refrigerator shelves with care. You help yourself to an enticing pinch of putbaechu and decide to place its tupperware farther down the back.

Yes, that batch probably needed more time to ferment. After all, it’s impossible for napa cabbage kimchi to taste as sweet as cake.

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In his black-and-white checkered pajamas, Jeon Jungkook happily devours the two-tier caramel-frosted cake for breakfast. Furthermore, because he is a considerate maknae, he leaves the vegan, calorie-measured miniature cake for the rest of his hyungs to share when they wake.

They really don't appreciate him enough.

An early riser, also still in pajamas, Kim Seokjin spots him and tuts. “Jungkook, that isn’t healthy.” When Jungkook suddenly spits out the forkful he’d just shoved into his mouth, the eldest grimaces and admonishes, “Yah! I taught you better than that! That is disgusting behavior.”

“You know what’s disgusting?” Jungkook retorts with a revolted scowl, pushing the offensive dessert box far away from his person, lest it insult him yet again. “Surprise vegan cake. I’m going to sleep, hyung. Good night.”

“You mean ‘good morning.’” Seokjin corrects, reaching for the coffee pot with a sigh. “Brat.”

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During your afternoon gaming hours, your phone screen lights up with a notification. Your extended arm worms through sofa pillows to swipe and unlock it, and you instantly growl at the e-mail that greets you.

From: executive-offices@samsong.kr Recipients: yln.yfn@samsong.kr, lee.jaesung@samsong.kr Subject: Executive Meeting on Tuesday

Dear Associates,

We hope this e-mail finds you well.

In preparation for the upcoming work week, we would like to advise your stations re: the exploratory meeting with CEO Son Hyunsuk scheduled for this Thursday at 15:00 (KST) on external company collaborations.

We appreciate your confirmation upon receipt of this notice and bid you a happy weekend.

Regards, Samsong Executive Scheduling

“Jesus Kim Christ, it is a Sunday. This should be illegal,” you swear, placing down the handheld gaming console on the couch next to you and getting up to refill your glass of water instead. Unfortunately, on your return from your hydration quest, you bang your ankle on the leg of the coffee table.

"MotherFUCKER!" you curse, collapsing onto your sofa and cradling your leg for a full minute. After recovering, you pick your console back up.

Idly hovering on the gaming screen, Tom Nook stares up at you with a deadpan glare. You’d think his heavy-lidded, judgmental look was a reaction to your use of offensive language, but you roll your eyes at the prospect.

Tom Nook, the island racoon? A landlord. He can judge all he wants. He’s as evil as company capitalists come.

With somehow even less of a conscience.

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“Ah one, ah two, ah five, six, seven, eight!”

Jung Hoseok snaps his fingers as he moves to the beat, flawlessly demonstrating the first few steps of the dance routine. Kim Taehyung watches him, crouched in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors like a religious student, except he’s also thinking, That is not how arithmetics works. This is why we are performers and not math teachers.

Hoseok seems to catch the faraway look in Taehyung’s expression, because his limbs freeze, dropping to a sudden stop, brown gaze slanting sharp and deadly. The other boys, sensing blood in the water, subtly shift away and try to look as focused as possible.

“What? Would you rather practice cartwheels with Jimin again?” Hoseok rumbles, hand on hip.

Yes…Taehyung laughs nervously. “No.”

Jimin shoots him a knowing look.

“You know,” Hoseok says, pointedly, brandishing his left leg, “I woke up with more bruises from you again. I couldn’t pair my tie-dye top with my denim shorts so now I’m stuck here practicing in my joggers with you instead of walking around Yongsan.”

You’re welcome, Yongsan, Taehyung thinks. Personally, he believes Hoseok’s fashion sense is something of a moving target.

Hit or miss. Miss a lot.

Oh well. Time to bring out the puppy eyes. “Hobi-hyung, can we start from the chorus instead?” He pouts, for cuteness excess.

“Fine!” the dance leader snaps, trying to mask the way the irritation ebbs out of his voice.

Taehyung suppresses a satisfied grin.

Yup. Works every time.

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By the middle of the work week, Min Yoongi has barely scraped by to meet a hard production deadline. Gears still turning in his mind, day lapses into night, unnoticed in the dark haven of his studio. He leisurely strums his guitar for an hour, puts it down, and reaches to compose an accompanying melody with the use of the nearest piano.

Eventually, Yoongi turns off all his music equipment. In his mind, there’s an echo of a tune he can’t shake away. He can barely hear it himself – soft, feminine, slumberous – and he lays back with his eyes closed to savor the ghost of it instead.

He wants to commit it to memory. It’s something he’s never heard before.

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Miles away, you feel pleasantly adrift. It's been months since you moved in, and you hadn’t been aware that your neighbors played music. In fact, the walls between apartment units are assuredly thick enough for all kinds of noises to filter through – a blessing when you get sniped by yet another rune bear.

You're also not really one to enjoy ambient noise outside of your control, but to your surprise, you don't mind this music at all.

It’s nice.

You tuck your knees to your chest and rest your body against the headboard of your bed, closing your eyes to listen. But it seems that the mysterious musician has gone to sleep for the night. Instead, the old made-up lullaby your mother used to sing to you when you were a child filters into your brain unbidden, and you smile at the memory. Within minutes, lightly humming to yourself, you let the notes overtake your thoughts and fall sound asleep.

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Tonight, your dream plays like an old movie. Most of your dreams are like this, but here you feel like you exist in snippets – that you’re a passenger in someone else's skin. Like you’re standing at a different height, taller than reality. The colors seem to cling to the edges of your vision like haloed light through fogged glass when you move, leaving you half-sentient, fighting to see through the haze of your subconscious mind. Like you’re not you.

You wonder where you are. Who.

I want to do more, you hear yourself think in your dream. I want to be more.

You see your feet take you away from backrooms with white walls. Your heart’s near bursting and telling you how much of this it missed, telling you you're finally back where you belong.

This: before your very eyes, an ocean of twinkling violet.

There’s an overwhelming rush of love in your chest as a chant fills the air, expanding throughout your body until it's spilling from your eyes. You can feel the skin of your lips stretch into a smile.

Everything feels like a dream come true.

“I’m your hope!” you tell the roaring crowd.

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Jung Hoseok bolts upright at exactly 6:15 AM.

Letting out a groan, he drops his face into his hands and croaks out, “What the fuck.”

“You okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, getting ready to turn in for bed himself. It’s his fourth nocturnal day in a row.

Hoseok usually admonishes Jungkook for this kind of misbehavior, but right now he can’t muster enough indignation. It’s just–

“I had a dream. I was a MapleStory livestreamer and – I was really into it. But really? In this economy?” Hoseok continues to complain in his rough morning voice, “I don’t even game.”

Jungkook sniggers, hogging the blankets to himself. “That’s true. Maybe you traded dreams with Jin-hyung?”

Hoseok rubs the spot between his brows. Frowns. It's possible, Jin does love MapleStory. Though lately he's been on a weird arcade game kick despite Namjoon scolding him for being careless in public.

Appeased, he finds the spark to be a proper hyung to their precious maknae. “Don’t sleep at this time tomorrow, JK. If I catch you again, you’re dead at practice. Capisce?”

Jungkook nods a hundred times and buries himself under the sheets. Hobi might lack the broadness and mustache of the stereotypical Italian mobster, but he manages to exude a menacing aura all the same.

“Capeesh, hyung.”

Because he is not a MapleStory livestreamer, Jung Hoseok climbs out of bed at 6:30 in the morning. Because he has a bunch of back-breaking schedules to get to. It’s another Thursday.

No matter what, he’s going to survive. In this economy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Thursday meetings are like Monday meetings but from the nine circles of hell combined.

You shuffle into the arcade with a slump in your shoulders but a fire in your heart. The last time you had a day this bad at work was the last time you had come here, to let out your inner rage on tiny dots and cute little ghosts.

You hadn't even realized it was an arcade at first – you had just found your feet moving automatically towards the storefront, as if inexplicably drawn. And as soon as you set foot inside, even before the odd smell of metal tokens that lingers even in arcades with balance cards, an immediate sense of peace washed over you. That this place was safe. That you could enter and put your everyday life and problems on pause for a short, sweet amount of time.

That feeling has remained with each visit, only growing stronger with your increasing familiarity with both the arcade and the elderly owner Lee-ssi, a friendly man who reminds you of your own grandfather.

You're sure that the worn down sight of you in your white blouse and black pencil skirt amidst the backdrop of the rowdy neon arcade is strange, but you figure if your colleagues can release their frustrations by throwing down in public establishments, so can you. In your own way.

The first and last time you went out with your coworkers, the guy from marketing tried to get you to come home with him. So you made up a liver disease to avoid being expected to drink with them again, and are now letting out your frustrations in a much healthier way: against some cocky kid who calls themselves "the Pacman God."

They are pretty good, you will admit.

Just not as good as you.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

There are a few things that never fail to brighten Lee Seungwon's day. Getting to see the half-toothed smile on his baby grandson's face, making his son-in-law uncomfortable when his daughter isn't around, and –

"WHO. DID. THIS?!" Kim Seokjin demands, furiously pointing at the arcade machine standing innocently in the corner, taunting him.

Resisting the urge to laugh, Seungwon only sighs and crosses his arms, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Which is truly a front, because despite all the annoyances that come with running an arcade, he truly loves his job. He loves providing a space where kids can be kids, and the rare adult can relive the worry-free days of their youth.

"We respect the privacy of our clients, sir," he says politely, lips twitching at Seokjin's dramatic shriek of outrage. Seungwon has especially been looking forward to this particular adult's reaction upon finding his high score beaten by one of the newer regulars.

"Don't you remember who I am?!" the handsome man questions, and the storekeeper looks him up and down, once again unimpressed. Seokjin remembers he's ensconced in a bright pink hoodie and pink sweatpants, then gives a mental shrug.

Whatever. He looks good in everything.

"Yes. ‘Jin the Pacman God.’ Currently… number two in that game," the shopkeeper sneers as he insults the most handsome man in Korea – possibly the world. "Second to GoDsLaYeR_69." he adds, for good measure.

Seokjin gapes at the audacity of this mortal, his gamer rage only further activated by the offensive words that come out of Seungwon’s mouth next.

"Maybe you should go back," the shopkeeper suggests, inspecting his cuticles, "to MapleStory." After a pause, he puts the final nail in the coffin currently housing Seokjin's pride: "Ahjussi."

The Kim Seokjin, being called ahjussi by a man who looks older than Yoongi's soul?

That's it. That's fucking it.

With gurgling, unintelligible squawks of indignation, Seokjin pulls out his wallet and slaps his arcade card on the counter, followed by his black credit card.

"Load this up with 2,000,000W. Right now."

Lee Seungwon hides a smirk as he obeys.

It's just too easy.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It had been a rare occasion in which all of the boys’ evenings (and following mornings) had been free simultaneously, and Hoseok decided to celebrate this in a way so rarely possible for them to do together anymore: to find a noraebang and get absolutely wasted.

"How did I let you guys persuade me into doing this again?" Namjoon asks, blinking in a mixture of joy and consternation at the freshly inked, slightly inflamed 7 on his skin. He flexes the side of his leg and watches the clear bandage wrinkle and smooth at the motion.

"Friendship!" Taehyung announces happily, eyes alight as he sways ever so slightly in his chair. Jungkook and Jimin are fully knocked out on each of Taehyung’s shoulders, their demonic sides hidden by the angelic expressions on their sleeping faces.

"No," Yoongi corrects, revealing a bottle of Suntory whisky from god-knows-where. "This."

"Ah, yes!” Eyes bright with satisfaction, Namjoon’s dimples deepen, and Seokjin laughs at how childish Namjoon looks in his glee as he receives his prize and cradles it to his chest with utmost and deliberate regard. With his vision blurred from all of the alcohol, it almost looks like it's disappearing into the leader's ample bosom. “Sunny, my frieeeend!"

Yoongi nods at him, ten times too much, then glances at Taehyung as he narrowly avoids falling off his chair for the umpteenth time. “The infants are fading,” he mutters, “Let’s get them home.”

Twenty minutes later, Hoseok emerges behind a curtain with a brand new tattoo, ready to show it off and receive compliments for being brave and only screaming once.

Except he’s all alone in the waiting room.

He waits a single beat before looking around in confusion.

“Guys?”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You stumble through your doorway, confused by your body's decision to stop functioning properly. It had begun at the arcade, your normal precision and flawless execution apparently deciding to take its own mental health day and leaving you with slowing reflexes and sloppy reactions.

Finally, you decided to leave after realizing you'd been growling at the machine for the better part of an hour.

Well actually, Lee-ssi had kindly given you a bottle of water and suggested you take a break because you were scaring the kids. You decided to go home lest your happy place become tainted by the miasma of your god-slaying alter ego.

On the train, you nodded off and almost missed your stop – something that never happens. You tripped on your way off the train, and you had initially blamed it on being drowsy, but the trek from the station to your apartment did nothing to dispel your clumsiness.

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought you had gone drinking with your coworkers and were now stumbling home in a drunken haze. But you've been at the arcade since you left work, so that's impossible.

Maybe you're getting sick. That would explain the fogginess in your head, the sluggishness of your limbs.

Feeling under the weather, you spend the night in the dark of your bedroom. But then intense, prickling feelings bug you all over. Instead of the rest you hoped for, the hours are filled with tossing and turning, needle-points on your skin that fall just shy of being painful.

When you wake up, you find your skin tattooed seven different times with the number seven in seven different places.

Um.

What the fuck?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Masterlist | Next

[twilightmalachite]

Altered - Heaven and Hell 1

Author: Akira

Characters: Natsume, Tsumugi

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Being an idol or an artist doesn’t justify being useless with this stuFF. Though as one of the Five Eccentrics, misfits once considered to be enemies of socieTY, I probably shouldn’t be the one saying thAT."

Season: Winter

Location: NewDi Office (Conference Area)

⚠️ This is an import from a unproofed Twitter Livetweet!

…Time passes, first year of ES’ establishment, mid-March (shortly before OO takes place), inside the NewDi agency ES building…

Natsume: (—That dAY, we had a choice before uS.)

(Maybe thEN, we could have changed the futuRE.)

(No… It’s pointless to do mind games like thAT. In realiTY, there are no selections and branching routES.)

(Even I, who was the most inexperienced and foolish at the tiME, could see through fine—through Tenshouin Eichi’s shallow thinking back thEN.)

(Rei-niisan probably logically saw through to his maliCE, and whether it be through instinct or intuitiON, I’m sure the rest of the Five Eccentrics could tOO.)

(And sO, we skipped out on the event last minute—thinking back on it nOW, it’s obvious that the Five Eccentrics would never have wanted to cooperate with fine’s debut liVE.)

(We had all prioritized our own freedom and egos at the time above all else and hated to be used as pawns by otheRS, after aLL.)

(We wanted to be the protagonists of our own storiES, not a character in someone elsE’S.)

(And sO, such a result was to be expectED.)

(That “Emperor” was shallow and stupID; refusing to see us for who we really aRE, and thinking he could use us to his own convenienCE.)

(He was as foolish as I was back thEN, if not moRE.)

(But the dreadful part was how that Emperor was constantly evolviNG.)

(He’d analyze his failures and mistakES, address his shortcominGS, and devise his next plan to be even more vicioUS.)

(As a result of his nonstop self-improvemeNT, his fangs were able to eventually reach even uS.)

(We, who were enjoying our youth carefreeLY, were attacked and torn apart by the Emperor, the only one who was “willing to fight” back thEN.)

……

Tsumugi: What’re you thinking about~?

Natsume: …Mm, it’s nothiNG. Just thinking about the paST.

ThAT, and why is it that people fight each othER? Not even the greatest historical figures could find the right answer to this conundrUM.

Tsumugi: Everyone sure does love to fight, don’t they~? I feel like it’s part of being a boy.

Natsume: I suppose sO. The OO eveNT, scheduled to start tomorrOW, is all about that stuFF.

Tsumugi: Ah, right. The proposal outlines the details of the project, doesn’t it. It was sent to all the agencies, idols, and related parties all at once by the P-Association.

Natsume: YeAH. It’s rather abrupt of thEM, but it’s always like thAT, so it’s nothing out of the ordinaRY.

Those at Yumenosaki and ES know nothing of the essential business mantra of “report”, “contact” and “consult” after aLL.

Tsumugi: That’s because everyone there are idols.

Natsume: Being an idol or an artist doesn’t justify being useless with this stuFF.

Though as one of the Five Eccentrics, misfits once considered to be enemies of socieTY, I probably shouldn’t be the one saying thAT.

AnywaYS, more importantLY, I find this OO project to be really stranGE.

Tsumugi: Well, it certainly is an unprecedented project. Anzu-chan organized the event, although she does more often than not nowadays…

Natsume: If she collapsES, the rest of ES will collapse with iT, you knOW. I’m not even kiddiNG.

Tsumugi: Right. Anzu-chan’s the most valuable person at ES right now, isn’t she? Much more than us idols, at the very least.

Natsume: YeAH. Whoever may win her heart would likely obtain supremaCY. WeLL, fortunateLY, she isn’t one to confuse her public and private lives together muCH.

RathER, that’s exactly why this doesn’t make sense to me. This OO project isn’t like Anzu-chan at aLL.

As the name suggesTS, OO is a large-scale event positioned to be a nEW, or secoND, SS.

SS has an extensive histoRY, it’s an established event made to determine the strongest idOL.

But as we knOW, the results of this year’s SS came out feeling a bit like a meSS.

Tsumugi: I’m glad that everything could finally be at peace, though.

But to have an event held to determine who's the strongest to end with “everyone’s the strongest! ♪” surely had to be disappointing.

Natsume: It was a misguided endiNG. It’s like, at the end of a death game movIE, everyone thankfully survivED.

Tsumugi: But reality isn’t a movie or a video game, I think it’s really great that that was the case. At least, that’s how I feel.

This SS had a happy ending, without a doubt.

The fewer people who get hurt and made unhappy, the better.

Natsume: I’m sure you think sO, Senpai.

In the eND, all the surviving units in the SS competition were winneRS, and they each got rewards distributed to thEM, which bolstered financES.

And as a result of thAT, we’re now facing an extraordinary economic boOM.

Tsumugi: Yup. We’ve even managed to rebuild NewDi’s management too. I’m grateful for that.

Natsume: ES management doesn’t want idols to gain too much powER, thouGH. Or rather any unit or agency against ES…

That’s why ES is pulling all their stops trying to get back any money they gave oUT, as shown in the recent controversial “ES Academy” debacLE.

OO is likely within that context as weLL, this tiME.

It’s to be a large-scale event on par with SS. In other worDS, one where your participation will make a large difference in your recognition as an idOL. Not participating will just be a loSS.

HowevER. Those who perform will be asked to pay L$. This is why they’re charging a participation fEE.

Tsumugi: But if you perform during OO, you can earn a reward from the sales—You’re told you can earn L$, basically.

There shouldn’t be any loss in the end, allegedly.

Natsume: If you can produce results through OO, that iS. But with this unknown project that is OO, I’m not sure if even the more famous idols will be able to achieve thAT.

This sounds like something Crazy:B would sAY, but it’s a gambLE.

At this OO, units whose names are registered with ES are not allowed to participate.

Not just thAT, but individual participation is prohibited as weLL.

Tsumugi: It really is like SS, huh. In general, I really feel like this is a full repeat of SS.

Natsume: These similarities are apparent to us, because it is intentionally based off of SS.

← prev | story directory | next →

[rockislandadultreads]

Introducing the 2023 National Book Awards Longlists!

The National Book Foundation has officially announced the longlists for the 2023 National Book Awards! These are just a handful of the titles chosen for the nonfiction category. To see all of the titles selected, be sure to click here.

Fire Weather by John Vaillant

In May 2016, Fort McMurray, the hub of Canada’s oil industry and America’s biggest foreign supplier, was overrun by wildfire. The multi-billion-dollar disaster melted vehicles, turned entire neighborhoods into firebombs, and drove 88,000 people from their homes in a single afternoon. Through the lens of this apocalyptic conflagration—the wildfire equivalent of Hurricane Katrina—John Vaillant warns that this was not a unique event, but a shocking preview of what we must prepare for in a hotter, more flammable world.

Fire has been a partner in our evolution for hundreds of millennia, shaping culture, civilization, and, very likely, our brains. Fire has enabled us to cook our food, defend and heat our homes, and power the machines that drive our titanic economy. Yet this volatile energy source has always threatened to elude our control, and in our new age of intensifying climate change, we are seeing its destructive power unleashed in previously unimaginable ways.

With masterly prose and a cinematic eye, Vaillant takes us on a riveting journey through the intertwined histories of North America’s oil industry and the birth of climate science, to the unprecedented devastation wrought by modern forest fires, and into lives forever changed by these disasters. John Vaillant’s urgent work is a book for—and from—our new century of fire, which has only just begun.

I Saw Death Coming by Kidada E. Williams

The story of Reconstruction is often told from the perspective of the politicians, generals, and journalists whose accounts claim an outsized place in collective memory. But this pivotal era looked very different to African Americans in the South transitioning from bondage to freedom after 1865. They were besieged by a campaign of white supremacist violence that persisted through the 1880s and beyond. For too long, their lived experiences have been sidelined, impoverishing our understanding of the obstacles post–Civil War Black families faced, their inspiring determination to survive, and the physical and emotional scars they bore because of it.

In I Saw Death Coming, Kidada E. Williams offers a breakthrough account of the much-debated Reconstruction period, transporting readers into the daily existence of formerly enslaved people building hope-filled new lives. Drawing on overlooked sources and bold new readings of the archives, Williams offers a revelatory and, in some cases, minute-by-minute record of nighttime raids and Ku Klux Klan strikes. And she deploys cutting-edge scholarship on trauma to consider how the effects of these attacks would linger for decades—indeed, generations—to come.

For readers of Carol Anderson, Tiya Miles, and Clint Smith, I Saw Death Coming is an indelible and essential book that speaks to some of the most pressing questions of our times.

The Rediscovery of America by Ned Blackhawk

The most enduring feature of U.S. history is the presence of Native Americans, yet most histories focus on Europeans and their descendants. This long practice of ignoring Indigenous history is changing, however, with a new generation of scholars insisting that any full American history address the struggle, survival, and resurgence of American Indian nations. Indigenous history is essential to understanding the evolution of modern America.

Ned Blackhawk interweaves five centuries of Native and non‑Native histories, from Spanish colonial exploration to the rise of Native American self-determination in the late twentieth century. In this transformative synthesis he shows that:

• European colonization in the 1600s was never a predetermined success; • Native nations helped shape England’s crisis of empire; • the first shots of the American Revolution were prompted by Indian affairs in the interior; • California Indians targeted by federally funded militias were among the first casualties of the Civil War; • the Union victory forever recalibrated Native communities across the West; • twentieth-century reservation activists refashioned American law and policy.  

Blackhawk’s retelling of U.S. history acknowledges the enduring power, agency, and survival of Indigenous peoples, yielding a truer account of the United States and revealing anew the varied meanings of America.

King: A Life by Jonathan Eig

Vividly written and exhaustively researched, Jonathan Eig’s A Life is the first major biography in decades of the civil rights icon Martin Luther King Jr.―and the first to include recently declassified FBI files. In this revelatory new portrait of the preacher and activist who shook the world, the bestselling biographer gives us an intimate view of the courageous and often emotionally troubled human being who demanded peaceful protest for his movement but was rarely at peace with himself. He casts fresh light on the King family’s origins as well as MLK’s complex relationships with his wife, father, and fellow activists. King reveals a minister wrestling with his own human frailties and dark moods, a citizen hunted by his own government, and a man determined to fight for justice even if it proved to be a fight to the death. As he follows MLK from the classroom to the pulpit to the streets of Birmingham, Selma, and Memphis, Eig dramatically re-creates the journey of a man who recast American race relations and became our only modern-day founding father―as well as the nation’s most mourned martyr.

When Crack Was King by Donovan X. Ramsey

The crack epidemic of the 1980s and 1990s is arguably the least examined crisis in American history. Beginning with the myths inspired by Reagan’s war on drugs, journalist Donovan X. Ramsey’s exacting analysis traces the path from the last triumphs of the Civil Rights Movement to the devastating realities we live with a racist criminal justice system, continued mass incarceration and gentrification, and increased police brutality.

When Crack Was King follows four individuals to give us a startling portrait of crack’s destruction and devastating Elgin Swift, an archetype of American industry and ambition and the son of a crack-addicted father who turned their home into a “crack house”; Lennie Woodley, a former crack addict and sex worker; Kurt Schmoke, the longtime mayor of Baltimore and an early advocate of decriminalization; and Shawn McCray, community activist, basketball prodigy, and a founding member of the Zoo Crew, Newark’s most legendary group of drug traffickers.

Weaving together riveting research with the voices of survivors, When Crack Was King is a crucial reevaluation of the era and a powerful argument for providing historically violated communities with the resources they deserve.

[ajeannekathleen-blog]

Is there anything not great about remote work?

Picture this: you live in the Philippines but earn USD, the job is task-based (you, yes you, manage your hours), you work at the comfort of just about anywhere, and there's tech allowance to support the best setup you can put up at home - could there still be something not great about it?

This will probably be a #WFHhuman series, but for now, I'll share the most recent realization for me.

February 16, 2024

February 15 in the afternoon Pacific time, and it was packed. I had three meetings scheduled starting at 7AM, ending at 9AM.

The first one was unfortunately a transition call - me, my boss and a US employee we're calling Troy in this journal, doing a walkthrough of his tasks because he was being let go. When I saw the calendar invite the day prior, I thought it would just feel like any other meeting I had to go to - I'd get myself prepped for the camera, drink water, zone myself in for the meeting at least 5 minutes before (vocabulary and grammar has to be summoned, of course) and attend. But boy I was wrong.

At 10 minutes into the call, it felt heavier watching and listening to Troy walk us through his doc. It wasn't the nicest doc but it was still, in all its essence, the last doc he's ever going to make in and for the company; a furnished Google doc that equates to "I'm leaving my tasks to you now, take good care of them."

Well, I had to brush these probably overly comical and dramatic thoughts off, cause I have to focus and make sure I comprehended. It's also the last and only time I can ask questions.

A little over 5 minutes before the call, we were good, and my boss being the respectful and courteous man that he is, had to bid a few words. We ended it afterwards.

With the call ending, I was then free to acknowledge the heavy load I was feeling. Slowly, it sank in how it was one heck of a start to my morning; how it was in every way, depressing. To my realization, this actually is one and two among other things that suck with remote work.

The lack of surety. The reality is, remote employment is not nearly as secure as how local private or government employment is. You can be let go anytime with or without an exit pay, with or without a specific reason. Not all, but most often, clients have considerable freedom without any legal bounds.

A lot of farewells. Given the lack of security, you have to be ready to encounter a lot of farewells - either from colleagues leaving soon from finding a better higher paying job, or from those who were let go, sometimes in the most unprecedented timings.

It's been five+ years now since I transitioned from being in corporate to remote, and it still feels like I'm never prepared for instances like this. Accountants are usually either the last to get offboarded or do not get offboarded at all, so trust me when I say I've offboarded 50+ people already and the seemingly heavy rock still gets its way to my chest every single time. I found myself breaking down at one point.

While great opportunities are everywhere, not everyone's meant to last thriving in these opportunities. If right now you are employed, be grateful and value the paid role you've been given. Do your job right. If right now you are seeking but have all the resources and time to find one, do not waste it. These are all blessings and gifts that many people pray for. I hope you can empathize and acknowledge that others may not be as fortunate, by showing appreciation for what you have.

So, a related insert: to everyone always saying "Kapag ba inubos ko pagkain ko, mabubusog ba yung mga walang makain?", it might be high time to hear yourselves and reconsider.

[lordeemailarchive]

PART TWO: A little spiel and a REINTRODUCTION!!!!

(09/11/2022) (Solar Institute Bulletin No. 20) (From Rio de Janeiro)

In São Paulo, running towards 26. Photos by Lauren Tepfer

Good morning cuties… or should I say Oi!!!! I landed in Brasil a few hours ago. The pop star river runs — stumble half asleep into a waiting car, get to a lovely hotel room, eat some papaya off a gorgeous fruit plate, shower, crash out. I sit typing this at a wooden table near a window, looking out over Sao Paulo. A security guard waits in the hall outside my room. In total there are five men being paid to protect my body this week. I love coming to Brasil, and South America in general, and look forward to it for years. I can never believe the way the Brasilian kids took to my music, this kid from so far away somehow making sense to them, and the shows are totally electric and emotional and play on a loop in my brain for years. I love the food and the architecture and the trees. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a completely surreal feeling getting on a plane in one country with relative physical anonymity, and getting off in another to literal flash-using paparazzi and gorgeous crying kids. It happens for all of 10 days of a year, so I still think it’s sort of bizarre and eerie and a little bit fabulous, someone else’s life. I’m struck by how truly odd the notion of having a security guard is, still like something out of a movie to me, and how inextricably linked it is with coming to America. My first security guard met me at LAX and guided me through a scrum of autograph hunters with a gun tucked into his belt. Proper Dorothy not in Kansas any more moment. Today I feel like an exotic tropical fish, big slow blinks and gorgeous fins, and I’ll swim around and around in my little bowl until showtime. 

My pretty fishbowl

When you read this, by the way, I’ll be twenty fucking six. TWENTY SIX! Kinda can’t believe that, but on the other hand, absolutely can. It’s been a lifetime already, you know? Besides, the lines are only fine, my body’s fitter and stronger than ever and the spiral winds around in ways I’m finding more and more rewarding. Happy to be in this beautiful country on the day the portal opens.

Taken at sunset on birthday eve

So. Tour update incoming. But first, a spiel! I don’t know how much you’ve been following the live music industry conversation, but lemme hit you with a five minute explainer, cause I think it’s interesting, and good to know about if you’re going to concerts at the moment. Basically, for artists, promoters and crews, things are at an almost unprecedented level of difficulty. It’s a storm of factors. Let’s start with three years’ worth of shows happening in one. Add global economic downturn, and then add the totally understandable wariness for concertgoers around health risks. On the logistical side there’s things like immense crew shortages (here’s an article from last week about this in New Zealand), extremely overbooked trucks and tour buses and venues, inflated flight and accommodation costs, ongoing general COVID costs, and truly. mindboggling. freight costs. To freight a stage set across the world can cost up to three times the pre-pandemic price right now. I don’t know shit about money, but I know enough to understand that no industry has a profit margin that high. Ticket prices would have to increase to start accommodating even a little of this, but absolutely no one wants to charge their harried and extremely-compassionate-and-flexible audience any more fucking money. Nearly every tour has been besieged with cancellations and postponements and promises and letdowns, and audiences have shown such understanding and such faith, that between that and the post-COVID wariness about getting out there at all, scaring people away by charging the true cost ain’t an option. All we want to do is play for you. Profits being down across the board is fine for an artist like me. I’m lucky. But for pretty much every artist selling less tickets than I am, touring has become a demented struggle to break even or face debt. For some, touring is completely out of the question, even if they were to sell the whole thing out! The math doesn’t make sense. Understandably, all of this takes a toll — on crews, on promoters, and on artists. You’ll notice a ton of artists cancelling shows citing mental health concerns in the past year, and I really think the stress of this stuff is a factor — we’re a collection of the world’s most sensitive flowers who also spent the last two years inside, and maybe the task of creating a space where people’s pain and grief and jubilation can be held night after night with a razor thin profit margin and dozens of people to pay is feeling like a teeny bit much. Me personally? I’m doing pretty good. You guys have come to the shows in such mammoth numbers (we sold almost 20,000 tickets in London, like what the hell) and not having crippling stage fright hanging over me for the first time is such a fucking blessing that you could tell me I had to cycle from city to city and I’d still be loving it. But I’m not immune to the stress — just a month ago I was looking at a show that was pretty undersold and panicking, only for it to sell the remaining 2000 tickets in ten days. Wild stuff. I wanted to put all of this in your minds to illustrate that nothing’s simple when it comes to touring at the moment, and if your faves are confusing you with their erratic moves, some of this could be playing a part. So, without further ado, some updates:

I know it seemed extremely sus that the Down Under edition of The Solar Power Tour would ever happen. But it's almost that time! I'm honestly really glad it worked out this way, we're playing so well, and I have so much to bring to these shows now I know it inside out. So consider this a REINTRODUCTION to the tour. We're coming. It's happening. Lesgo.

-- We are thrilled to be adding a show at the Adelaide Festival on March 16th. I’m psyched about this, haven’t played in Adelaide since 2014! -- We have to cancel New Plymouth. I would love to wrap it in something to save face but honestly, it’s a pandemic and we haven’t sold enough tickets! I’m bummed, I love that venue, and I hope to play it some day in the future :—) -- Conversely, we are adding a second show at Black Barn. Yes, I know this sounds insane but the powers that be are telling me that’s what we should do. Can’t wait to find out if this was a smart move in real time alongside you, lol! This show will take place on March 2nd, and if you come, I promise you something special and completely one-off, how’s that? ticket info here. pre-sale code: strangeairlines -- I’m EXXXXTREMELY thrilled to announce the support acts for these shows - Fazerdaze and RIIKI REID in Aotearoa, and the absolute huns MUNA in Australia!!! The sublime Laura Jean will join us for Perth — you know how I feel about Touchstone and now I raise you Girls On The TV. You’re welcome. I’m really excited to play in this part of the world — it’s always a super special time for me coming home. Makes it more real. I hope I’ll see you there. We’re gonna do a little flash sale on tour merch — fab quality, fab designs, would cop if I were you. To finish, some recent Mexico pictures I loved, from Lauren’s clever lens. 

Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love (twenty six times!), L x x x x x x x PS:

(source: received this email)

[shanastoryteller]

freshman year of college is a liminal space and sometimes you look back and go “surely we didn’t live that way” but we absolutely did

my first year at college i shared a three bedroom dorm with five other girls - Z, A, K, E, and J (my roommate). we also had a very small kitchenette area, a small living room, and a decently sized bathroom. 

just so you understand the level that we’re dealing with here. about two weeks into the semester i came home from class, i opened the door, turned my head, saw a pile of cocaine on the counter, and closed the door. 

“who’s cocaine is this?” i yelled, 18 years old, 2pm on a weekday. “you can’t leave this out! what if i’d been an ra? it’s right next to the door.” 

“sorry, sorry,” E said, coming out of her room. “that’s mine, it’s mine, my bad.” 

“you have to clean this up,” i said. “clean it up right now.” 

she nodded, eyes wide and red rimmed. “yeah, yeah, of course.” 

then she leaned down and snorted it. 

which. well. did get it off the counter. 

(once her and J did something involving LSD and i came home to see they’d dragged all our mattresses off the beds and put them in the living room. still not sure why. i didn’t ask)

my best friend from high school, D, was in college in the same city as me, but on the other side of it. sometimes he’d bike around the city in the middle of the night to clear his head, but by the time his head was clear he was on the other side of town and tired. 

so more than once he would call me and just spend the night in my dorm. this wasn’t usual behavior, but it also wasn’t unusual. 

so i get a call at 3 am, fast asleep, and i wake up and it’s D. he’s downstairs and wants to know if he can crash here. yeah, of course, no problem. i put on real pajamas and open the door and. freeze. 

it looks like the exorcist has visited. 

the walls are covered in vomit. it’s on the floor. on photos frames. on the counter. 

we have two sinks and they’re filled with vomit. 

it is, small mercies, not on the ceiling. 

i went to bed two hours ago. there was no party. 

(if there had been a party after i’d gone to bed this wouldn’t have been unprecedented. once i woke up at 4 am when i had an 8 am class to shots by lmfao blasting and a dozen people squeezed into my tiny dorm living room. i downed 14 shots of vodka then kicked everyone out because i had class in 3 hours. but there had been no party this time.)

it’s 3 am. my friend is waiting for me downstairs. i don’t have time for this. 

i walk around the vomit. i sign my friend in. i tell him. “my dorm room is covered in vomit. i don’t know why.”

“okay,” he says. “that’s fine.” 

he comes upstairs. he leaves his bike in the living room in a non vomit covered area. we platonically share my shitty twin sized mattress, with him against the wall and me against the edge. J sleeps through all of this. we go to sleep.

i wake up around 9 am to Z, A, and E coming into our room and sitting on the narrow space on the floor between my bed and J’s. they have awakened. they have noticed the vomit. 

K had apparently gone out, gotten white girl wasted, then stumbled home and projectile vomited literally everywhere, including the room she shares with A. we all slept through this. everyone is Very Upset. this is not K’s first offense. something must be done. we talk about our options for several minutes. 

D is under the blanket. I have shifted on my side, mostly blocking him from view. this was not on purpose. i hadn’t really thought about it, since i’d woken up to angry whispering. 

so from everyone else’s perspective what happens is a male arm appears in front of me out of nowhere and a switchblade is flicked out just as a disembodied voice says “there is only one solution” 

(after the screaming is done, E says, “oh, that explains the bike”, which they’d noticed and just decided not to worry about in the face of our absolute disaster of a dorm room)

[savedfromsalvation]

“Reverend” J. C. Skinner, Methodist Minister, Spousal Abuser, Sexual Predator, and Attempted Murderer!

This is J. C. Skinner, an ordained, retired Methodist minister. He was also my wife’s stepfather, a spousal abuser, a sexual predator, and an attempted murderer! J. C. was a Navy “frogman”/Seabee during WWII. He later graduated from Texas Christian University. with a degree in “divinity” and I’m pretty sure he thought his initials equated with Jesus Christ! He also made a big deal about me sharing his initials.

About the Abuse: Because of my MIL’s complaints, my wife and her sisters were well-aware of J. C.’s mostly verbal/psychological, but also sometime physical abuse of their mother. His children from his former marriage would have nothing to do with him because of his treatment of their mother, his first wife.

About His Sexual Deviancy Here defined as “non-consensual sexual activity”: I initially became aware of his sexual deviancy on my first trip to my girlfriend’s hometown in another state, to meet her family. On a warm, sultry afternoon, my girlfriend (now wife) and I snuck away from the family gathering to our bedroom in her sister’s apartment to enjoy some intimate time together. About ten minutes later, without a knock, or any warning, J.C. burst into our room, catching us both naked and aroused! We scrambled to cover up and I yelled at him to “Get the fuck outa here!” prompting him to back slowly out, grinning and staring the whole way. Later, my wife told me that her older sister, G, had banned him from her house because he had groped her sexually. J. C. was about 15 years older than my MIL, but very fit, and liked to try to get the younger guys in the family to feel his biceps and “six pack”. He would also show off by doing toe touches but ending with the palm of his hands flat on the floor, without bending his knees! He could do this well into his eighties and early nineties. (I never could!)After my girlfriend and I married, we were on an outing with her mom and J. C. at an old amusement park. I went into the run-down men’s room to urinate. I had just finished and was zipping up when J. C came in and took the urinal beside me. I turned to say hello, and there he stood, grinning, and waving his semi-erect penis at me! J. C. was fluent in Spanish and often led youth “missionary” trips to Latin America. I have often wondered what this sexual deviant did to the missionary kids and the Latin natives on these trips!

About the Attempted Murder: My wife’s older sister, G, was a divorced mom of two grown sons, and a successful professional who owned her own home. Unfortunately, her house was in a flood plain and several years after she bought it, unprecedented massive rainfall resulted in four feet of water inside her house. The family pitched in and helped rescue what we could. Fortunately, she had flood insurance. In planning for the rebuild, out of concern for her aging mom, she included a private suite with bath for her mom in the plan. She also, surprisingly, agreed that J. C. could move in with her Mom! J. C. and my MIL had been living in a Methodist retirement house on a small lake at the western end of the state, with no family nearby. Four of my MIL’s five daughters lived in a city about 130 miles to the southeast, including G, and my wife and I. Eventually, the rebuild was finished, with the MIL suite, a beautiful new kitchen with modern appliances, two other new bathrooms, and all the rest. Mom packed up to move in and told J. C. that she would like it if he came too. He agreed, and soon they were established in their new quarters in G’s house, along with J. C.’s scruffy mutt, making friends with G’s two small dogs.Everything was fine for several months, with J. C. on his best behavior, until his true colors finally burst through. His severe temper erupted at Mom over some trivial, perceived slight. He began raging at his wife and threatening her verbally and physically while chasing her around the house, until G intervened, ordering him out of her home, under threat of calling the police, and said that if he ever came back, she would have him arrested for trespassing!Later that night, a neighbor noticed J. C.’s noisy old pickup truck driving by the house several times over the next several hours. Eventually, around 2:00 or 3:00 am, when all the lights in the neighborhood were long out and J. C. was sure the women were asleep, he stopped by the short driveway, and got out with a large can of gasoline. He proceeded to soak both cars in the carport, with gasoline with special attention to the south wall adjacent G’s bedroom. The headboard of her bed was against this wall, which J. C. well knew. He poured the remaining gasoline on the west wall, adjacent the living room, then lit the fuel, watched it explode into a major conflagration, and drove off with his scruffy mutt.Fortunately, G, a light sleeper, was awakened by strange sounds, got up and discovered the fire before it had spread very far! She was able to get her mom and her two dogs out of the house before the gas tanks on the cars exploded, but not much else. After he left the scene of the crime, J. C. took the Interstate west across the river to the next large town and turned himself into the police. The house, with all its contents, and the cars were a total loss.

The Aftermath: J. C. was held pending an investigation and eventually transferred back across the river and charged with Simple Arson. The Methodist church bailed him out of jail, provided him with a place to stay, a lawyer and “mental evaluations”. While out on bail, J. C. began harassing his wife and his stepdaughters via vaguely threatening and vile letters. In these letters, he claimed that he’d had sexual encounters with all five of his stepdaughters, describing these fantasies in pornographic details. (Unfortunately, I destroyed the letter we received, so I can’t now publish it.)Based on these letters and some verbal threats the family filed for a restraining order to prevent J. C from further contact or communication with his wife and stepdaughters. The judge, ignoring the letters and listening to the Methodist lawyer, disallowed the restraining order, reasoning that at his age (@92) J.C. couldn’t be much of a threat. Shortly after this, with the insurance money from the fire, G bought a new house into which she and Mom moved, thus preventing J. C. from contacting them again, because he didn’t know the address. At the trial, despite the clear evidence of the attempted murder of his stepdaughter, this “Christian” man, with the help of the Methodist church and a lenient judge, was convicted only of Simple Arson. At the sentencing, J. C. was not condemned serve any time in prison. Instead, he was remanded to Home Confinement, with an ankle bracelet, and only allowed out for medical purposes. Under this sentence, he was not even allowed to go to church, LOL. Later, our lawyer explained that J. C. wasn’t sent to prison because of his advanced age. The State didn’t want him in prison to avoid having to pay his medical bills an funerary. So much for State Justice!

An Additional Note: I wanted to publish this information years ago, shortly after the events unfolded, but was unable to find a photo of J. C. which I thought was critical for this exposé, but recently, while rummaging through some old files, I found the accompanying picture from an invitation for a celebration of J. C’s ninetieth birthday. This was a little over a year before the events described above. While I am fairly sure that J. C. is now dead, I have been unable to find any obituary or other evidence of the fact, but regardless, I thought it important to post the details of his crime! J. C Lazaris

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

Trolley Problem

Full disclosure, this was inspired by @layren and @pointvee ‘s Standard Operating Procedures-- specifically this passage:

Emmet lets acrid rage overtake the hurt of it.  Twins. They were twins. The minutes of difference between them matters only when Emmet wants something, or when Ingo wants Emmet to do something. It's not for their uncle to wave in his face, to project his own history and notions of brotherhood onto them like Emmet's responsibility to Ingo wasn't the very same.

It is not, however, set in the same universe as Standard Operating Procedures.

Note: This is unfinished and, though I still really like it, I likely won’t be returning to it. It ends abruptly and is littered with placeholders/notes. If that’s a dealbreaker for you, you’re better off skipping this. 

--

Emmet loved most aspects of being and having a twin; those he didn’t were usually imposed upon them from outside forces and, therefore, unimportant.

He hadn’t always thought so, but with age came wisdom. Which was exactly the problem.

There were times he wondered whether things might have been different if they’d been mixed up as babies, and nobody knew for certain which of them was which. This wasn’t because he wanted to be the eldest-- far from it-- but then neither he or Ingo would have had to bear the full responsibility of it.

They were twins. An extra five minutes of lived experience meant nothing, but people acted like it made all the difference in the world.

One of his earliest memories was of Ingo clinging to him, terrified and unable to make a sound, while the adults around them chuckled and cooed. He couldn’t remember what had his brother so scared, just that nobody else seemed to realize, taking the involuntary downturn of the mouth as something else entirely. He hadn’t hesitated to throw his arms around Ingo in return, and the sea of voices over their heads broke out into amused chatter.

Emmet was certain that wasn’t the start of it all-- of ‘protect,’ ‘take care,’ ‘big brother’-- but it was the first he could recall.

And oh, he’d noticed. Both of them had. They were children, but children were more perceptive than people seemed to remember being. Ingo had realized there was some kind of expectation to be filled, and done his utmost to live up to it, even as a tiny child. Everything was perfectly fine when it was just the two of them-- things were always fine when it was just them-- but there was an underlying anticipation whenever they shared space with their parents.

Truly, it wasn’t… really anyone’s fault. As an adult now, himself, Emmet could see that any expectations put on them at that age were minimal. It had just been [idk] from when the two of them had been too young to have any distinct personalities, and it stuck in that cutesy way childhood habits and nicknames did. That didn’t mean it was lacking an effect.

Maybe Emmet was just looking for someone to blame.

[...]

When they were eight, their father had seen them off for the day with the usual script-- ‘be good,’ ‘have fun,’ ‘keep an eye on Emmet’-- and headed out, himself. The details had since slipped from Emmet’s mind, but it hadn’t been unprecedented; he and Ingo had been informed that their father might be late in getting back, so it was something out of the ordinary, if only just so, but nothing interesting enough to stick in his memory.

What he did remember was that he’d finally gotten the better of Roman in wall ball, and, when he’d turned to show off for his brother, Ingo was already clapping with a sweet little frown on his face.

It had been a perfectly nice day and, while odd that their father wasn’t home by dinnertime, they’d been told not to worry if he was late and got all the way through to bedtime without incident. Remembering who had ended up in whose bed during the night was an impossible task, as it was a habit they traded off intermittently-- to the point where, in hindsight, Emmet wasn’t sure which bed was supposed to belong to which of them. It had likely changed at some point.

Then morning had broken, and they were still by themselves.

Puzzling, but not necessarily cause for alarm. Ingo had ushered them on through a clumsy version of their morning routine, and Emmet had periodically reminded him of the time until they ended up hurtling down the sidewalk and into the classroom just before they could be marked tardy. The teacher had seemed mildly amused, but made nothing of it. They’d allotted snacks properly at lunch, having lacked the time to sort the components out in their hurry, and Emmet had spent the better half of the morning trying to untangle a particularly fierce knot at the back of Ingo’s head.

When they’d unlocked the door to an empty house, neither of them had the courage to let go of the other’s hand.

It had gone on for only a few more days, until they decided that they had to tell someone. Initially, Emmet had volunteered to approach their teacher after school, but his throat had closed up when he’d tried, and Ingo had taken over. It was likely for the best. Emmet wasn’t sure what he would have said, but his words tended not to convey everything he meant for them.

The response had been an immediate flurry of phone calls as their teacher tried to keep them busy. In a tense silence, they’d filled out the same coloring sheet, wordlessly trading off markers as needed.

They were taken to their uncle’s house that day, and never returned home.

And yes, looking back on it, Drayden had been thrown into an upheaval of anxiety and grief, searching for a brother who’d vanished into the ether. He’d meant well, but Emmet simply couldn’t comprehend how he’d thought it a good idea to take an eight year old aside-- an eight year old who’d spent nearly a week holding life together for both of the twins-- and have him promise to protect his younger brother, to learn from Drayden’s mistake.

Ingo hadn’t necessarily changed in the face of that promise, but it set the tone for growing up under their uncle’s roof.

[...]

The thing was, they both could have made it.

The tunnels had shifted beneath their feet, falling away like the quicksand in Relic Castle, but they’d reacted promptly and appropriately. They’d been keenly aware of the blackness encroaching as they’d fled, and more [aware] of where one another was, so as not to leave one’s twin behind. There had been time, as they dashed out onto the loading platform, for both of them to reach the staircase into the station proper. Emmet was absolutely certain of that.

But Ingo had slowed, just for a fraction of a second, to ensure that Emmet found his footing first.

That was all it had taken.

Emmet hadn’t realized anything was wrong until he’d taken two steps without an echo beside him. He’d spun on his heel and reached out-- had found Ingo, impossibly, half-submerged in what used to be the floor, and of course he’d tried to get to him, but it had already been too late. One arm had been tied down by a creeping [idk], and the other struggled to find purchase against the nonexistent floor, swiftly losing ground. His terrified eyes lifted from the [idk] swallowing him up and landed on the stairs, then to Emmet, safely atop them.

For the first time, Emmet felt a shred of sympathy for those unable to read his brother’s contrary expressions. As the maw snapped shut, Ingo smiled-- broad, relieved-- and then he was gone.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(This is an excerpt from my unfinished but fully outlined Reign of Vader fic, in which Darth Vader assassinates Palpatine and then finds out that unfortunately this means he actually has to rule. After Luke is captured by the Empire, Vader reveals both his heritage and a desire to fix things in the galaxy. Luke is wary, but it's not like he has anywhere to go)

Darth Vader was not a man of infinite patience, and the Ruling Council was growing ever nearer to discovering the limits of his tolerance. 

"Day-to-day procedures are a delicate matter, Majesty," Greejatus was saying, "It would be an unprecedented disaster to force change upon all offices all at once. May I recommend a gradual shift as your reign takes root?"

"Yes yes," Sate Pesage agreed. His eyes glittered out of his gaunt face with ambition. "This proposal to outlaw slavery, for instance-"

"-Is non-negotiable," Vader interrupted. "It was an idiot's decision to legalize it in the first place. My empire will have no need of slave labor."

"Of course!" Pesage bowed. He was beginning to sweat under that ridiculous hat of his. "We are eager to begin this journey into the future your reign promises, Majesty. But the galaxy is vast. Perhaps it is best to...phase the law in slowly? It takes time to bring new ordinances all the way to the Outer Rim."

Vader had heard quite enough for one day. 

"Enough. The decree goes into effect tonight." 

He stood, and all five members of the Council jumped a little. 

"You have until then to review the revised legal codes I have provided for you."

[[MORE]]

With a sardonic lilt to his voice, he added, "The rule of the Grand Vizier through the Moffs has ended, gentlemen. If you do not feel that you are adequately prepared for the task ahead, I will accept your resignation and begin the process of finding your successor."

He waved a hand. "In the next week, we begin hearings for the Alderaanian Massacre. You are dismissed."

There was a certain satisfaction in watching Palpatine's five advisers bowing and trembling on their way out. After decades of putting up with their snide comments and inane commands, it was nice to see the shoe on the other foot for a change.

Of course, they hadn't covered much. Just an overview of what the Imperial Ruling Council actually did. Once Vader mentioned that he intended to sell his secondary residence in the district and distribute the funds as reparations, the meeting had devolved into excuses and protests for the next two hours. Luckily, he was far too stubborn to pay any attention to their complaints.

While he had no strong feelings about most of his actions in the last nineteen years, neither hatred nor regret, he was willing to acknowledge that not all of his targets had been legitimate in a military sense. For Padme's sake, he would make amends if possible. 

Naturally, it was uncomfortable to try putting a price on life. But the sale of that ridiculous "castle" Palpatine insisted on him staying in would provide a good starting place.

It took about fifteen minutes of calculating, but ultimately Vader decided there was more than enough in Palpatine's personal accounts to cover about 17,000 wrongful death settlements, with additional funds in the cases of recurring medical bills. 

Arranging reparations for Alderaan would take more work. Vader quickly decided he was going to delegate that to the department of finances.

(They...did have a department of finances, didn't they? Surely Sidious hadn't done his own bookkeeping.)

With that settled, Vader's itinerary consisted primarily of a meeting with the Hands to make sure they knew their boundaries. After that, a remote consultation with a newly-renowned surgeon living in one of the lower districts. It would, unfortunately, take up the majority of the day. But for now, at least, he had two hours to himself.

The emperor closed his eyes and stretched out with his senses. It took several seconds before he was able to pinpoint his son's location. Luke's presence was dimmed, slightly. Muffled.

The reason for this became apparent the moment Vader found him.

Inside the library, on the lower level, Luke was sprawled across one of the ridiculous armchairs the nobles had favored. A book lay open on his chest, rising and falling gently. A small stack of texts encompassing everything from speeder repair to adventure novels sat on the floor, just next to where one of Luke's hands dangled off the edge of the arm rest. Clearly, he had been in the library for several hours before falling asleep. 

Sleep had softened the boy's features, painting him in a far more vulnerable light. The fear and caution of the previous night had been wiped away, leaving someone who seemed far too young, and far too small. How could he be twenty? How could Padme's baby already be twenty? 

It was tempting to leave him there. To let him sleep. But the chair was not the most supportive frame, nor was the library the most secure chamber of the palace. Reluctantly, Vader bent to touch Luke's cheek. 

"Luke," he said quietly, "This is hardly an appropriate place to sleep."

Luke's eyelids fluttered, but he did not fully awaken at once. Carefully, ever so carefully, Vader took hold of Luke's shoulders and guided him back into an upright position. 

"Your spine will thank me later," he said. 

Luke shifted, then opened his eyes with a groan. He didn’t seem to register Vader’s presence at first. One arm stretched up over his head, and the other came up to rub at his eyes.

“What time is it?” he yawned.

“Nearly noon,” answered Vader. The meeting with the Council had taken far longer than he would’ve liked. “Are you hungry?”

With a garbled sound, Luke waved a hand from side to side. “Don’t know yet?” he said in a still sleep-slurred voice.

After a few more seconds, he finally noticed just who had woken him. Instinctively, he straightened his spine, and looked a little bit nervous.

“Oh,” he said, very quietly. “H-hello, Father.”

“Hello, son.” Vader sounded amused. “Was your choice of reading that dull?”

After a moment, Luke nodded. He made a face. "I know there's supposed to be a famous musical made from this or something. But a whole chapter on how the sewer system of Ryloth's capital city works doesn't seem like good song material."

He jumped when Vader laughed. It was a warm, rich sound, utterly at odds with his austere appearance. 

"Poor boy!" He gently took the book from his son. "That was required reading for our literature studies when I was a boy. I loathed it. Very few of my peers sought it out voluntarily."

"I guess I can see why," Luke admitted. "But it seemed like it was going to be a good story."

"Then you are better served finding an abridged copy, I think," Vader chuckled. "Come. You should eat something."

Luke pushed himself up out of the chair. “Do I...need to put the books back?”

Vader leaned back on his heels. He looked at the books, then at the shelves. “I...will leave that to your best judgement. I do not know where you got them from.”

It was such a normal sounding conversation! Why?! 

Why did you have to be like...like this?! Luke fought a surprising burst of frustration. I have no idea how to talk to you! 

Serious and formal one moment, then laughing the next? Vader? Laughing?! It was as if the man he’d met on Cymoon and the man idly examining his stack of books were two completely different people.

Luke set the books on the console with the Holonet terminal eventually. Vader had suggested that he learn the cataloguing system of the room at a later time. At least that seemed to mean that he would be allowed to go back to the library again. Luke thought about his conversation with Artoo. Perhaps his father was trying to be kind to him. Whether that kindness would extend to anyone else was a different matter.

“I thought you were still meeting with dignitaries or something,” Luke said.

He trailed along behind Vader up an ornate staircase with his hands in his pockets. He was still uncomfortable walking too closely to the man. For all that he acknowledged that the new emperor was, indeed, his father, he was still a force to be reckoned with. 

Luke took a moment to internally groan at his unintended pun. Han would probably have elbowed him in the ribs for saying something like that. Chewie would think it was hilarious. 

Luke’s attempt to stay safely out of range failed quite suddenly. Vader deliberately slowed his steps so that Luke couldn’t hang back without being extremely obvious about it. He didn’t want to offend the emperor, so he tried to ignore his fight or flight instincts shaking his insides and kept pace with his father.

“I have several more meetings to endure today,” Vader said casually. “But the most onerous of those has been dealt with.”

This was not quite true. The Ruling Council was too full of Palpatine loyalists. Just intimidating them into compliance would only work for so long. They had connections, and they had money, and that could prove to be a headache if not dealt with sooner. Vader needed to replace at least three of them.

He had almost considered appointing Luke as Vizier in Amedda’s place, but had quickly thought better of it. Such a position would almost guarantee that Luke would never have time to fly again. Cutting a Skywalker off from the stars for good seemed too cruel. 

His son had not had the childhood he could have had if his mother had lived. If Palpatine had died much sooner. Let him enjoy his youth while he could.

But the problem of finding a Ruling Council that Vader could trust would still be waiting.

“The stupid hat club, right?” Luke asked.

He was unsettled by Vader’s proximity. Vader could sense that. He understood: the armor had been made to terrify. Perhaps one day he would have the option of seeing his son with his own eyes, but for now the boy would have to acclimate himself to the sight.

It was not often that Vader found himself cursing the cold, impersonal nature of his mask. He would have liked to smile at his son.

“Yes. The...stupid hat club.” He settled for letting his amusement be clearly heard in his voice. “That is not an inaccurate description. They run the day-to-day matters of ruling an Empire. But as they were all close to the former ruler, I find that I’d rather not trust them in matters of delegating governance.”

Luke grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” he agreed.

[chihomichannel]

of candy wrappers and unprecedented endings

| pairing: choso x reader | genre: angst & fluff | warnings: mention of death; sad things blended with happy things | word count: 2330 words | a/n: hi! this is clem! this is the 3rd and final part of “bittersweet lollipops” so read the first two parts before this but it can also be read as is. this wasn’t my first plan for the 3rd part and i had actually written a lot when i realized that i don’t want it to be the 3rd part lol. so i rewritten this today and here it is! hope you guys like it!

◄ previous |

icon used

Time has always been the limit for humans. We were born and raised, thrown into the world and built our lives only for everything you’ve worked hard for to be left behind once death came right by your door. And for sorcerers like you, death has always been just a step behind, ready to take you once it was your time. But in your case, you miraculously lived long enough to know you would die with no regrets.

Feeling the hand clung onto yours, your eyes woke from its slumber. Your eyes were met with the bright sunshine that illuminated the whole room, the white of the ceiling shining brighter than ever. Your head turned to your side to see Choso sitting asleep by your bed, his hand on top of yours while the other held your family scrapbook. The page was open, showing a picture of your family at its early stages. It was you and Choso both holding onto your newborn with your friends by your sides. You remembered it was your first born’s first birthday and you smiled at the vivid memory that crossed your mind.

You thought back to that day when everyone was present, celebrating and just pure happiness. You remembered Megumi tackling Yuuji when he was about to feed your baby he didn’t know your daughter could not eat. You remembered Panda with your baby lying on its stomach and Inumaki shoving toys to your daughter to amuse it. You remember Gojo arriving late with a bag full of sweets to which Choso took eagerly. You remembered Nobara continuously flaunting her outfit. You remembered Maki and Nanami just being there. And you remembered looking at everyone, just taking in that moment and storing it inside your treasured memories. You remembered the atmosphere, the calm and the chaos in the house. The hot rays of the sun shielded by the window pane. You remembered that moment and longed to return to that day.

Blinking, you were snapped back to reality. You took note that the atmosphere was the same as that day. You smiled, eyes tired even though you only just woke up. You glanced at Choso’s hands that clung onto yours, it was tight but he held you as if you were fragile glass. You knew he’s worried and so you moved your hand and intertwined it with his. Choso stirred awake, licking his dried lips as he leaned up from his position “Hey” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He looked tired, the look in his eyes told you they’ve lived for so long. They’ve seen so much yet his face was still the same. His body looked the same, everything looked the same. His youthful face hid the hundreds of years he’s lived.

He smiled- oh his smile. His smile is something you never got over. When you first knew Choso, you would have never guessed that he could be so expressive. With his indifferent mien, even at the start of your relationship, you would always be so surprised to see another expression on his face. You loved it especially when he has this confused, wondering face. You always found it so cute. You found everything he does cute. It scared you just how much you’re in love him. But you could never imagine nor wish for a better life because the life you have with Choso by your side is a life you would never bargain anything for. You are content and you are in love. You didn’t even realize it but Choso became your life. The little world and family you’ve built with him, it’s yours and his. No life was better than this.

“Morning” Choso scooted his seat closer to your bed, he had his elbows on the soft mattress, taking your hand to his lips. “It’s afternoon, silly” You weakly told him, softly chuckling. You felt him smile in your hands and you gazed at him adoringly “I see you’ve been looking at the scrapbook again”

“Yeah” Choso pulled away from your hands and flipped the scrapbook to the next page “I guess I fell asleep while doing so” He mused. He stopped and you looked at the page to see a picture of you and him decades ago. It was a selfie when you two eloped that one fateful night. The two of you never planned for a wedding nor did you think you would ever get married. It was never a thought in your mind but during that night, Choso looked so beautiful. Even with his mouthful of tacos you grabbed on the way to Panda’s birthday, something about the night with the streetlights and the swarm of people highlighted Choso in your eyes. And at the bus stop, just as you were about to get on it, you pulled Choso into a halt and waited until the crowd got on the bus before you spoke “Will you marry me?”

You both skipped on Panda’s birthday and got married. It was a decisive decision but no doubt the best you’ve ever made. A year later after that, your daughter was born and you swore, Choso had never glowed brighter. Your heart felt soft whenever you see your daughter and husband bonding. And the sight of your daughter cuddled up against Choso made you feel so thankful that these beautiful people are part of your life. Because of them, life was so much brighter.

You and Choso bore four more children after that. To say that life is noisy is an understandment but the noise made you happy anyway (albeit stressed). You stopped at baby number 5, with your eldest being 15 at the time. As expected, your daughter became a sorcerer, proving to be much stronger than either of you with a cursed technique she invented on her own. Your second didn’t follow onto the jujutsu society and made a life of his own outside the dangers of your reality. Your third inherited Choso’s blood manipulation and was almost bought by the Kamo clan but of course, you and Choso shielded your child away from the mess that is clan families. Your fourth also became a jujutsu sorcerer and your youngest inherited your cursed technique. All in all, your children now had lives of their own with all of them being fully fledged adults.

With a sigh, you yawned, reaching out for the scrapbook and putting it on your lap. You flipped to the next page and a grin etched on your face. You giggled, motioning to Choso the scrapbook. It was you and Choso all those years ago before you were married. It was that day out when Choso kissed you on the ferris wheel. It was when you two were sitting on the sea wall when he secretly snapped a picture of you looking the other way. A glint flashed through Choso’s eyes, his lips mirroring your grin. Choso traced the design by the photo, it was a bunch of lollipop wrappers you two had been eating when you were designing this specific page. He remembered you chastising him for almost emptying the packet of lollipops. Chuckling, he turned to look at you to see you looking at him so lovingly “I love you” you told him and Choso felt his chest tighten. It was a wonder how you still had so much effect on him when you had literally spend your lifetime together “And I love you”

Choso examined the wrinkles in your eyes when you smiled. Your once smooth skin was now wrinkled out of old age. Your once vibrant hair is now a dull white. Both your eyes now have a cataract that clouded your sight. And your lips remain chapped no matter how many times you apply a lip balm. But even with all these things you’ve obtained as you aged, you still looked so darn beautiful. It was no secret that his never changing youth made you insecure. You wished he could age up with you but realized that was selfish and so you brushed off these thoughts. What you didn’t know is that Choso also wished the same. He wished he could grow old with you and get wrinkly together.

It was cruel how he couldn’t age with you. If you thought about it, he’s actually more than a century older than you yet here you are, minutes away from letting go. Choso clutched your hands, his eyes shaking as you breathed frailly. He breathed out your name, tears brimming in his eyes. He let out a whimper when you called his name, hiding in the cold of your hands “Choso” You repeated, feeling a pang on your chest. You leaned forward to embrace him, trapping him in your arms resulting in Choso to lean on your shoulder, letting out a quiet cry.

You cooed, kissing his temple before hiding your face in his hair, his locks drying the tears that fell on your cheeks. “Don’t go” He cried, his voice muffled “Not you too” His voice cracked causing your arms to tighten around him “Choso, Choso” With that, Choso looked you in the eyes.

“Please never be alone-” You paused, composing yourself. Choso held your cheeks as you continued “-find someone-” “I could never love someone else other than you” Choso said committedly. You gave him a look before you continued “-please, please don’t blame yourself” You held his cheeks, giving him a soft smile as you plead “And please don’t be sad”

You broke, Choso catching your tears with his mouth. Planting kisses on your face, Choso savored you in. The both of you could feel it. It was the worst feeling ever. But thinking back to your life, it was never short of happiness. Choso was the pill that gave you the energy to live your fullest. He was the reason you found a purpose in life and became a mother of five. He was the reason you ever felt true happiness. And thinking back to all those memories, you can confidently say that you left this world with no regrets.

 ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪ ٬     ุ๋ ⸱ ๋࣭     ࣪ ˖        ⋆ ࣪.     ˖ ࣪⭑      ˖ ࣪  ๋࣭

A snowflake fell on Choso’s nose causing it to twitch at the contact. It was cold and Choso stood in the midst of the crowd, unmoving as stone. He sighed, a cloud forming in front of his mouth. Yuuji had called him to meet him in the plaza in front of the huge clock that stood tall in the middle of the park. Choso scanned his surroundings and took note of the large crowd that flocked together at night. It was the night before Christmas eve and Choso was alone. His children all had their own families to tend to. The original plan was to celebrate at his home but plans tend to change and Choso ended up alone. If not for Yuuji, he would probably be asleep by now.

“Choso!” Hearing someone call out his name, Choso turned to see his brother and his friend, Megumi, heading his way. Yuuji’s pink hair is now white, his smile now has wrinkles on them. It was the same with Megumi and Choso remembered he couldn’t age. It made him sigh, wanting nothing but age together with the people he cares about. It bothered him so much, especially with his eldest child looking much older than him. It was unfair, Choso wailed to the gods.

Choso let them pull him wherever, going along with the flow. But even with the boisterous laughs of his brother and the chatter that filled his ears, he felt alone. He was surrounded by people yet he felt so cold. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Choso going along wherever his companions went.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Yuuji. He was worried about his brother which is why he called him in the first place. His legs hurt from old age but if it means his brother would feel better, he would go out in the cold to walk with him. Megumi already went home and Yuuji is walking Choso home. He noted the faraway look Choso held. Yuuji felt sad at the sight. He remembered how Choso shined when you were still alive. But the Choso walking beside him now was nothing but the shell left of his body. His eyes held no soul, that is until Choso’s eyes landed on the ferris wheel.

It was the same ferris wheel as back then. Like before, it flickered in different lights, switching its color as it rotated. Choso held a cry, feeling a lump in his throat. You. Oh, you. He is so in love with you still. He saw that yellow pod, though unsure if it was the one, his heart ached at the memory of you. His heart always aches every second of the day. You, he thought of you. He felt the linger of your touch on his skin, your breath as you laughed against him. He felt your kisses and the love you felt for him. The clutch of your fingers as you held onto him. He felt you.

He breathed in the cold air, taking his eyes off the ferris wheel into the night sky. The jet black sky was painted with the white of the snowflakes that fell. One dropped on his cheek and rolled down the same time a tear fell down from his hollow eyes. A breath left his throat, a smoke coming out of his mouth. He will find you, he is determined to find you. No matter how long it takes. No matter what millennia he meets you again. He will be there and you would be in his arms again. He will tell you the stories he’s lived and live another lifetime with you. No matter how many lifetimes, what matters is he’s with you.

Another set of tears run down his cheeks. He misses you but he will live on. He will live on.

He will live on.

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[liam-93-productions]

This weekend it’s the UK’s biggest event on the entertainment calendar, with the 74th EE British Academy of Film and Television Awards taking place at the Albert Hall with guests and nominees attending virtually for the first time, thanks to Covid-19. And while the awards promise to be as exciting as possible in these unprecedented times, on Sunday night we will also be treated to another exciting world-first in the form of Liam Payne being beamed into houses up and down the country while performing for the opening of the ceremony.

Yup, if you’ve ever fancied the former One Direction crooner serenading you at the end of your bed, on Sunday you can make your dreams a reality – or augmented reality – as Liam has joined forces with the EE network to create a 3D avatar hologram of himself that can be beamed through the app ‘The Round’ (available on any mobile device) as he performs at the Albert Hall. Super fans can also get to experience the avatar in their homes, or on-the-go, ahead of the performance, if they tune in via the app at 6.45pm, 15 minutes before the hologram joins real Liam on stage to perform.

GLAMOUR caught up with Liam to discuss this sci-fi sounding excitement as well as hear how the past year has treated him. In a wide-ranging chat with the ever-charming Liam, we covered all things from the struggles of lockdown and coping with his mental health to his former bandmates, burgeoning acting career, new music (...).

Is the fact that you're performing at the BAFTAs a sign that your acting career is on the rise?

I've done a lot of auditions, a lot of tapes. The thing about acting somebody told me, it’s very much like: are you right for the part and is the part right for you? I think it takes a lot of talent, luck and judgment going into acting to actually get into a job. I mean, hat's off to anybody who does it because it's a long process. I seem to get through to like the final five or final three people for every role and then not quite get it. Which is frustrating but, you know, that’s how it goes. I've had a fair few auditions and I was lucky enough to get into the final five again for one audition that I got to meet Steven Spielberg [a couple of years ago] on my 25th birthday which was quite amazing. But it's been fairly slow through the pandemic obviously.

And what about music? Have you been writing anything, or even been in the studio?

I'm going to the studio later on today actually, to record something for the first time in a while. Which is quite weird to be traveling back into London to go into work. I've been doing some stuff from home as well, which has been quite interesting. Zoom sessions don't really work out all that well, it's very difficult. I'm sure a lot of musicians will agree. So, it's been kind of hard to work properly during this half of the pandemic. The other first half of the pandemic, I just did these live shows, which was really amazing to play live and do them online, which was kind of strange... It's been difficult in terms of the creative process for me.

The past year has been challenging for absolutely everyone, no matter their circumstances. How has it affected you on a personal and a professional level?

In the first half of it, I was so busy that I didn't really notice it as much, except for having to do a lot of stuff myself without crew and learning to do hair and makeup was kind of a weird experience. But then this second half, I stopped working and I had a full, proper month off [and that was] really hard. And it was all a bit dark for me for a little bit and I'm sure many people experienced it. Just not being able to go anywhere, not be able to do anything. It really, really hit home. And I just found myself sat in the same place day in, day out. And I was like, okay, I really do not know what to do with myself.

You’ve bravely spoken about struggling with your mental health in the past, and you say now that you did go into a bit of a dark place recently, how have you coped with that?

I think it's an ongoing experience. For me, learning to relax has always been quite a hard thing to do because I feel like if I'm not moving forward, then I must be going backwards. And I think that's something that I've always struggled with. So, in a way it's kind of a blessing in disguise, as this has all kind of taught me to relax a little bit more. And to not be so worried about that, like the world is not going to fall over if I don't do something today. So, it's been nice in that respect. But I think for a lot of people it's difficult, and I definitely took for granted how much I miss my family. I'm used to being away from home, I'm used to being abroad and not seeing very much of them. But I'd always see them at a show or at something once a year. And then now that that's all been taken away, it's been a lot to not see my family and realise how much they actually ground me.

So, what have you found helpful or supportive during the past year? Have you turned to anything to get you through these dark times?

Friends that are there for you... [talking to] one of my managers that I'm quite close with. I think a lot of guys struggle to talk about what the hell is going on a lot of the time. And for me and him, actually we're quite heart on our sleeves sort of people, so we talk a lot about different things. But I think if I didn't have that, someone to share that with, I think I would have struggled a hell of a lot more.

Like a mental health mate?

I mean, we literally talk about everything. We're probably too honest with each other! But I think it's important that everybody has that person. I'll be honest, at the start of this, drinking definitely became a lot more of a thing because there just didn't seem to be any boundaries. I wouldn't say I drank too much, I'd say I drank too often. Just through the boredom, I guess. A lot of people were going through that though I think - there was so many funny, great memes about it I saw friends of mine put up. But it can be quite dark at times. I think the only thing that's really helped me through that is just learning to work out again and learning to put boundaries in for myself in terms of what food I'm eating. As a pop star, I think you're always quite weight conscious. My job has always been about having to work out, doing underwear modelling and all that sort of thing, it makes you quite body conscious at times. It was nice to be able to just sit and eat pizza and chocolate, I really enjoyed that. But getting myself back into the habit of working out and then having a cheat day put in place, so that there was more boundaries in line, I think has definitely helped me.

I'm quite fortunate that I don't put a stack of weight on, although I have gone up rather a lot in size over this time. But I think it was more about routine for me than anything. And I always say, having a small victory before you get into bed at night time. Or life just gets depressing. Whether that small victory is making sure you've spoken to a family member, you've worked out, or whether you did learn to do something today, just something small. There's one task that you literally can't be arsed with, you should get done just on the day, so that you feel good about yourself when you get into bed.

That's so important. So, do you almost have a checklist before you go to bed?

I think as long as I make the gym and I've done that bit and I've taken care of my needs, just cooked some nice food. That's mainly it for me, really. And then I feel good about it. (...)

(...)

Moving on to social media, you've obviously got such a massively positive fan base, but how do you cope with the negative side of social media and the impact that can have on your mental health?

I struggled with it for a long time. I argued with people. I was aggressive on their points trying to fight my own side. And I think for some people you are talking to a brick wall, you will not win and there's no point trying. And also, the more you talk about it, the worse it gets. So, I just shut up and put up a lot of the time. I think it's the Queen that says, "never complain or never explain." And that's something I think myself I do live by because it's just like, with some people it gets worse having the argument and trying to explain yourself. But all of it, it's like five minutes of your life for somebody who doesn't know you, it's just a bit pointless.

You have so much intense public scrutiny on you all the time, how do you navigate keeping something back for yourself, and how have you managed to maintain that sense of privacy over the years?

I think this has been one of my biggest struggles this whole time. Because, I'm very much a heart on the sleeve sort of person. I didn't actually realize this for a long time, but I often give a little bit too much away…But it's definitely a difficult one to flick the two people apart. So that you're on stage, you're a certain type of person, and at home you're a certain type of person. That's always something I've really struggled with.

And you've been famous since the age of 16. How did you manage growing up in that sort of public glare?

Never did! [laughs] My friend was [recently] talking about how he’s got a teenage son that he was really struggling with at the moment. And I was thinking, "oh my God, imagine how much people would have struggled having five teenagers, rowdy boys in a band. It must've been terrible, there's no getting through to them!" And for a while, it probably was. I think we all go through that awkward teen phase where you're finding yourself. And most of us, we get to get away with it. And they're funny family photos for later on; here was your emo phase or whatever you went through! And for us, we never got away with being awkward or annoying at points. It was kind of out there for everyone to see; the awful haircuts and we’re talking terrible clothes, it was all out there.

What has your career taught you about the idea of success and the idea of failure?

I think it's taught me lots about how you would measure success. I came from a family that weren't very well off. We didn't have a lot. My dad was in debt actually when I started. So, success for me always meant a monetary thing to start off with. But then as I got older, I realized I don't really buy all that much. I don't really spend a hell of a lot of money. So, it can't be about a money sort of thing. And it's more now become more about happiness and experiences. And the one thing I always say about my job, no matter what, and everybody gets annoyed at their job sometimes, it is what it is. But for me, at least I get to put a smile on someone's face.

Yes, you do! And what has it taught you about failure?

That's a really good question. It’s taught me I think that perseverance will always prevail in that sense. Because it doesn't always go exactly to plan. We were really lucky when we came up, we absolutely skyrocketed. And then, it's been hard to follow that ever since. But you know, measuring a failure as well. What is a failure? And people will look at this and, for us sometimes getting a 100,000,000 streams isn't quite what we aim for, but it's still 100,000,000 streams….you have to kind of get a hold of yourself. Everything is about perspective at the end of the day, isn't it? That was something I struggled with for a long time, because of how well it went [for the band.]

So you had such high expectations for everything?

Yeah. And it's like, time to give that a break really. And Louis from my band has always been quite great to sit with me and talk with me about stuff. And if I'm feeling a certain way. We've been quite good with each other, actually in that respect and helping each other out, which has been nice.

And finally, if you could sit down with the Liam who was starting out in One Direction in 2010, what advice would you have for him?

I think just have more fun and relax a little bit. I think I was a very serious child, one of those man-childs, I was a man in a child's body pretty early on. And I think I would have avoided that stage, to be honest with you. To enter One Direction as that difficult, because it just meant that I got completely a different job to everybody else.

You were the grown up one?

That was it. And it was boring. I should have just larked around and thrown plates out the window and stuff!

More rock and roll?

Well, I mean at the start, and then later on a bit less rock and roll [laughing.]

Well, thank you so much, Liam. And we look forward to seeing your performance on Sunday at the BAFTAs.

I'll see you wherever you want me in your house, I guess.

Liam Payne is performing an exclusive EE BAFTA AR real-time music performance, ahead of his 5G-powered opening show at the 2021 EE BAFTA Film Awards. Download ‘The Round’ app to enjoy the live AR experience through your mobile phone, wherever you are, this Sunday 11th April 2021 at 18:45pm BST.

[liddolwhynot2000]

Unprecedented Reactions

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Summary: You were too busy kicking one of the drunk soldiers in the stomach to notice the way steel eyes flashed gratefully at you.

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Pairings: Levi/Reader

Genre: Romance, bad dream, death!, Soldier!Reader, Levi deserves happiness

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One second, you're pushing Levi out of the way of an incoming large hand and the other, everything goes black.

Only for you to wake up in your bed.

It was a nightmare, you were sure of that. It had taken you a little while to gather your bearings, but once you had, you hadn't been able to go back to sleep.

You laid back in bed, arms sprawled everywhere while being lost in thought.

Even if it had been real, it hardly mattered that you had died. You weren't some special soldier whose loss had had any impact, which is why you don't mind the idea of giving up your life for Humanity's Strongest Soldier. He's the one who will make a difference-you're a nobody. A poor orphan born in Wall Maria, who had been forced to enlist in her 20s to keep making a living.

You had considered joining the Garrison, but had decided that you had nothing to lose. No parents or friends to mourn you, no lover you would be leaving behind. There was nothing stopping you from at least doing what you could for humanity. As far as you're concerned, this way you die having given some meaning to your life.

And a part of you hopes that you die the way you had dreamed. If your death prevented Humanity from losing its most promising and powerful soldier, you would do it a thousand times over. You would save him in exchange for your own life and you feel sure that you wouldn't regret that decision one bit.

After all, could anyone ever regret saving the person they were hopelessly in love with?

____________________________________

You never told Levi how you felt, feeling too shy.

You first met him when you had enlisted, only a few mere months after he had. You hadn't known the story behind him much, although the gossip mill had been rife with talks about it. You had seen him and his friends, walking around, keeping away from everyone. Approaching them hadn't crossed your mind, for you were too busy preparing for the upcoming expedition and trying to calm your nerves. It had been your first expedition.

It was only after that terrifying expedition ended that you realized Levi had returned alone, his companions absent from his side. There hadn't been any need to ask him what had happened, his pained expression had been explaination enough.

Later that night, he had shut himself in his room in the barracks. His absence at dinner indicated that he hadn't eaten anything, and against your better judgement, you decided to bring him some.

The door hadn't been locked, and once you had cautiously peeked in, you noticed him lying in the bed. He was facing towards the wall, wrapped in a blanket, and hadn't so much as shifted at sound of the door opening. Maybe he was actually asleep, or he was pretending so he wouldn't have to deal with anyone. You couldn't blame him.

You set down the tray as silently as possible. It had a bowl of soup, two loafs of bread and some ration bars you had found. Just as you moved to turn, you paused, catching sight of him again.

It was an internal battle, that raged on for what felt like hours but was really only a minute. While you could chance trying to talk to him, you sincerely doubted it would go well. You were a stranger and in the past few months, the only people he had even held small conversations with had been his friends. His superiors often got rude, one worded responses from him and friendly comrades had been terrified into silence with glares. You were more likely to piss him off then actually help him.

Resolving to yourself that the food was enough on your part, you quietly crept out of the room, determined to not disturb him.

Once you had shut the door, you sighed, feeling the exhaustion of today's events creep up on you. This was the price of joining the Survey Corps and sating your morals, losing people every expedition. This feeling of loss and despair would be your new constant.

Rubbing a hand on your forehead, you tried to soothe the headache away as you walked back to your room. You stopped short of turning in the corridor as you heard a group of soldiers.

'H-Hey did you see that midget from the underground?'

Your eyes narrowed and you found yourself leaning against the wall as you listened intently.

'Yeah. You see the nerve he has, locking himself up in that room like he's actually mourning. That fucker didn't even join for the cause'

You frowned as another voice joined in. They were all clearly drunk.

'Let's.. Let's teach that midget a lesson. I bet he's putting it on. He's just scum from the underground, he doesn't even belong here.'

You felt horrified as two other soldiers agreed with him. They had all unanimously decided to go wake up Levi up and taunt him about the death of his friends.

While you could agree that Levi clearly hadn't joined willingly, you felt that it was too cruel to go after him like this. Especially when he was already so heart broken.

You weren't the best soldier, but you could kick ass when you needed to. It may be three on one, but if the way their voices were slurring as they talked were to be considered, you had the advantage of not being a dumbass drunk.

As the soldiers came into your view, you rolled your sleeves up.

You were too busy kicking one of the drunk soldiers in the stomach to notice the way steel eyes flashed gratefully at you.

____________________________________

You could never say you and Levi spent a lot of time together. The two of you had joined around the same time, but Levi had scaled the ranks much more quickly. He had, due to his outstanding skills, joined the most elite squad.

You had remained a mediocre soldier at best, and you were content with it. You didn't have an amazing titan kill count nor fists of steel like Levi, but you did whatever was assigned to you just fine. It was life you could even say you were proud of.

You had, much like the rest of your cormades, braced yourself for death. Any expedition could be your last. In fact, you often set out for expeditions expecting to never come back. Some sort of fate had been keeping you alive so far.

It was luck that kept you alive so far- and then it was Levi.

Levi had saved you from a titan during an expedition. You had been helpless, all out of blades. Your squad had been utterly annihilated and you had been in the midst of struggling as a large hand grabbed you and a titan opened its mouth to eat you.

It's why your dream is so hard to forget. It was earily similar to back when Levi had saved you. You would find yourself in that position again. A titan and it's hand tossing you in its mouth. And much like this time, Levi would be there too.

Except he wouldn't be the one doing the saving.

Back then, he had intervened at the speed of light and saved you. His expression had been as stoic as always, eyes scanning your form for injuries. Once he had found that you had no life threatening wounds, he had helped you up and back to HQ.

It had later made you blush, remembering how his strong arms had helped you settle on his horse with him.

That had been the start of your feelings for him. It hadn't just been the fact that he had saved you, it had been how gentle how he was with you. You had seen how he treated others, talking roughly, trying to be helpful in his own awkward way. He often physically kept away from others, but for some reason, he hadn't hesitated a second in touching you.

You knew better then to delude yourself that it was special treatment-but you couldn't stop your heart from fluttering anyways.

____________________________________

The two of you never grew beyond anything but casual friends. You're sure that the dream you hadn't regretted dying for him. You, however, know for a fact that you had regretted being a coward and not telling him how you felt.

Now, here you are, very much alive and kicking. It is possible this was just the wishful thinking of a soldier destined to die. Its possible your dream has shaken you to the point of making rash decisions. But you don't care.

All your mind knows is that you aren't chomped in half. That you are well enough to walk up to Levi and talk to him. Dream or not, you want to tell him. You want him to know how he makes your heart beat in a way that no one ever had. You want to tell him that you harbour feelings for him that go beyond comraderie.

And most importantly, you want him to know that you want him.

It was a painful itch- one you won't be able to get rid of. Not until you fess up.

It doesn't matter that you're signing up for an absolute guaranteed rejection. It doesn't matter that you know he won't be nice about it. As far as you're concerned, the end goal isn't getting into a relationship. This is your shot at confessing, at amkigm sure you that you die without regrets.

No matter what the outcome, you know your feelings won't change. And that is what makes it easier for you to confess.

____________________________________

You have been working with Levi for a solid five years now. You know him rather well, considering that he's one of the few comrades who, much like you, have miraculously lived through being in the survey corps for an unusual amount of time.

While others couldn't classify you as best buddies, you know plenty about each other.

You know that he made special graves for each comrade that lost their lives. He would take their insignia off their jacket as a symbol of their wills. You also know that he had started this tradition since Isabel and Farlan died. Every soldier, no matter how they behaved with him, had been included. You know this because you had caught sight of him in the middle of his task. And without a single word, you had picked up a shovel and joined him in his task.

Levi hadn't said a word to you, silently accepting your help. You had been too busy trying to even out the dirt with your foot to notice steel eyes flashing at you with fondness.

You know more about him then that too. And he knows about you as well. In particular, the two of you had picked up on how the other liked their tea. It was silent gesture, one where if either was nearby and making tea, there would be enough for two people. Hange had once tried to snag the extra cup of tea Levi had in his hand for you- only to find herself best friends with the floor.

You had learned how to live up to his cleaning standards-to the point you held the unprecedented position of being the one person he had never attacked for being a slob. It's wonderful feeling-being the special one he had never been harsh with.

You thought you knew him well. Enough to know his reactions to certain things and situations, enough to pin point how he was feeling at certain times.

So when you confess to being in love with him-you are forced to realize that you don't know this man as well as you thought you had.

The Levi you know was supposd to reject you brutally. He was supposed to harshly tell you to get your head out of the clouds and stop fantasising like a school girl. To get over your shitty feelings and leave him out of it.

But the Levi in front of you is different. He isn't pushing you away-no, his hands are grabbing your wrists and tugging you into an embrace. His forehead is resting against yours. Those steel eyes you had never quite caught expressing anything, are filled to the brim with affection.

You've been proven wrong and frankly, as his lip softly brush against yours, you're glad about it.

____________________________________

A/N: Heyooo. don't know where this came from. This feels like a 'felt cute might delete later fic'. I hope it was enjoyable at least? I can see a part 2 for this from Levi POV but don't know if anyone even liked this, let alone wants a part 2.

Also ruins part 2 is half way done :)

[ncssian]

Boughs of Holly

Nessian Oneshot

bye this was supposed to be posted hours ago 😭. anyway this is for @sayosdreams and @sayosdreams only. if you're not sayo close ur eyes ✋

this uses some ideas i’ve had bookmarked for later chapters of a favor so if you see some of this being reused in the future mind your business.

tw: friendliness with the ic

***

“They're not even trying to hide it anymore,” Mor muttered from the window. “They’re just rubbing it in our faces at this point.”

This Solstice Eve had forgone snow in favor of rain and sleet, but despite the terrible weather, Cassian and Nesta were taking their damn time making their way up to the riverside manor.

From the living room window, Feyre, Elain, and Mor could see how the couple's pace had considerably slowed as they walked up the sidewalk, chatting as they went. There was only one umbrella, held up by Cassian so that it covered Nesta more than himself. His own shoulder was getting drenched by rain, but he didn't even seem to notice as he listened to Nesta talk like she was delivering some holy gospel. One dark wing was stretched out to shield her back from the weather.

“I just don't get it,” Feyre said, her fingers pressed up against the glass. “If they're together, why haven't they said anything about it yet?” Feyre was trying to be less intruding in her sisters’ lives, but doing so meant that she couldn't go up to Nesta straight and ask about her and Cassian.

The relationship between Nesta and the war general upon their return from the Illyrian mountains had seemed normal enough at first— friendly, even generic. But the few times the Inner Circle found themselves in the same room as Nesta and Cassian, their interactions became more and more suspect. Little touches here and there, unprecedented amounts of laughter, and the worst of it: when Cassian had batted Azriel’s hand away from a platter of steak at their last family dinner, only to pick at each cut of meat and place the best ones on Nesta’s plate. Whenever anyone tried to bring up this behavior, however, they would only receive blank stares in return.

At this point, the Inner Circle was too intimidated to say anything. The only one who might have had the guts was Amren, but she only cackled every time Nesta and Cassian did something that thoroughly shocked their friend group.

“I think it's sweet,” Elain spoke up. “Even if they are playing mind games with us.”

“Will you come away from the window?” Rhysand clicked his tongue from near the fireplace. “You all look mad.”

A few moments later, a knock sounded from the front hall and Feyre jumped. “They’re here.”

She went to answer the door while Mor rushed to the couch, sitting casually in an attempt to act normal. Elain went over to a gift bag and started digging through it, while everyone heard the door opening and the sound of greetings.

“You’re dressed— casually,” Nesta's voice rang from the front hall.

The three of them appeared at the doorway of the living room, Nesta in a slim-fitting blue gown and Feyre in flannel pajamas. Cassian raised his brows at the sight of everybody.

Elain hurried over in her long nightgown and shoved something pink and silky into Nesta's arms. “The dress code is sleepwear!” she said. “Go get changed.”

While Nesta was ushered off to the bathroom, Cassian released a breath and shed his fancy jacket like it was on fire. “Glad we’re not doing that this year then.”

“Oh, we have something for you, too,” Azriel spoke up from the corner of the room.

Five minutes later, Cassian was in the ugliest knit sweater he’d ever seen in his life. In comparison, Nesta returned to the living room looking like a cherub in baby pink silk pajamas.

Nobody missed the way Cassian's eyes lit up as they spotted her in her new outfit, but she only took a seat on the couch next to him without a word.

Nesta's presence at Inner Circle functions was still awkward, like a puzzle piece that belonged to a different image, but it was also nothing like it had been just a year or two ago. She was so much more… comfortable with herself now, like she didn't mind playing along with Feyre’s family games every now and then, as long as she got to return home at the end of the night. And she did have a home now, though no one knew where it was.

“I just don't want any visitors for now,” she’d told Feyre when asked about her new place of residence. “You understand, right?”

And thanks to Feyre’s promise to be more understanding of Nesta, she’d had to drop the subject.

Solstice Eve went fairly well, with both Elain and Feyre overjoyed at their sister's participation. Nesta even went so far as to interact with Mor and Azriel without rolling her eyes, though Rhysand was politely ignored for the rest of the night. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that if they didn't talk to each other, Nesta couldn't be given an excuse to punch him in the face (as she could be prone to doing). Occasionally, Cassian would lean over and whisper something so lowly to Nesta it was barely a movement of the lips, inaudible to the others even with their fae hearing. Whatever he said would bring reactions anywhere from a serious nod to a light chuckle, and the room got a little still every time it happened.

Long after the night was over, Elain blinked out a drunken half-sleep to find that she was dreadfully thirsty. Crawling slowly enough out of bed that Azriel wouldn't wake, she padded blearily for the kitchen. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the murmur of soft voices coming from the living room.

That woke her up fully. Eyeing the grandfather clock, she saw that it was four-thirty in the morning. The whole house should have been asleep by now.

Turning toward the living room, Elain paused just beyond the archway. The only light came from the dying glow of the fireplace, and in the armchair before it—

Nesta sat on Cassian’s lap, wrapped up in his arms with a small pile of gifts between them. They were engrossed in some low conversation about their plans for Solstice, but the way they were looking at each other…

Bile got caught with a gasp in Elain’s throat as Nesta leaned in to kiss Cassian. That was her big sister who Cassian had his hands all over, one of them squeezing her thigh and creeping dangerously higher.

When their kiss became deeper, with clear and present threat of tongue, Elain couldn't hold back her squeal.

Nesta jumped in Cassian’s lap. “Shit!”

Cassian brought a hand to his mouth, where Nesta had accidentally bitten down on his lip in surprise. They both whirled to face Elain in the doorway.

“You are together!” Elain accused, pointing. The idea of it was not as sweet as it had been a few hours ago, before Elain had caught her closest and coldest sister in such a vulnerable position with the Illyrian commander.

Cassian stared at her, then laughed deeply.

Nesta’s face was red under the firelight, out of anger or embarrassment, Elain didn't know. “No shit, we're together,” she said harshly. “What are you doing at this hour, Elain?”

“What do you mean, ‘no shit’?” Elain demanded. “You didn't tell anybody! You didn't even let us ask!”

Nesta looked at Elain like she was stupid, while Cassian wisely kept his mouth shut. “Why would we have to announce our relationship? Don’t you have eyes?”

Elain shut her mouth at that. “Well, we all thought…” she trailed off.

Cassian poked Nesta's side. “See what happens if you don't tell your family everything? They become clueless.”

She looked at Cassian. “It was fun to make them squirm, though, wasn't it?”

“So it was mind games,” Elain said.

“It wasn't anything except us keeping to our own business,” Nesta said. “We even share a home together and none of you noticed. That is not our problem.” She didn't sound irritated like she once might have been, but rather that the antics of the Inner Circle endlessly amused her. Nesta's friend group had certainly given her an odd sense of humor.

Elain blinked. “Oh— well… where do we go from here?”

Cassian played with the ends of Nesta’s ponytail. “You leave us alone and we get back to foreplay?” he suggested.

Nesta looked inclined to agree, but she elbowed Cassian in the ribs in defense of her sister anyway.

Elain shut her eyes, her pounding headache suddenly inescapable. “That might be a good idea.” She covered her face and turned for the kitchen. “I’m glad we could clear this up.”

She was not actually glad, but rather she was not sober enough yet to comprehend how Nesta and Cassian functioned as a couple. It wasn't even until she was back upstairs with her glass of water that Nesta’s words finally processed—

“They share a what together?”

***

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