#but also- I promise you can be a skeptic and still have lots of fun

[yesimwriting]

thinking about bsf!logan, who thinks the title is ridiculous. best friends are for little kids trying to justify who they invite to their birthday parties, not for anyone like him. but there's something about the way you say it, voice measured as your attention shifts between him and the nail of your thumb as you picks at your nail beds.

there's a shyness to the silence that follows that does't suit you. it means something to you, he realizes, and that--that might mean something to him.

you, who seems to have the world at your fingertips because no one ever manages to say no to you. you, who is never missing from movie nights or impromptu training sessions or anything because you're the first person invited. you, who everyone is so fond of sometimes logan can feel their communal warmth burning him out of your life, like some beast that's only vulnerability is light.

it's a reality he's been aware of from the very beginning. it's part of the reason he promised himself that he'd never take anything you didn't offer him willingly. and here you are, giving him something.

so he accepts it with a teasing, "i'm the best you could do?" that's a lot gruffer than it needs to be. you beam regardless, sitting up a little straighter as you tuck your knuckles beneath your chin.

you mumble something about having limited options, the answer a little flatter than you usually are. it is late, and you are the type to push against your own tiredness to make sure someone's awake to greet your friends when they get back from a mission you weren't needed for.

with a sigh, he looks back to his nearly empty beer bottle. "isn't it late for you to be up?"

you're immediately protesting, swearing that you're fine and that you just want to talk to him. the lack of tact in your reaction only proves his point further, but instead of pushing it, he downs the last of his beer. your eyes narrow. the openness of your skepticism is another indicator of the drowsiness you're ignoring.

logan sighs, pushing himself to stand so that he doesn't have to look at you as he says this next part, "c'mon." it's flat in its stiffness, maybe even a little awkward. he keeps his gaze focused on what's directly in front of him. "if you want to be 12, you should have a sleepover."

there's a beat of silence, of hesitation, and then you're moving to stand. you remain there for a second, silent and still. regret burrows itself somewhere between his lungs and ribcage.

then, you scoff, the sound light and familiar. "having a best friend isn't that 12-year-old."

a part of him is glad that his back is still to you. "i know, bub, you're completely grown up."

you let out a breath that might be a laugh, or a yawn, or some odd combination of both, as you step forward. "don't make fun of me when i'm too tired to defend myself."

once you're by his side, he begins to walk away from the kitchen table. "i thought you were fine."

you turn your head enough to glare at him. "don't start."

without thinking, he reaches forward, placing a hand on your shoulder as a reminder that he can. "i'd never."

----

a/n take this concept/drabble hybrid while i work through both writer's block and an overwhelming amount of homework <3 also if u liked this pls feel free to send me asks with thoughts for this concept, i love secretly-pining-best-friend trope :)

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Siren!Leon headcannons 🧜🏼‍♂️🐚

A/N: this was so much fun!!! I got a little carried away, but I feel there's still so much I could add here, so let me know if you want to see more! There's not smut in this one sadly, because um... idk.. how that would work?

~Fi 🐝

《Prompt》: lovely request by @maviettt is here!

《Warnings》: brief mentions of gore and Leon eating people, obessesive and possessive Leon, some angst, insecure Leon :(, lots of luv for the fish boy <3

《Word count》: 2.4k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

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Siren!Leon, who spends his days luring all the pretty sailors to their demise, having himself a tasty meal of naivety and pure unawareness. I mean, what girl wouldn't be enarmoured with this handsome and so kind merman, right? With his blue, ocean eyes and shiny scales.

Siren!Leon, who lurs them in with promises of love and care, only to yank them into the deep sea and tear into them with his pointy teeth. He's not too fond of doing this, but he doesn't really have a choice, and you get hardened over the years.

Siren!Leon, who casually swims through a nearby Lagoon, catching a glimpse of you and your sisters lounging in the sun. You're laughing, and Leon swears that you're the Siren in this scenario. You look so pretty with your colorful, glittery tail. Your damp hair that's drying up from the salty water. The small trinkets braided into your locks and hung from your body.

Siren!Leon, who is always drawn back to this Lagoon, always wanting to see you again. He thinks you're a bright, shining pearl, and the world is your oyster. But he also understands that you're off limits to him. You would be scared of him, wouldn't you? You're such a pretty thing. His treasure.

Siren!Leon, who admires you from afar, always hoping to see you smile once again. He's infatuated with you. He's sighing dreamily when he sees you throw your head back in laughter or hiding your giggles behind your hand.

Siren!Leon, who looks for you after he hasn't seen you at the Lagoon for a while, only to find you washed up on the beach, all tangled up in a net. You look so... dry. The colors of your tail are dulled, and your skin doesn't look like it was kissed by the morning dew anymore.

Siren!Leon, who is so conflicted. He needs to help you, but what if he scares you? He doesn't want to risk that. You're the favorite part of his day! Alas, he relents and carefully swims up to you as close as he can before gently tugging you back into the water by your tail.

Siren!Leon, who holds you until you've gotten some of the ocean's energy into you. He can basically watch you flourish as you're returned to your home. But his heart breaks when you gain back consciousness and immediately try and get away from him.

Siren!Leon, who tries to explain to you that he just wants to help. You're still bound in the net, and you can't swim properly like this. You're obviously skeptical. Acting all kind and luring people in was kind of his deal as a Siren, after all. But there's something so soft about his voice and expressions.

Siren!Leon, who truly has no bad intentions, but he has to restrain himself from pouncing on you the second you give him the go-ahead to free you from the net with his sharp teeth.

Siren!Leon, who doesn't miss your blush, when his lips brush against your skin while he's chewing you out of your bounds. He can't help himself and grins, and accidentally bumps his lips against your scales more just to see you react.

Siren!Leon, who is quite flustered himself when you thank him and tell him that he's not as scary as you thought he would be. And when you tell him you like the color of his scales and his cute little fin ears, he is over the moon!!

Siren!Leon who tries to hide his malicious side from you as best as he can just because he is terrified that you would be scared of him. Maybe even disgusted. He doesn't want that.

Siren!Leon, who sees you wave to him on his usual morning round past the Lagoon, and he almost passes out. Yeah, he had saved you, but for you to so boldly be nice to him in front of your sisters? He's thinking of that for the rest of the day.

Siren!Leon, who gets bolder each day, waving back with a smile, maybe even greeting you and your sisters until he fully swims up to all of you! He's kinda crushed when your sisters scatter like little anchovies. He just wanted to say hi :(

Siren!Leon, who gets comforted and assured by you, saying that "they don't know you like I do." You explain how, although Leon is a Siren, he's so sweet! He saved you from certain death, after all.

Siren!Leon, who eventually gets taken in by your sisters, and he gets to lounge in the Lagoon with you. Some are still a little weary, but as time goes on, they all warm up to that smile and those pretty eyes.

Siren!Leon, who only has eyes for you. You are the sun in his sky, the moon that guides his tides. He's head over heels for you. It started off as forbidden glances, admiring your beauty, and now he is making you laugh and spending as much time with you as he can.

Siren!Leon, who knows you're falling for him too when you start bringing him little treasures and trinkets that you found. It's usually a shiny rock or a seashell, but sometimes you bring him valuable shinies from recent shipwrecks that you're not supposed to be around.

Siren!Leon, whose heart pumps out of his chest when he sees all your sisters nudging you in his direction with your hand behind your back and a red face. He revels in your cuteness when you shyly press the rock into his hand and speed off.

Siren!Leon, who starts calling you his treasure or his pearl. That's exactly what you are to him, and he needs the whole seven seas to know that. Plus, your pretty smile and the kiss to the cheek he gets from you after is a nice bonus.

Siren!Leon, who lets you decorate him and his tail when you run out of space on your own. You tie cloth and braided seaweed around his fin and arms, adding one of your little trinkets at the end. He wears them with pride because everyone knows they're from you.

Siren!Leon, who loves to braid your hair for you. You're always finding more pretty things to put in your hair, and you can't see the back, obviously, but he loves doing it for you. He gets so good to the point that he's doing all of your sisters' hair, too.

Siren!Leon, who rarely goes back to luring humans to their death, simply because he would rather spend time with you. He's acquired a taste for small fish, which unfortunately can't match the salivating taste of humam flesh, but he's willing to give it all up for you. he's still so worried that you'll catch him one day and see the monster he truly is.

Siren!Leon, who sits in the small tide pool close to a bay, soaking up the moonlight with you, and the way it makes you look ethereal. You look even prettier like this than in the sun. The silvery streaks reflect off of your features so beautifully, and he knows that he's doomed.

Siren!Leon, who spends all of his nights with you, not wanting that image of your lovely self dipped in the rays of Mother Moon to go away. He loves talking to you at night. Sharing quiet stories and tales interrupted by soft giggles.

Siren!Leon, who kisses you for the first time on the beach where he saved you. He melts when he finally feels your lips on his, and he's holding you so tight and full of love that you can't imagine being anywhere else.

Siren!Leon, who found a pearl at the bottom of the ocean, your favorite color, and he gives it to you as a gift under one of those moonlit nights. He's confessing his love to you, giving the pearl to you as a sign of always wanting to be with you.

Siren!Leon who doesn't know whether to blush and hide or be giddy like an idiot when he sees you wearing his pearl the next morning, showing it off to all your sisters who are all in awe of its beauty.

Siren!Leon, who loves to spend his days lying in the sand with you, playing with the many small braids and twists that adorn your silky locks. There's not much to do, but you make the days go by so fast.

Siren!Leon, who goes ballistic when your sisters rush to tell him that you've been captured by some filthy pirates while you were out exploring a new shipwreck, trying to find more odds and ends for your collection.

Siren!Leon, who can feel his blood boil in his veins. It's like a switch was flipped, and he falls back into his bloodthirsty and feral ways. It scares your sisters, but they know he's doing it for you.

Siren!Leon, who follows your scent and your soft pleads for mercy as the pirates decide whether to gut you or keep you for themselves. He has never swam this fast in his life. He had a strong tail, no doubt, but he pushed himself to his limit only to get to you.

Siren!Leon who feels so deeply and can feel the storm brewing inside of him. He can't help but feel somewhat reassured when dark, thick clouds rise in the sky and heavy winds, rain, and thundering streaks of lightning descend from the sky. He thanks Mother Moon with all his being for helping him rescue his treasure.

Siren!Leon, who sneaks close to the ship undetected, due to the heavy rain and loud thunder. He is out for blood, and one thing is clear; that ship will sink today, and he will make them pay.

Siren!Leon who punches holes into the body of the ship with his strong tail, making the ship sink slowly into the dark embrace of the ocean.

Siren!Leon, who when he finally gets to the bastard pirates, tears them to shreds without a thought. Thick crimson spills into the rowdy waters, and you can almost see the red reflecting in his eyes.

It's a mess of limbs and guts, the blood clinging to his pale skin like a curse. He doesn't want to admit how refreshing this felt- he was still a siren after all.

Siren!Leon who snaps out of his craze and immediately starts searching for you, calling out your name with desperation and fear. The lightning gets worse as he looks around frantically.

Siren!Leon, who finally spots you clinging to a piece of wood with bloody hands and teary eyes. He rushes over to you, and the relieved cries that rip from your throat make his heart hurt.

Siren!Leon, who scowls at the deep gash on your tail, no doubt courtesy of those pirates. He embraces you so softly, kissing your temple and whispering sweet reassurances to you.

You sniffled and looked up at him, the rain slowly washing away the blood that tarnished his skin. You spotted tears of his own welling up in his blue eyes, pained by the image of your wounded self. He never stopped stroking your hair and wiping away the rain that mixes with your tears as it falls on your face.

"They... they only hurt me because I didn't want to give them... this.." You spoke quietly, opening your bloody hand, revealing the pearl he had gifted you now smeared with blood. Leon felt his heartbeat all the way in his head. The gusting winds, loud thunder and the electrifying strikes of lightning died down and the surface of the water stilled into a soft ripple as he stared at you, not knowing what to do, or to feel.

Only the soft patter of rain on the ocean filled the silence that lingered between you two. Leon swallowed thickly and cupped your face, finding his words.

"My treasure, My pearl... why?"

You'd never heard him this hurt, defeated before.

"Because you gave it to me."

With your simple answer, he pulled you tight against his chest with his lips pressed to your forehead, hoping the rain would cover the tears that ran down his face, soaking into your hair.

Siren!Leon, whose blood freezes in his veins when you catch a glimpse of the massacre he had left and absolute horror washes over your face. He can feel his heart shatter with the way you look at him, with so much fear and- ...gratitude?

Siren!Leon, who gets the words knocked out of his head once again, when you softly touch his cheek and tell him that you're not afraid of him. You're still shaken up, in agony, and dismembered bodies aren't part of your usual routine.

But you tell him that you could never be scared of him. You know he would never hurt you, he loves you, and he only did what he needed to in order to rescue you. You're fully aware of what he is- a Siren, not a monster. He proved that to you many times with his gentle and kind nature. He feels pathetic when he breaks down as you whisper that you love him and press kisses to his hair. You're hurt, and he's crying, utterly overwhelmed by you and your love.

Siren!Leon, who will take care of you and the wound on your tail until it's fully healed. He gently drapes seaweed wraps over the gash and always makes sure you're not in any pain. He will make you hang onto him by his neck when he swims so you can still get around but not put any strain on your tail.

Siren!Leon, who plucks a scale from his tail and gifts it to you as full proof of his love and devotion for you. It hangs around your neck, right next to the pearl he had given you, and he can't help but smile when he sees how his shimmery blue scale looks against your skin.

Siren!Leon, who wears one of your scales on a cloth, tied around his arm, proudly showing it off whenever he can. Because he's as much yours as you are his. <3

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I loved writing this so much!! Lmk your thoughts on Siren!Leon <3

More Leon works are here 🩷

《Tag list》: @dmitriene @k-fallingstar @vampkennedy

Comment to be added!

[snotbuggle]

Omega when she gets to jail and realizes that she now has to big sister four other children. One of which is nowhere near her age.

Going to try and condense some more serious thoughts about these episodes down below so I can avoid spoiling someone as much as possible and not post a dozen times. I don’t want to miss tag any one of those.

Jex/Jek?? I can’t completely remember his name, but the mirialan kid is for sure not going to trust her at all. Can’t say much for the pantoran kid since they haven’t shown much of them so far, but Eva is going to love her.

I think the mirialan kid is definitely going to be skeptical of Omega’s prior knowledge of the facility, Emerie, and why they’re there. Although he might overlook these things hanging on her promise that her brothers will get her, and in turn them, out of there. I can’t help but wonder what Omega and the others will think after about a week and there still not being a rescue. (These two are assuming that she will be placed with the other force sensitive children. Although she may be moved since her blood actually works for project Necromancer)

Crosshair is definitely going to hear it from Hunter. ESPECIALLY after he threw Hunter’s past failure to keep her out of Tantiss in his face. What I think will weigh on his conscience more though is the fact he thinks she’ll be alone this time. In a way she definitely will, but I have no doubt that he realizes he was probably the highlight of her day. He was probably the one thing that kept her hopeful even if he tried to talk down on her and get her to leave. Yes, she had hope that Hunter and Wrecker would find her, but she also needed someone there with her. A familiar face and not someone who just revealed they were your sister out of the blue. Her situation has changed, but Crosshair doesn’t know that. The Crosshair guilt is going to be so real in these last episodes.

Switching gears, CX agents are always a cool and interesting topic for me. While the identity of CX-2 isn’t usually as engaging, I have to say that I’ve drifted from the standpoint of “there’s no way that’s Tech” to “it’s a possibility” over the course of the last two episodes. I’ve seen some fun ideas for who it is otherwise. Personally, I think that they’re probably just another copy paste man with no autonomy anymore.

ANYHOW! I haven’t seen anyone talk about it much, but the scene with Hemlock reviewing the CX agent data and the capsule has me thinking a little harder on their creation/conditioning. The way Hemlock talks about the other operatives as well. “The others aren’t ready to join you” (paraphrasing) seems to show that after the mental conditioning through obviously brutal means, it takes a load of time to physically condition the agents. Seeing as CX-1 was most likely initiated around the same time as Crosshair (I choose to believe that they were near each other’s tables which is why they’re familiar), that took around five months to half a year. In that time span there had to be a lot of soldiers who Hemlock saw fit to be “reprogrammed” but we see very few operatives throughout. This means that if they make it out of mental conditioning, physical conditioning is most likely very dangerous and often times fatal. I’d like to draw attention to the capsules as a part of that physical conditioning. There were several capsules that Hemlock was observing, along with the foggy one that is most likely that new Huyang-lookin-ass operative. If these capsules are the final stage of physical conditioning, it adds meaning to CX-2’s first line, “Why have I been activated?” (Once again paraphrasing). Although the capsules could be for something else entirely.

Also a bit of a gripe, why in the world do you need a new secret-secret operative, Hemlock? You have the commandos, and then the first X troopers, now the CX’s, and what? You wanted a new one? I can’t tell if this man is an overachiever or just way too absorbed into the advanced trooper rabbit hole. Also for you Tech theorists, it’s kinda suspicious that he makes a new version of agents isn’t it? Almost like there’s something…deviant about him?

Completely side tracking here, I really like Phee’s awareness in the station. Yeah she didn’t hear the blaring alarm, but she was in a room where it’d be hard to hear anyways. However, when she got back she felt something was off about the ramp. We’ve seen how slick CX-2 is, so her noticing something is up was a nice touch imo. Also was very appreciative of her caution and readiness with her knife. I love when female characters get to be aware of their surroundings and ready to throw hands if things go south.

In conclusion, thank you for listening to my dump-rambling. I’ve been trying to keep my lips shut so I don’t miss tag anything and spoil it for someone (because I know that I’ll forget to tag everything right). I hope Wrecker is okay. And even if I’m not a Tech CX theorist, I have to admit that I’ve been seeing some fairly strong parallels.

[teardrop-scales]

For once a number one

(Adam x female!reader)

A.N: this is purely self indulgent, but I decided to publish this anyway. Hurt-comfort I guess and general fluff, although this is Adam we're talking about, so of course there are swear words and some suggestive stuff.

Please note that english is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Also, my Adam is probably ooc.

(Also I suck at beginnings, endings and titles, sorry ><)

You don't even hear him come in.

No wonder, since you are currently blasting his band's music on full volume. Mostly 'Stick it to the man' to be honest; until now it always helped you cheer up and relax a little if you were angry at something or someone. But this time even this wasn't helping. Still you refuse to turn it off because you love your boyfriend's voice and his music (even though you won't ever tell him that, his ego is big enough as it is).

So here you are, laying on the couch with 'Stick it to the Man' blasting in the background, still in your more formal and nicer clothes, not even having the strength to change into more comfy ones, only forcing yourself to take off your boots once you got inside.

Pathetic much.

And so, that's why you almost have a heart attack when the loud music suddenly stops and you hear the voice of your boyfriend, this time talking and standing a few meters away from the couch.

"Heyyy, I see your music taste is still intact, babes! Though if you wanted to hear my singing, you could've just asked me for a private concert. For a price, 'course~."

You don't bother to look up at him, but you can imagine the smug grin on his face and the wiggling of his eyebrows.

To be honest, you thought you had more time until Adam comes home. You didn't want him to see you like this. He never was very good at this 'mushy, sappy emotional shit' (his words). And you really don't have the strength now to deal with his mocking and teasing.

So you just groan in response.

Even though Adam isn't usually really good at reading people and their emotions, your state makes it clear even for him that something is wrong.

"Geez, the fuck is up your ass?" He hisses, walking towards the couch and putting a cold palm on your forehead to check for fever. "You sick or somethin'?"

You, albeit a bit reluctantly, swat his hand away.

"I'm not sick. I have some other problems, you wouldn't understand." You respond, still laying on the couch, pathways made from tears still visible and fresh on your cheeks.

Adam scoffs and puts his hands on his hips.

"Try me, bitch."

You finally look him in the eyes, skeptically.

"Are you really gonna listen to me yap about this? Without cutting me off and mocking me?" Somehow you want him to both go away and stay right beside you.

"You always listen to me when I'm fucking mad at something and need to talk it out." He shrugs. "The least I can do is return the favor for once, since I'm so generous and in a good mood today. Now move your ass."

Adam makes the 'shoo' gesture with his hand, and you move a bit to the side on the couch, making space for him to sit down. Once he plops down on the couch, you put your head in his lap.

"Where to even start." You say in a bit of a sarcastic manner, your voice breaking just a bit once again.

You tell him everything, somehow managing to not break down again during the tale. You tell him how your friend got bored of you when another, seemingly more interesting and fun person than you appeared. How when the tree of you hang out, they paid more attention to the new person, only rarely talking to you and when they did, they were a lot colder towards you. It wasn't fucking fair. You were there longer and you always tried your best to be a good friend, the best you could be. And it still wasn't enough.

Surprisingly, Adam kept his promise and didn't cut you off even once. Instead, he was on his phone the whole time, but with his other hand he played with your hair. He only let out some hums of acknowledgement every now and then, not looking at you at all. It may have seemed like he was disinterested in your problem, but the way his fist clenched around the strands of your hair during certain parts of your story suggested otherwise.

"...and that's the situation." You sigh heavily finishing your rant after a while.

Adam scoffs and puts his phone down.

"Well, what do you want me to say, bitch?" He shrugs. "I mean, yeah, sure sucks to be you I guess, but why the fuck are ya getting so worked up over this?"

"Well, that's because--"

"Honestly, thought you were tougher than that. Thought you were a badass, not a pathetic little cunt--"

"Adam, you promised you wouldn't cut me off." You remind him coldly, lifting your head from his lap and glaring at him.

Adam rolls his eyes.

"Fine, fine, jeez." He tsks. "Sorry, babe."

You stay quiet for a few seconds, searching for the right words. This is tricky, your boyfriend is not the best at dealing with emotions like this. He can't relate because he has a totally different strategy when someone doesn't like him. Heck, most of Heaven doesn't like him, he just doesn't seem to care. He always makes it seem so easy. You envy him in that aspect, you envy his ability to not give a fuck.

"You know what?" You finally say, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "I wouldn't care if this was a first situation like this. I wouldn't give a damn. But the truth is, this happens to me every single motherfucking time I manage to form a meaningful relationship with someone." Despite your best efforts, frustration tears appear in your eyes. "I'm tired of this. Tired of being thrown aside once everyone gets bored of me, tired of always being second-best, of being the spare friend and 'number two'. "

You shake your head and then say quietly:

"I bet sooner or later you're gonna get bored of me and leave too."

Silence falls. You don't dare to look Adam in the eyes as you sit beside him on the couch, but at a slight distance.

You're not looking at him, so you fail to notice the flabbergasted and almost offended look on his face.

"The FUCK!?" Adam suddenly breaks the silence with his angry shout as you look at him confused. "I'm not fucking going anywhere! You're stuck with me babes, whether you like it or not. Also, geez, I know I'm a major jerk but I'm not like those trash you call friends!"

You finally dare to look at him, amazed. He really seems put off by your suggestion. You feel your heart flutter at his words and his statement that he isn't gonna leave no matter what. Despite his many flaws, Adam always has been very loyal and dedicated to you. You feel ashamed that you doubted him. Before you can apologize however, he continues his rant:

"And anyway, fuck them--"

You raise an eyebrow in amusement at his wording. Adam sees your expression and scowls before smirking.

"Look who's dirty minded now, bitch~" He teases you, earning a light slap on the shoulder.

Adam chuckles and you roll your eyes, but with a small smile dancing on your lips.

"Whatever." You say, wanting him to continue.

"I meant like, stop giving a fuck about those fake-ass people, y'know! You fucking rock babe, and if they can't see that, it's their loss. Don't waste your precious time on those who don't deserve it."

Your smile kept growing the longer he kept talking. Of course, his rant didn't magically solve your problem, you were still mad and sad, but less now. Because now you are sure that Adam will always be on your side.

"...you should focus on people who really deserve your time. Like me." Adam finishes with a smug grin as you slap his arm lightly, both of you chuckling.

Then you climb in his lap and hug him by the neck, minding the spikes on his collar, but still pressing your face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Adam smells of his usual cologne and you can sense a faint scent of ribs, which he must've had for lunch.

"Thank you, honey." You say softly. "I think I needed to hear that."

You can feel the First Man shiver slightly at the sweet nickname. You know that that's his weakness, even though he always tries to act like he doesn't like it.

You wait for him to tease you or try to make this moment sexual like he usually does. You expect Adam to go back to his usual annoying self. But instead, he sighs through his nose and slowly wraps his arms around your back and waist, hugging you tightly and pressing you even more into his soft chest and stomach. He even wraps his beautiful golden wings around you for extra comfort.

"Anytime, sweetie." Adam says softly while caressing your back gently.

Something swells in your chest at the nickname he almost never uses. The only times Adam uses this particular one is when he's mocking you or someone or when he's feeling especially soft and at ease. Even though you two have been dating for quite some time now, you only recall one or two instances of him using "sweetie" as a nickname for you in a soft manner, not counting now of course.

You smile into his neck and raise your head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek.

You both stay silent for a while, just enjoying each other's presence and touch.

"You know" Adam says suddenly, still embracing you. "If you need friends or some shit, I can set up a meeting for you with my girls and Lute. They've been up my ass recently about wanting to 'get to know you' ".

"That's actually not a bad idea." You reply, pressing your cheek against his.

"Yeah, it's a win-win situation, babe." Adam muses, squeezing you momentarily. "You get new friends, and I get some fucking peace from their pestering."

You giggle.

You were scared to talk to him about your problems, knowing how he is. But now you realize that was stupid. Adam is a jerk to everyone but you. He's always been more patient, gentle and soft with you than with anyone else. You feel really ashamed for thinking he wouldn't listen to you and support you in your problems, even if they are trivial to him.

"I'm sorry for not believing that you'd listen to me and my problems." You sigh. "And I'm sorry for saying that you'd leave me and comparing you to my ex-friends."

"Yeah, you should be fucking sorry." Adam grumbles, grabbing you to lean you away from him a bit and then embracing your face with his palms. "You're one of the best things to ever happen to me, truly babe. I love you, you're my bitch and I wouldn't trade you for anyone."

You smile brightly, placing your smaller hands on his bigger ones on your cheeks. Then Adam continues before you can say anything, like he usually does.

"And if I ever hear you doubting yourself like that again, I'll literally fuck these thoughts out of you. I'll fuck you until you start to see yourself as a motherfucking goddess." He threatens with a grin.

You laugh. This time not a giggle or chuckle, but a big, bubbly laugh. You don't fail to notice the soft, fleeting smile which appears on your boyfriend's face at the sound of you laughing, but don't comment on it.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, darling." You tease after you calm down, putting your hands on his cheeks and squeezing them a bit. "I love you too."

Then you lean towards him and carefully place your lips on his in a gentle kiss. And for once, Adam doesn't make the kiss more heated, instead kissing you back just as softly.

For once, you feel completely and utterly loved and appreciated. For once you're someone's number one.

[lurkingshan]

(Different anon) I agree with and understand your points re: ~why you watch GMMTV if don't like??~ and why the question is/feels hostile.

But taking the question itself in good faith as "why do you (should I) keep watching shows I think/know I will not like based on how others have been handled?" in the genuine spirit of "explain like I'm 5 because I don't understand the lingo and background but want to understand the concept, how would you explain it to people not as into/knowledgeable/etc BL and the history of GMMTV?

Hi anon! This is an interesting question, because it depends so much on you as an individual and what makes you happy.

I think there is often a misconception that people who post critical meta are having a miserable time and torturing themselves with media they hate, but it's just not true. For folks like me who enjoy thinking critically, this is how we have fun. When I love something, I want to rip open its guts and see how it's all assembled. It's what stimulates my brain and gets me excited. And when I don't love something wholeheartedly, I am interested in figuring out why. I've often had the experience of watching something that I know should be working on me, and if it isn't, that creates an intellectual puzzle that I find very satisfying to solve. Why isn't it working, and what can that help me learn about storytelling? This is also fun for me.

Another misconception I often see in fandom is that if you like something, you can't have negative thoughts about it and you have to pretend it's perfect to be a good fan. Nonsense! Being a hater is fun, especially about things you truly love. I'll give you a really concrete example: Bad Buddy is one of my all time favorite shows. It first aired three years ago and I still think about it nearly every day. It's a show that stimulates my brain but also hits me straight in the heart. But I do not think it's perfect and I get a lot of joy from thinking about the parts that did not work (Wai's redemption, that stupid fake out in the finale, all of episode 9) and making fun of it (have you heard that PAT GOT SHOT??). This, too, is a form of love and source of joy.

So with those misconceptions addressed, why do I keep watching shows I suspect I won't like? First, because you truly never know until you try, and I like to be pleasantly surprised. Two of my favorite shows of this year, Cherry Magic Thailand and Knock Knock Boys, shocked the hell out of me. I went into CMT deeply skeptical only to be charmed against my will and so impressed by how they adapted it, and I went into KKB expecting it to be like 95% of weak Thai pulps only to realize its writing and themes were stronger than they had any right to be. If I stayed away from all media I thought I might not like, I would have never had the amazing experience of watching and discussing those two shows live with friends who also loved them.

Second, like I said above, I still have fun examining shows that are not quite working for me, and sometimes I am compelled by the ambition of shows even if I don't think the execution is serving. A great example of that is The Sign. I wanted to support that show because of who was making it, and it had so much early promise that when it fell apart halfway through, I stuck it out to try to make sense of what went wrong. In cases like that, I like to figure out what a show thinks it's doing, what it's actually doing, and where the disconnect is. It's a fun puzzle for me to sort through such an ambitious mess of a show. This is why, btw, I am never really moved by fanwanks to fill in gaps in story and characterization. I understand why others enjoy fixing shows in their brains and then pretending that's what they actually saw, but it's not what motivates me. My goal with shows like this is not to get myself to like it no matter what, it's to figure out why I don't like it and what could be changed to address that.

Third, I care about ql as a genre, and I like to be aware of how it's evolving and be part of the collective experience of watching it. QL fandom is tiny and I like to know what my friends are talking about! I can't watch everything because there is simply way too much content these days, but I like to watch or at least pay attention to most of the big buzzy shows to track trends and see what's getting the fandom frustrated or excited. I didn't watch We Are because I knew enough about what it was doing and who was involved to understand it was not for me, but I did pay attention to reactions to it. Watching Jack & Joker with Thai bl fandom right now is some of the most fun we've had since Only Friends killed our spirit. J&J is directed by my parasocial frenemy Tee Bundit, whose shows often frustrate the hell out of me and whom I have ripped to shreds on this platform many times over. But I'm not gonna let that stop me from having fun with this new show, because Joke is The Moment and we're all in this together.

So truly, anon: whether or not you should be like me and watch things you may not like or continue watching shows you don't think are very good depends on what motivates you. You should figure out what is most fun for you re: media consumption, and do that. You can seek out people who enjoy media the same way you do, and also befriend people who think differently if you want to learn from each other and don't mind a bit of productive discomfort from time to time. I have gotten better recently at recognizing when I'm just getting nothing out of a show and dropping it like a hot potato (because some shows are not bad in an interesting way, they are just bad), or realizing which shows I will like better on a binge (usually the ones with terrible pacing, that is not as tortuous for me when I can just watch it all in one go). You gotta do some testing to figure it out.

All of this has all been a really long-winded way to say you should do what makes you happy, and don't assume that just because someone else's happiness looks different from yours, that it's wrong.

[cleolinda]

My sister noticed

Previously on: I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice: So I told you a story about how a Count Chocula used to creep behind me at night when I was a child, and I described my very weird childhood home to you. I told you how my sister had Something Dark living in her bedroom, and I told you about the time she and I compared notes and realized that we also had the ghost of a young woman in the house. Maybe.

I asked my sister to read over the draft for me, maybe gather up the fortitude to fill in some details, and she texted back, "Oh, I'll tell you anything you want. But that’s not how it happened."

I am willing to believe her version for two reasons:

1) My memory has been shit after having covid umpteen thousand times.

2) I actually remember her version of the conversation we had, now that it's in front of me.

I also remember my version, is the thing—the one where I told her about Rebecca when we were younger. And that raises some questions about how independent, how uncompromised, our experiences were. But I think those questions are themselves the story. Can I trust my memory at all? I had such bad brain fog the first time I had covid that I could not remember how to scramble eggs. A lot of things are just mist to me now. There's what I remember and there's what actually happened, but what do I even remember? And that's before you even get into the idea that we're talking about ghosts we "felt" in the house. We saw no apparitions, no shadows, no odd movements.

This is not a story where I'm asking you to believe me.

There are things you experience, and things that happen. An example from the winter of 2016:

What I experienced was standing out on our deck one night and looking up at the stars. They were moving in a slight swirl motion, not unlike the painting Starry Night. I turned to my mom and said, "Well, the stars are moving, so if the world ends or something any time soon, here's our first sign." She stared at me.

What happened was, our upstairs heating unit had a leak, and I sustained mild carbon monoxide poisoning. (I like rooms to be cool, so I had used the heater less than most people would, at least.) This was only discovered during a routine furnace check, after my vision had been a little weird and I had been deeply fatigued for two or three months. I have had a CO monitor upstairs ever since.

Did I see the stars swirling? Yes. Were they? No. That's the distinction I want you to make while I tell you all this. Did my sister and I experience things? Yes. Do I know what happened? No.

So what I agree happened was, we were having Grownup Sunday Family Dinner a few years back, maybe 2019 or so. I had been really into Buzzfeed Unsolved, which later evolved into Watcher Entertainment, but my sister was refusing to watch any of it. She's a big fan now, but she only started watching the guys last year. Yesterday, we tried to piece this back together via text.

My sister ["MS" from here on out]: Like I feel like off and on for years you mentioned [Shane and Ryan's shows] and I refused

MS: And one day my argument was to talk about our own house

Me [let's go with Cleolinda Jones, "CJ"]: You said you felt like fake ghost shows were disrespectful to people who actually experienced [hauntings].

MS: YES I FEEL LIKE THAT WAS THE CONVO

I love paranormal investigation shows, whether they're patently fake or not, as long as I enjoy the people investigating, so I couldn't understand why they personally offended her. Pulling at this thread back in 2019 is how the the whole ghost story started coming out.

CJ: And I was like, okay, but here’s one show where they get, like, nothing, but I can promise you that it's real

(Because the Unsolved/Watcher shows pair a believer with an actual skeptic who still, lo these many years later, does not believe in any of it. I truly believe Shane and Ryan would not stage "evidence," for that reason. Shane makes fun of ghosts and people who believe in them, but he's honest about it, and my sister likes that.)

At this point, we go back to the first version of the story that I posted: my sister had told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her when she was a preteen/early teenager. It felt very dark, very bad, and she had not told anyone else about it until that dinner. The way I relayed it to you, Dear Reader, was that she hadn't wanted to go into detail, and I wasn't sure what it looked like, or if it "lived" in the little witch closet, or what. That night at dinner, I had gone on to tell her that, you know, now that you mention it, I did feel like something used to follow me up there at night. And this was when "My sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears" had come in.

1. Something Dark

CJ: So you were telling me about our house being haunted. Something in your room. How would you describe it?

MS: I think it more lived in the attic

(our pal the dark fucked-up attic room)

MS: but would roam the entire floor so I felt it in the peach room [my (Cleo's) old bedroom and then later, my sister's] but more so in [the Four Closets Bedroom] as it was closer to the attic

MS: The best way I can describe it is just never feeling like I was alone. Feeling like something was always behind me. But I refused to turn around to look. It felt like a darkness that almost oozed behind you in a way that was almost suffocating.

CJ: What I find interesting is that we both describe it as Just Feelings, and never feeling alone.

My sister texted me at this point that she used to sense Something upstairs whether it was day or night; "even in the day, it didn't feel safe." But night was worse.

MS: There was one night in 3rd grade when I was reading and had like my first panic attack because I was newer to living upstairs and I felt it come in the room at night for the first time

MS: I also used to feel compelled to keep the AC running all night like it was never cold enough.

Here's the weird thing: when we moved to the house where I currently live and our rooms were on the same floor, we always fought over the thermostat. My sister hated her bedroom being too cool, whereas I get hot. I remember one night, we were arguing over it, and she was weirdly on the verge of tears: "Why do you have to have it so cold?" In 2023, my sister texted me at this point that she didn't want our childhood home to be cold; it was like the thing wanted that temperature, even if she hated it.

You often hear that ghosts make rooms cold, that's a big ghost hunter show thing—but whatever was up there couldn't lower the temperature on its own?

CJ: "If you can’t make it cold yourself, storebought is fine"

CJ: And you don’t have a visual impression of it, I’m not just blowing past that?

MS: I refused. REFUSED to look. Ever. For any reason.

CJ: I did too, so that’s interesting

CJ: I describe it as a Count Chocula, which should tell you how much it didn’t bother me. Which I find weird

(Truly, there is a reason I titled that post "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice.")

MS: I can’t tell if it was truly terrifying. Or if the amount of data I was getting from it was just so overwhelming that that alone was terrifying to a child. I wish I could answer that now.

CJ: Yeah, in some way I think we’re saying the same thing. I was seven years old and I couldn’t comprehend what it was, either, so I just imagined a silly vampire

CJ: like I can’t overstate how cartoonish it seemed to me at the time, while still being very DON’T LOOK BACK

Part of the problem, she added, was that she felt compelled to go turn down the air conditioning... and the thermostat was next to the (carpeted. shag carpeted) bathroom. And then she had to race back to her bedroom... the same way I used to, as quick as she could.

MS: I also felt like I could NOT run. Like the way you shouldn’t run away from a mountain lion. It would create the need for it to chase me.

MS: What is so strange is that [learning about paranormal investigation] has not changed my perception of my experience in the slightest. Whether that’s the reality or not. It is still something I find dark and terrifying.

CJ: I think you would answer this differently now than you did then: what do you think it was?

We discussed this by text for a while. I mentioned being intrigued that Something Dark wanted to be cold (but apparently was not able to make the room cold). My sister—having agreed to be quoted here—said, "I kinda hope to avoid someone being like 'you had a demon in your house,'" as she doesn't really feel like that's what it was. Her gut feeling (and, bear in mind, we are working off nothing but feelings here) is that it was a spirit or ghost: something formerly human. We agree that it seemed male in some way (again: a Chocula).

And you're probably thinking, This is total bullshit. And it probably is! I'm not claiming any of this to be real evidence! I just find it interesting that we somehow came up with the same bullshit.

CJ: It just fascinates me that I did not experience 90% of this, and yet I got a strong enough whiff of it that I’m like, yeah, I can see it

But what about the female presence, the one I went off to color with in the middle of the night?

2. Rebecca

MS: I didn’t find out you had done the ouija board until we were adults. You didn’t tell me when we were kids

MS: That’s why I was SO shocked when we talked at the dinner table.

See, I was convinced that I had told her about my ouija adventures when I was a teenager, and "What about Rebecca??" flowed really well in the first post. That conversation was already a bit fictionalized in order to condense it from what I remembered—that's how memoirs work, really, unless you have actual transcripts of your life and room to include them. You're telling a story. I thought I was telling a condensed version of a true story. And yet, I do remember how shocked my sister was at dinner that night. And she would have only been seven or eight when I was messing around with that shit. Those two things do support the idea that I wouldn't have told her.

MS: You did tell me skeletons lived in my closet tho

I told you I was kind of a shit.

CJ: when I told you about Rebecca, what was your reaction?

MS: That’s when I went white. Bc I realized we had had a similar experience and I wasn’t just crazy

CJ: The thing is, I WOULD HAVE SWORN I had told you about Rebecca when we were younger

MS: If you did you didn’t name her and that’s why it was nuts when I realized 2 decades later we pulled the same name and we both remembered it.

We did it again, too—I posted briefly about putting this whole saga together, and how my sister asked me to give the ghost a pseudonym (ghosts deserve privacy too). And in trying to think of a good replacement, we both came up with "Rebecca."

CJ: so how did you know the [original] name?

MS: Ouija board with [best friend, redacted] in the playroom when I was like 13. She cried the whole time. We both thought the other was moving [the planchette].

You'll remember the weird, windowless, sky-blue playroom with the scary door from the previous post.

MS: But she was crying so she wouldn’t have been. And I would have never pulled out the name [Not Actually Rebecca]

MS: There was part of me that wonders if I did it but I would have NEVER chosen Rebecca

CJ: So did I bring Rebecca up first in this conversation [at dinner in 2019], or did you? I did?

MS: You said it first. I would have never [told you first] cuz I would have thought you were placating me. Like I’d never really know if you weren’t just agreeing with me

And that's when my sister had "stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone 'go white' until that moment." And I had told her about getting up at midnight and going to color in the weird playroom, and someone else being in there with me, no big deal.

After all this discussion, we do think that Rebecca was briefly my "imaginary friend," but our mom told me to stop talking about that. Not because our mom was spooked, but because she felt like it was rude for me to talk about someone I was presumably making up in front of company. So that stopped. Thinking back on it, I just felt like someone was sitting next to me on the couch. I didn't feel anyone next to me; when I looked, I felt like I could see where... someone was not? The space that someone invisible was taking up? It felt like something reasonably friendly. "Chill" is the word I keep using. Not super eager or possessive, just like a girl who was a bit older, maybe a teenager, a babysitter age, who liked me well enough. There was some dark shit in the attic, apparently—it did feel very oppressive in there—but I would get a sense that a metaphorical desk lamp had been turned on. A presence that stayed back, relaxed, but emanated "hey, I'm here."

What my sister and I agreed on was that we remembered how these "feelings" were both vague and memorable. I can't remember events or chronology accurately, but I remember the actual sensations and presences very, very clearly. They resist reinterpretation. I can't sit here and say, "Oh, Rebecca was totally a guardian angel, I see that now." The Something Dark sounds functionally demonic, but my sister doesn't feel like that's accurate. (If anything, she gets a sense that this could have been a malicious uncle—not father—of some kind to Rebecca, if the two beings were related: particular in their vagueness.) These two presences just... were. My sister says she primarily sensed Rebecca outdoors in our backyard, when we were pretending (were we?) to play with fairies. I didn't sense Rebecca there—but then, I wasn't aware that what I sensed was a someone, not for another thirty years or so. My oblivious ass was up at midnight filling in my She-Ra coloring book with a ghost like, "Yeah, I'm alone in the dark for no reason, this is normal." It's only in retrospect that I recognize atmospheric feelings as things that actually took up space, and I don't know how I didn't see it at the time. I can't explain that, and I can't ask you to believe it. All I know is that my sister still feels very traumatized by her experience of it—and I can't explain why I don't.

I think one of the reasons paranormal investigation shows don't scare me a whole lot is because so much of the "evidence" is random knocks and creaks and movements and vibes, and I'm like, yeah, I've lived in two houses now like that. The door of my current bedroom opens and closes on its own all the time. It's probably a draft from the ventilation system (which does not have CO leaks anymore) (probably). I've seen something at this house that a lot of people might call a shadow person, but I was probably imagining it. So many of these ghost shows just have things that I grew up with and didn't even think a whole lot of at the time; I seem to be protected by a +3 Sphere of Sure, That's Fine. Is my current house also haunted? I honestly don't know. Would I notice if it was?

[goddessofmischief]

      WHITE VEIL OCCASION - BUGGY X READER

A/N: This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also, I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read.

"I need your help," you told Buggy, standing outside of his cabin door during an afternoon in the summertime.

"Okay," said Buggy immediately, then, a moment later - "Did you ask Shanks?"

You shake your head. Whatever it is, whatever you wanted, Buggy is now in.

"No," you said. "...I didn't think he would understand."

Now Buggy is definitely in.

...

"Really?" Buggy asked skeptically, adjusting to find comfort on the satin chair he sat in. "Why am I the guy for this?"

"Because I don't have any other friends," you said, carrying armfuls of wedding dresses back to the dressing room where he sat.

"You have Shanks."

"He's different."

"Why is he different?"

"You're vainer than he is," you said, admiring yourself in the mirror.

"Please, that pretty boy? Are you kidding me?"

"You know colors, fabrics. Face it, Buggy, you're the resident fashion expert. And don't you wanna help me?"

Damn it, he did.

"Fine," he said, waving his hand. "Show me the first."

You pushed the curtain back, revealing yourself in a puffy pink dress. You gave a little twirl. Buggy burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's terrible. I think you should get that one."

You turned red, closing the curtain again. Buggy groaned.

"Okay, I'm sorry, that was a little mean-"

"A little?"

"A lot - show me the next one, I promise I'll be nice."

Some two-hundred dresses later, you tried on a smaller one - short, pure white.

"It's not bad," said Buggy, not wanting to admit to you or himself that it was the best you'd ever looked. "It's not terrible at all."

"You think so?" you said. "But - I can't twirl in it."

"Oh, right. Not that one, then."

"What would Mihawk want, you think?"

"Geez, I dunno. Black?"

"Black," you repeated, contemplatively. "I don't think I want black."

Buggy was suddenly reminded of the pink dress from earlier, and how happy you'd looked in it. Sure, it wasn't precisely to his taste, but that didn't matter. The color was still ghastly, though. Damn it - maybe he did know as much about fashion as you'd suggested.

"Say, doll - did they have that puffy one in another color?"

"Yeah," you said, thoughtfully. "White."

...

"Thanks for coming with me today," you mumbled, legs swinging off the side of the cliff. You and Buggy liked to sit there sometimes, whenever you were docked at this particular island, it was 'your spot.' It was the place you two talked about things that Shanks, Mihawk, Rayleigh and Roger couldn't understand (which was a lot.)

"It wasn't as bad as I thought, I guess," Buggy said, refusing to admit to you that it had been actually kind of fun. "But, uh - you seem kinda sad, doll. If I'm not - if I'm not overstepping."

"You're not," you assured him, with a sad smile. "You're not. I'm just... scared."

"What do you have to be scared of? I mean, c'mon, you're engaged to the best swordsman in the East Blue, you live with the king of the pirates, and then there's Shanks, who's no slouch, and then there's, um, me. You got me."

"It's not that kind of fear."

Buggy thought he might understand what you were saying. Maybe. He'd secretly suspected that there had been doubt in you for some time, but had thought maybe he was unable to separate what was really going on with you from what he wished were the case. He wanted you to doubt. He wanted you to walk away from Mihawk.

"...I don't want things to change."

Ah, so that's what it was.

"Neither do I. I mean, it sure would be great if we could just live together and sail together forever, huh? But that's not really how it works. People grow up. People... die," Buggy said, thinking about Roger with a pang. He knew he didn't have long. There was little doubt in his mind that some time after your wedding, Roger would allow himself to succumb to his illness, and Shanks would take everything that was left, and Buggy would be alone.

Your eyes welled up with tears, and you rested your head on Buggy's shoulder, staring out at the waves. You threaded your fingers through his gloved ones, as if you wanted something physical to tether you to the moment.

"I don't want to lose you, Bug," you whispered.

"You're not gonna lose me. We'll still be best friends, same as ever. I'll come visit you all the time. And if Mihawk ever gives you trouble - well, I'll just kill him."

You laughed.

"Come on, stop crying, okay? I hate it when you cry."

"Okay."

"Okay," said Buggy, almost mimicking your exact soft voice. He squeezed your hand. You raised your face up to fix your gaze on him, as if an essential thought had only just occurred to you.

"Swear we'll always be best friends, Buggy."

Buggy laughed. You stared at him, bottom lip trembling.

"Oh, you're serious?"

"Buggy," you scolded.

"I mean, I'd like to - I really would - but I really can't promise such a thing-"

"Swear to me," you repeated. "Swear to me."

Buggy searched your eyes - you were dead serious.

You couldn't lose him. You refused to do that. You could sacrifice everything else but you refused to lose Buggy.

"Okay," he agreed, hoarsely. "Okay."

You nodded, satisfied, and tucked your head into his shoulder again.

...He needed to stop this wedding.

taglist: @sawendel @twinklesnake @literaturewithliz @sordidmusings @foggyturtleknightangel @toertchen @96jnie @lunanight1021

[ashwritesmonsters]

If your requests are still open, then can I get a smug buff male demon and a shy chubby female reader? Rating grapefruit. With some dubcon and an emphasis on breasts.

Shy Chubby F!Reader x Smug Buff M!Demon

Note: Hey! Thanks for your request, it was actually a lot of fun to get back into writing some good ol' smut. Not sure how active I can be on this blog right now, but if anyone is okay with waiting then send your requests please! I really do enjoy writing them when I can; I've been doing a ton of writing lately, just not this kind of stuff, so it's nice to have a reason to come back to it. Also this is really long for a request tbh, I hope that's cool.

Content: Dubcon (honestly kinda light; I can't seem to stop making things end up cute and sweet) and breast play, as requested.

"It's called 'Temple of the Body?' Really?" You asked, immediately skeptical of any gym too fancy to have the word "gym" in its name.

"Yeah, it's a good gym! It's got everything you could ever need, it just happens to be in Honeycomb," Phoebe seemed a little too defensive of her gym of choice—you could practically hear her petals bristling—but the Dryad always was eager to convince you of things. "You know how Ishtar followers tend to wax poetic about stuff like that."

"Honeycomb isn't exactly a neighborhood that's nearby, Phoebe. It's almost on the opposite side of town from me."

"You'd rather work out alone than drive an extra…" Phoebe's taps on her phone screen as she mapped the route attacked your ear. "...fifteen minutes and have me as a gym buddy?"

"No, but…" You couldn't quite explain your apprehension. Of course, going to any gym was daunting, and needing to pay for a membership didn't help.

You chewed your lip, searching for the right words to express your unease. The idea of working out in Honeycomb, a neighborhood known for its devotion to Ishtar, sent a wave of anxiety through you. That was the only part of town where you had seen a community recreational center host "naked swim days" and let people post flyers advertising weekly orgies.

"It's just... Honeycomb is a bit... woo-woo, isn't it?" You finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Phoebe's laughter sparkled through the phone. "Oh, come on! It's not like everyone's walking around naked or anything."

You winced, wanting to say "they kind of are." Honeycomb's reputation for body positivity and sensuality was well-known throughout the city. The thought of your softer curves standing out amidst a sea of chiseled abs and defined muscles made your stomach churn.

"I don't know, Phoebe. I'm not exactly... Honeycomb material." Your fingers absently plucked at the hem of your shirt, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it clung to your midsection.

"What are you talking about? Everyone starts somewhere!" Phoebe's voice softened, a hint of concern creeping in. "Is this about the whole Ishtar thing?"

You sighed, sinking deeper into your couch. "Maybe? It's just... you know how people are there. All touchy-feely and confident. I'm not sure I'd fit in."

"Hey, that's not fair. Ishtar followers aren't all about perfect bodies, you know. It's about loving yourself as you are."

Your skepticism must have traveled through the phone because Phoebe quickly added, "Look, why don't you visit on the next Tuesday—Trial Tuesday, when newbies can try it out—and see how you feel? Just because people in Honeycomb look nice and act confident doesn't mean they're douchebags. They do follow the goddess of love, after all."

You let out a long sigh, your resolve crumbling under Phoebe's enthusiastic persuasion. "Alright, alright. I'll give it a try. But just one visit, okay?"

"Yes! You won't regret it, I promise." Phoebe's excitement bubbled through the phone. "Oh, and don't forget to mention my name at the front desk. They know me there."

Your stomach twisted. "Wait, you're not coming with me?"

"Ah, about that..." Phoebe's voice took on an apologetic tone. "I've got a work thing that day. But you'll be fine! The staff there are super friendly."

Great. Now you'd be venturing into unknown territory alone. "Some gym buddy you are," you grumbled.

"You've got this," Phoebe assured you. "Text me after and tell me how it goes!"

The day of your gym visit arrived all too quickly. You stood in front of your bedroom mirror, tugging at the hem of your new workout top. The fabric clung to your curves in a way that made you both self-conscious and oddly confident. Turns out, all it takes to look like a gym goer is to put on gym clothes.

Your eyes traveled over your reflection, taking in the sight of your body wrapped in still-returnable athletic wear. The leggings hugged your thighs, accentuating their shape. You turned to the side, observing how the high-waisted band looked painted on to your stomach.

There were a couple things going through your mind; anxiety gnawed at the edges of it, whispering doubts about how you'd measure up in a gym full of the Honeycomb crowd and Ishtar followers. But beneath that, a strange note of confidence too. The outfit, despite its snugness, was incredibly comfortable, and knowing you'd be dressed the same as everyone else helped a bit.

You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. "It's just one visit," you reminded yourself, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. "You can do this."

Grabbing your gym bag, you headed for the door. The drive to Honeycomb seemed both endless and far too short. As you pulled into the parking lot of Temple of the Body, your heart raced. The building loomed before you, its architecture fitting in with the Honeycomb aesthetic to a tee; a stone facade covered in elaborate geometric inlays, flowering vines and planters, and—of course—nude relief sculptures of Ishtar. She didn't look like you at all.

You sit in your car for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. Part of you wants to turn around and drive home, but Phoebe's encouragement echoes in your mind, as does the potential nagging if you bail. With a final deep breath, you step out of the car.

The automatic doors slide open, unleashing a wave of cool air with a hint of lavender. You approach the front desk, where a smiling woman greets you; she definitely fits in with the Honeycomb crowd, her dyed blue hair and tattoos complementing her body, which definitely belonged in a gym.

"Welcome to Temple of the Body! How can I help you today?"

You swallow hard, willing your voice not to shake. "Hi, I'm here for a... a trial visit? My friend Phoebe recommended this place."

The woman's smile widens. "Oh, you're a friend of Phoebe's? Wonderful! Let me get you set up with a trial pass. Remember, there's no commitment and you can always come back next Trial Tuesday if you're still not sure."

You take a tentative step into the lobby, your eyes sweeping across the space. The interior of Temple of the Body is a far cry from the utilitarian gyms you've seen in your own part of town. Warm, earthy tones dominate the decor, with splashes of vibrant greens from potted plants scattered throughout the sandstone-like interior alongside more of those damn nude Ishtar statues.

As you peer into the main workout area, your breath catches in your throat. The first thing that strikes you is the sheer diversity of the clientele. Humans mingle with metahumans of all kinds—you spot a towering Minotaur spotting for a petite Naga on the bench press, while a group of Dryads lead a yoga class in a glass-walled room with poses that would kill you.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the brawny. A human woman with abs you could grate cheese on effortlessly pulls herself up on a set of rings. Nearby, an Orc with biceps the size of your thighs curls a dumbbell that looks heavier than you.

But as you continue to scan the room, you spot a few bodies that look more like yours. A human man with a round, doughy build jogs on a treadmill, his face flushed but determined. In the free weights section, a literally thicker Dryad, her bark-like skin adorned with moss, performs squats with perfect form.

You watch as another group finishes up a class, laughing and chatting as they towel off and head to what is presumably the locker rooms. The camaraderie is palpable, with people of all shapes and sizes offering each other high-fives and chatting like old friends.

The receptionist gently touches your arm. "Would you like a quick tour before you start your trial session?"

You nod, still a bit conflicted. Everything you've seen so far is living up to Phoebe's promises, but the anxiety in your gut is far too resilient to be defeated this quickly.

"Great!" She looks around, eyes searching the gym floor, before finding her target and pointing at what you can only describe as a mountain of a Demon as he sits on a bench, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. "That's Zeke, one of our personal trainers. He'll tell you all about the gym and guide you through your workout today, if you'd like."

"Uh…" You stammer. Everything and everyone has been welcoming so far, but you'd be lying if you weren't a bit intimidated by Zeke. Much of his deep crimson skin is on display thanks to his scant tank top and tiny shorts, crowned by a pair of curling onyx horns.

The receptionist notices your hesitation and gives you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Zeke may look intimidating, but he's a sweetheart. He's Phoebe’s trainer, and actually our most popular one for newcomers."

Before you can protest, she calls out, "Hey Zeke! Got a new member here who could use a tour."

The massive Demon's head snaps up at the sound of his name, and a broad grin spreads across his face as he spots you. He stands, his impressive height becoming even more apparent as he makes his way over.

"Hey there! I'm Zzikaerax, but you can just call me Zeke," he says, his voice a deep rumble that you can almost feel in your chest. "Welcome to Temple of the Body!"

You introduce yourself, your voice sounding small in comparison. Zeke's presence is overwhelming, not just because of his size, but because of the sheer energy he exudes. His crimson skin seems to radiate warmth, and his onyx horns gleam under the gym's lights.

"First time here, huh?" Zeke asks, leaning in close. You catch a whiff of something spicy and intoxicating. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

The receptionist chimes in, "Zeke's a lust Demon, but don't let that worry you. He's all about helping people feel good about themselves and their bodies."

Zeke nods enthusiastically. "That's right! Nothing makes me happier than seeing someone fall in love with fitness and their own body. Sweat is just foreplay for success, as I always say."

As he speaks, Zeke places a large hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the gym floor. His touch is warm, almost hot, and you're not sure if it's because of his demonic nature or if it's just your own nervousness causing you to fixate on the contact.

"So, what are your fitness goals?" Zeke asks, his face inches from yours as he leans down to hear your response. "Strength? Flexibility? Or maybe you just want to feel more confident?"

You stammer out a vague answer about generally just getting your heart rate up, acutely aware of how close Zeke is standing. Is this normal in Honeycomb? You know that followers of Ishtar tend to be more physically affectionate, but you can't help the way your body reacts.

As you walk through the gym, Zeke's hand remains on your shoulder, occasionally sliding down to the small of your back as he guides you around equipment. His touch is gentle but firm, and you find yourself unsure whether to lean into it or step away.

"And over here we have our cardio section," Zeke says, gesturing with his free hand, "the second best way to get your heart rate up." He winks at you, and you feel a flush creep up your neck.

As Zeke guides you onto the gym floor, your heart races, and not just from anticipation of the workout. His massive hand rests on the small of your back, warm and impossibly large against your skin.

"Let's start with some basic stretches," he rumbles, his voice low and intimate. "Gotta make sure you're nice and limber."

You nod, not trusting your voice. Zeke positions himself behind you, his presence looming large.

"Arms up, reach for the sky," he instructs. As you comply, his hands ghost along your sides, ostensibly to check your form. "Good, now bend forward, try to touch your toes."

You lean down, feeling exposed. Zeke's hands slide down your back, fingertips tracing your spine. "Breathe deep," he murmurs, so close you can feel his breath on your neck.

With each new stretch, Zeke's touch lingers longer, grows bolder. He guides your hips into position for a lunge, fingers splayed across your waist. When you rotate your torso, his palm presses flat against your stomach, steadying you.

"How's that feel?" he asks, voice husky.

"Good," you manage to squeak out, unsure if you're referring to the stretch or his touch.

Zeke moves to face you, demonstrating a shoulder roll. "Like this," he says, reaching out to manipulate your arms. His fingers trail down to your wrists, circling them gently before releasing.

You can't ignore the heat radiating from his skin, the way his eyes seem to drink you in. Is this normal for a trainer? For a lust Demon? For Honeycomb?

"Last one," Zeke announces, moving behind you once more. "We'll do a standing backbend. Don't worry, I've got you."

His massive hands span your ribcage as you lean back, trusting him to support your weight. You feel the solid wall of muscle against your back, his breath hot on your ear.

"That's it," he encourages, "just relax into it."

You hold the position, hyper-aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Zeke's thumbs rub small circles on your sides, a gesture that feels more intimate than instructional.

As he helps you straighten up, his hands linger, sliding around to your stomach. You stand there, pressed against him, breath coming quick and shallow.

"How do you feel now?" Zeke asks, his voice a low purr.

You swallow hard, mind reeling. The warmth of his touch, the spicy scent of his skin, the raw energy emanating from him – it's all too much, too intense. And yet, you can't bring yourself to step away. Probably because you're so dedicated to this workout, right?

"Um… good," you admit, though 'good' at best is a lie of omission.

"Good!" Zeke gently claps the small of your back, sending more shivers up your spine. "Stretching is important to do before any exercise, whether it's a session at the gym or something more impromptu."

Zeke steps back, giving you space to breathe, to think. His smile is warm, inviting, as he moves into an open area of the gym. "Let's start with some basic strength exercises," he says, beckoning you to follow.

You mirror his stance as he demonstrates a squat, feet planted firmly on the ground, shoulders back. His muscles shift beneath his tank top, a mesmerizing display of controlled power. You try to focus on his form, on the way his knees bend and his hips hinge, but your eyes are drawn to the expanse of crimson skin stretching over hard muscle, the way his shorts cling to his thighs, barely containing the thick outline of his cock.

"Like this," he encourages, dropping into a deep squat. You mimic him, feeling the burn in your thighs, the stretch in your glutes. His eyes are on you, watching, assessing. You flush under his gaze, a mix of exertion and something else, something hot pooling in your stomach.

"Good," he praises, standing up. "Now, lunges."

He demonstrates the movement, one leg stretched out behind him, the other bent at the knee. His shorts ride up, revealing more of his thigh, the curve of his ass. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away to focus on your own form.

You lunge forward, wobbling slightly. Zeke's hands are there instantly, steadying you. His touch is hot, searing through the thin fabric of your leggings. "Easy," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Take your time. It's not a race."

You nod, trying to ignore the heat of his hands, the way your heart is pounding in your chest. You lunge again, slower this time, more controlled. Zeke's hands follow you, guiding you, supporting you.

"That's it," he says, his voice like velvet. "You're doing great."

You can feel the sweat trickling down your spine, the flush in your cheeks. Zeke's eyes are on you, intense, focused. You can't look away, can't break the connection. There's something in his gaze, something hungry.

He steps closer, his hands still on your waist. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the spicy scent of his skin filling your nostrils. "You're strong," he says, his voice a low growl. "You just need to believe it."

You stand there, frozen, heart pounding. Zeke's hands slide around to your back, pulling you closer. You can feel the hard planes of his chest against yours, the thickness of his barely-contained cock pressed against your stomach.

"Zeke," you whisper, your voice barely audible. You're not sure if it's a protest or a plea.

He leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "Yes?"

Your hands are on his chest, his heart thudding under your palm. You can feel the power in him, the raw, untamed energy. It's frightening. Intoxicating. You're not sure what you want, what you're doing. But you're pretty sure you don't want him to stop.

"I...I don't know what I'm doing," you admit, your voice a whisper.

Zeke's lips curl into a smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's okay," he says, his voice a low purr. "I do."

His hands slide down to cup your ass, pulling you against him. You gasp, your eyes widening. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Trust me," he says, his voice a soft growl.

And you do. You trust him, even though you barely know him. Even though he's a lust Demon, even though you're in the middle of a gym, even though this is all happening too fast. You trust him, because somehow, inexplicably, it feels right.

His lips brush against yours, a soft, gentle touch that sends sparks shooting through your veins. You melt into him, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers tangling in his horns. He groans, a low, hungry sound that sends a hot shiver coursing through you.

You're vaguely aware of the other people in the gym, of the clank of weights and the hum of conversation. But it all fades away, lost in the heat of Zeke's kiss, the feel of his hands on your body, the press of his cock against you.

He breaks the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes are like molten lava, hot and hungry. "You're doing amazing for a newbie," he growls, his voice a low rumble.

You can't speak, can't think. You look around, and nobody seems to be paying you any notice. All you can do is feel. Feel the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the hardness of his cock. Is this sort of thing normal here? Is rutting your cock against someone the Honeycomb way of saying hello? Do the people around you just think Zeke is your boyfriend or something?

Zeke's hands slide under your top, his fingers tracing the curves of your body. You shiver, your breath hitching in your throat. His touch is like fire, burning away all your doubts, all your fears. Still, nobody is looking at you two. Not like you would be able to care right now, anyway.

"Zeke," you gasp, definitely a plea this time.

He smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. "Yes?"

You can't answer, can't find the words. But you don't need to. Zeke knows what you want, what you need. And he's more than willing to give it to you.

His hands slide up, cupping your breasts through your sports bra. You arch into his touch, a moan escaping your lips. He chuckles, his thumbs circling your nipples, plucking a gasp from your lips.

"So…" he rumbles, lowering his hands and resting them on your hips, "we could stay out here, do some more core exercises… or we could take this somewhere else."

"Somewhere else?" You manage to get out. Zeke's eyes finally lose their lock on you, and you follow his gaze to a doorway towards the back of the gym.

You follow Zeke's gaze to the doorway at the back of the gym that you saw the class exit through earlier. He leads you towards it, his hand still resting on your hip, fingers tracing small circles that send shivers up your spine. The doorway is unassuming, blending into the wall, but as you step through, your breath catches. It leads to the locker room—just one.

The room is vast, tiled in shades of blue and green, with lockers lining one wall and showers along the other. Steam fills the air, and the scent of soap and something more primal hangs heavy. In the center, there are benches, mats, and towels scattered about. And people. Humans and metahumans in various states of undress, some showering, some intertwined with others, touching and moaning with satisfied pleasure.

Your eyes widen, taking it all in. Zeke's lips curl into a smirk as he watches your reaction. "Welcome to the real Temple of the Body," he rumbles, his voice echoing off the tiles. "This is why our members keep coming back."

He guides you further inside, his hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back. You can't help but stare. A Naga, her scales shimmering under the water, is entwined with a human in one of the shower stalls. On a mat, a Minotaur, his gold septum ring glinting, kneels behind a Dryad, his hands exploring her bark-like skin as his massive cock grows from soft and drooping to hard and leaking.

"Zeke, what..." you start, but his finger presses against your lips, silencing you.

"Shh, no judgments here," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "This is a reward for working hard, for improving yourself every day."

He steers you to an empty bench, his hands on your shoulders, gentle but firm, pushing you down. You sit, the tile cold against your thighs. Zeke stands over you, his crimson skin a stark contrast to the pale blue of the locker room.

"You're curious," he says, his voice low, commanding. "I can see it in your eyes. You're shy but you want to be just like them."

You swallow hard, unsure how to defend yourself against an accusation so true. Zeke takes your silence as consent, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them apart, making room for him. Looking between his horns, the Minotaur from earlier has the Dryad speared on his cock, bouncing her on his lap as she cries out.

"Let's start slow," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. His hands slide up your thighs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your leggings. He tugs, and you lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. The tepid, humid air hits your skin, sending goosebumps racing up your legs.

Zeke's hands roam, cupping your calves, kneading your thighs. His touch is firm, possessive. He leans in, his breath hot on your inner thigh. "You smell delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin.

Your heart hammers in your chest as his hands move higher, gripping your hips, thumbs digging into your flesh. His eyes are fixed on your breasts, heaving with each ragged breath. He licks his lips, a hungry, primal gesture that sends a surge of heat through you.

"Look at you," he growls. "So soft." His hands move up, cupping your breasts through your sports bra. You gasp as his thumbs find your nipples, circling, teasing. The fabric is thin—too thin to even tell it’s there.

You squirm under his gaze, his touch. It's too much, too intense. But Zeke holds you firm, his hands demanding, his eyes commanding. "Don't move," he orders, his voice harsh. "Let me explore you."

His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra with a swift, practiced motion. He pulls it off, baring you to his gaze. You shiver, resisting the urge to cover yourself. Zeke's eyes drink you in, his pupils dilating.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he rasps, his hands cupping your breasts, lifting them, squeezing them. His touch is rough, just shy of painful, but it sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you.

He leans in, his tongue flicking out, teasing your nipple. You gasp, arching into the warmth of his licks. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. "Sensitive, aren't you?" he murmurs, before taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

You cry out, your hands finding their way to his horns, gripping them tightly. Zeke groans, the sound vibrating against your skin. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "You like that?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "You like it rough?"

You nod, breathless, unable to speak. Zeke's lips curl into a wicked smile. "Good," he says, his hands gripping your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. "Because I like it rough too."

His mouth finds your other nipple, biting, sucking, as his hands continue to explore your body. You're lost in a sea of sensation, drowning in the feel of his hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours.

Zeke's hands slide down, gripping your hips, digging into your flesh. He pulls you to the edge of the bench, pressing his body between your thighs. You can feel the hard length of him, the heat of him, even through his shorts.

He grinds against you, his mouth finding yours, kissing you deeply. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming you. You moan into his kiss, your hands still gripping his horns, holding on for dear life.

Zeke pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes wild. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy," he growls. "I want to taste you."

His hands move to your thighs, spreading them wider. You're exposed, vulnerable, but you trust him. You want this. You need this.

Zeke leans in, his breath hot on your core. You tremble, anticipating his touch. But he hesitates, his eyes meeting yours. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle for a moment.

You nod, breathless. "Yes," you manage to gasp out. "Please."

The gentleness disappears. Zeke's hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His breath is hot on your skin, sending shivers up your spine. You can feel his hunger, his desire, in every touch, every movement. His long, forked tongue flicks out, rough against your clit, and your legs shake in response. A gasp escapes your lips, your hands grasping at the bench, searching for something to ground you.

Zeke's tongue works magic on your flesh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. You can't help but squirm under his touch, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against your skin. "Eager, aren't you?" he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with amusement and desire.

You flush, a mix of embarrassment and arousal heating your cheeks. Zeke's smirk widens, his tongue circling your clit with a teasing slowness. "Don't fight it," he growls, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. "Let go. Submit to it."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your body tensing as his tongue flicks against you, relentless and demanding. The pressure builds, coiling and ready to snap. You can feel the eyes of the others on you, watching, waiting. It's overwhelming, intoxicating, pushing you closer to the edge.

Zeke senses your hesitation, your resistance. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours, intense and commanding. "Look at them," he orders, his voice harsh. "They're all watching you, wanting you. They can see how much you need this, how much you want it."

You do as he says, your gaze flicking around the room. A Naga's eyes are locked onto you, her hand moving faster and faster over her slit, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The Minotaur has turned to watch you, his cock hard and dripping as it presses against the Dryad's ass. She looks at you too, her eyes eager as she takes a break from the Minotaur's pounding.

"See?" Zeke murmurs, his breath hot on your skin. "We're all the same, really. Even your Dryad friend loves bouncing on my cock after a run on the treadmill."

His words break down the last of your resistance. You let go, surrendering to the sensation, to the desire. Your body tenses, your muscles clenching tightly, and then you're falling, tumbling over the edge into a sea of pleasure.

Zeke's tongue never stops, never relents, drawing out your orgasm, wringing every last drop of pleasure from your body. You cry out, your voice echoing off the tiled walls, joining the rest of the searing hot orgasms around you. Your body shakes, your legs trembling, your hands gripping the bench so tightly your knuckles turn white.

As the waves of pleasure subside, you collapse back onto the bench, your body limp and sated. Zeke lifts his head, his lips glistening with your juices, a smug smile on his face. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice a low purr. "You did so well."

You can't speak, can't form words. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in your chest. Zeke stands, his body towering over you, his cock hard and straining against his shorts. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

"But we're not done yet," he rumbles, his voice dark. "Not until I've had my fun with these."

Zeke's hands claim your breasts again, his fingers splayed possessively over their softness. He seems entranced, his gaze locked onto the generous curves, his thumbs tracing the delicate line of your collarbone before dipping down to circle your nipples. You can't ignore the raw hunger in his eyes, the unapologetic want that has him captivated.

"Fuck, I could get lost in these things,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that resonates through you. His hands are rough, kneading and squeezing, as if he can't get enough of the feel of you. You gasp as his fingers pinch your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you.

He releases you, only to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his tiny shorts. With a swift, confident motion, he pulls them down, revealing his cock. It springs free, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum. You stare, your heart pounding in your chest. It's intimidating, the size of it, the thickness, the weight. Not to mention the heavy balls hanging beneath, full with his lust.

Zeke chuckles, a sound like distant thunder, as he sees your expression. "Don't worry," he says, his voice a soothing growl. "I'm don't feel like pussy right now." He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to fuck these lovely, heavy breasts first. I want to slide my cock between them until I paint your face."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of relief and anticipation. You look up at him, your eyes wide, your lips slightly parted. Zeke smiles, a slow, wicked curve of his lips. He straddles the bench, his powerful thighs framing your body, his cock jutting out proudly.

"Come here," he orders, his voice gentle yet commanding. He guides your hands to your breasts, encouraging you to cup them, to lift them to meet him. You do as he says, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh, your heart racing. Zeke groans, his eyes darkening as he watches you. "Fuck, that's hot," he murmurs. "Always wanted to do this."

He shifts closer, his cock resting heavy and hot on your breasts. You look down at it, a bead of precum dripping onto your skin, marking you. Zeke's hands cover yours, squeezing, molding your breasts around his cock. He starts to move, a slow, steady thrust that sends his cock sliding through the valley of your breasts.

The sensation is strangely gratifying. The heat of him, the hardness, the wetness of his precum slicking the way. You look up at Zeke, his face a mask of concentration and pleasure, his horns casting dramatic shadows on the wall behind him. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body tensing with each thrust.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. "Your skin, your softness... it's driving me crazy."

You can't look away, can't break the connection. You're entranced, caught up in the raw, primal rhythm of his body. Your hands surrender to his commands, squeezing your breasts tighter around him, creating more friction, more pleasure.

Zeke's thrusts become faster, more urgent. His breath hitches, his body tenses. He's close, you can feel it. You can see it in the wildness of his eyes, the strain of his muscles. His cock swells, the tip turning a deep, angry red.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he grunts, his voice barely more than a growl. His hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks, his thumbs tracing your lips. "I want to paint your face with my cum. Get ready!"

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You're nervous, excited, aroused—too many things all at once. But you trust him. You want this. You want to feel him, to feel the heat of his seed on your skin.

Zeke's body goes rigid, a roar ripping through his throat. His cock pulses, hot streams of cum shooting out, painting your breasts, your chest, your face. It's dirty, it's raw, it's intimate. You gasp, your body trembling as you feel the heat of him, the possessiveness of his mark.

His breath slows, his body relaxing. He looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Fuck, you look good like this," he murmurs, his thumb smearing a drop of cum across your cheek.

You can't speak, can't form words. Your body is still trembling, your mind still reeling. Zeke leans down, licking some of himself off you before his lips brush against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

He pulls back, his eyes searching yours. "You okay?" he asks, his voice soft, the gentleness from earlier returning.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yes," you manage to whisper. "I'm okay."

Zeke smiles back, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "Good," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Let's get you cleaned up, then."

Zeke stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your legs still shaky, and he leads you towards the showers. The room is filled with steam, the sound of water hitting tile echoing off the walls. You pass by a Succubus, her midnight blue skin glistening as she moves under the spray, her hands braced against the wall as a Satyr fucks her from behind. She hisses in pleasure, her spade-tipped tail coiling around his leg, pulling him deeper.

You look away, a blush heating your cheeks. Zeke chuckles, squeezing your hand. "Don't be shy, babe. Everyone's just enjoying themselves here."

He leads you to an empty showerhead, turning the knob until water cascades down. He tests the temperature, adjusting it until he's satisfied. Then he turns to you, his hands on your shoulders, guiding you under the spray.

The water is hot, soothing your muscles, washing away the sweat and cum from your skin. You close your eyes, tilting your head back, letting the water run over your face. Zeke's hands are gentle as he lathers soap onto a towel, washing you with careful, deliberate movements.

"You did good out there," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Pushed yourself. That's what this place is about. Pushing limits, finding boundaries."

You open your eyes, looking up at him. His horns are dark against the bright tile, his eyes intent on his task. He's being gentle, caring, but there's still that self-assured smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. It's like this was his plan from the beginning; while you were losing control, feverish and horny, this was just another day at work for him.

"It's weird," you admit, your voice soft. "Being here, doing... this. It's not what I expected."

Zeke laughs, a deep, throaty sound. "That's the point, babe. Expect the unexpected. That's where growth happens."

He runs the washrag over your breasts, your stomach, between your legs. His touch is clinical, but there's an intimacy to it that sends a warm flush through you. He's taking care of you, in his own way.

Next to you, the Succubus cries out, her body writhing as she comes. The Satyr grunts, his hands gripping her hips as he finds his own release. You watch, your breath hitching, as they slow, their bodies still joined.

Zeke follows your gaze, a small smile on his face. "See? Everyone's just here to feel good. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

He turns you around, washing your back, your ass. His hands are firm, confident. You can feel his cock, hard again, pressing against your hip. But he makes no move to take things further, content to just wash you, touch you.

"You're tense," he says, his thumbs digging into the muscles of your shoulders. "Relax. Cooling down is just as important as warming up."

You take a deep breath, trying to let the tension go. Zeke's hands move to your neck, your scalp, massaging gently. It feels good, too good. You can feel yourself melting under his touch, your body leaning into his.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice approving. "Just let go."

He turns you back around, rinsing the soap from your body. His eyes meet yours, his expression soft. "You're strong, you know that? Stronger than you think."

You shake your head, a small smile on your face. "I'm not strong. I'm... I'm just me."

Zeke's hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. "You can be both."

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. It's gentle, chaste, a surprising contrast to his earlier roughness. You kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

When he pulls back, his eyes are soft, warm. "Feel better?" he asks.

You nod, a sense of contentment washing over you. "Yes. Thank you."

He grins, his smugness returning. "Told you I'd take good care of you."

He turns off the water, grabbing a towel from a nearby shelf. He wraps it around you, his hands rubbing your arms, warming you. You step out of the shower, your eyes sweeping over the room.

The Minotaur and the Dryad are gone, their shower empty. The Naga and the Satyr are cleaning up, their bodies slick with soap, their movements languid, sated. You watch them, a sense of peace settling over you.

–––

You grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles still flushed from the shower's heat and Zeke's touch. The city lights blur past as you drive home, the rumble of the engine echoing your pulsing heart. With a trembling hand, you dial Phoebe.

"Phoebe," you say, voice tight, "you could've warned me about the gym. And Zeke. And the locker room… and everything else!"

A soft laugh echoes through the line. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I thought you'd find it exciting. A little adventure."

"Adventure?" You scoff, but your voice lacks real anger. "Phoebe, it was an orgy. And Zeke... he was..." You trail off, remembering his hands, his tongue, his commands.

"He was what?" Phoebe asks, her voice laced with amusement.

You sigh, admitting, "He was intense. And I... I bought a membership."

Phoebe laughs again, a sound like leaves rustling. "I knew you'd like it. Zeke has that effect on people."

"You could've told me," you grumble, but there's no heat in your words. You find yourself curious, eager even. "You know, told me anything at all."

Phoebe hesitates, then begins, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Told you what? That he loves fucking me after a run? That he says he loves how my body moves, how my vines pulse with magic when I come."

You swallow hard, your body already heating at the image. "Okay, first, TMI. Second… your vines… do they really do that?"

"Mm-hmm," Phoebe hums. "It's like every nerve ending is on fire. He likes to run his tongue along them, make me shake and shiver."

You shift in your seat, your body aching at the mental image. "Goodness." A small gasp escapes your lips.

"You okay?" Phoebe asks, concern in her voice.

"Fine," you breathe. "Just... remembering."

Phoebe laughs softly. "Good memories, I hope. Did he stick it in you on your first day?"

"No, and I'm glad he didn't, honestly," you chuckle, a nervous reaction to the heat rushing to your cheeks. "Um, Phoebe, I should go. I'm almost home."

"Alright, girl," she says, her voice warm. "But don't think you're getting off that easy. We're having coffee tomorrow, and you're telling me everything."

You laugh, a mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling up. "Fine, fine. But you're buying."

"Deal," Phoebe agrees. "Get some rest, you'll need it for your next session."

Pulling into your parking spot, you kill the engine and sit for a moment. Your body aches in places you didn't know could ache, but there's a satisfaction underneath it all. A sense of accomplishment, of pushing your boundaries.

You make your way inside, dropping your gym bag by the door. In your bedroom, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You look... different. Flushed, alive, and a little bit of something else in your posture. You smile at your reflection, remembering Zeke's words. "You can be both."

[beauty-and-passion]

TMA - Chapters 1-10: The beginning and everything I didn’t expect to see

Hello, everyone.

As promised, here is the first post with my impressions regarding chapters 1-10.

Let’s not waste too much time here: there is a lot to say and I’ll leave my final impression for the end of this post. For now, let's start.

<< Main masterlist

_______________________________

MAG 1: Angler Fish

Well, that’s not what I expected.

So this series doesn't have a continuative plot, but it’s rather a “monster-of-the-week” situation. However, I don’t think it will be just like that: I’m quite sure a plot will come in the future. But since it’s not coming for now, I think the option I chose (i.e. commenting this series 10 chapters at a time) is perfect. This way, I can easily keep track of my favorite statements!

I also appreciate the small introduction. So we have a place: the Magnus Institute. I suppose this is the “library” I vaguely remembered. And we also have a person: Jonathan Sims, our maybe-protagonist. And we have Martin too! And Sasha and Tim! I have no idea who they are, but I’m looking forward to knowing them.

All I got for now, is that Jonathan (who I will surely call Jon from now on, because his name is too long) is kind of a skeptic. Clichè, but I accept it: this is a horror/supernatural series, so he will probably change his mind when he will face the real shit.

And speaking of the genre, glad to know that this story is horror/supernatural. I’m not a huge fan of horror, but I like to be surprised/scared/creeped out in creative ways.

And this first statement… fails to do that. Sorry to say that, but the story is kinda meh. The supernatural element is just here and it’s not very scary. Fine, the mysterious figure is probably just the bait of a supernatural shit we don’t see, but it’s weak. And the association with the anglerfish isn’t enough to creep me, nor creative enough to surprise me.

I hope the next statement will be better.

_______________________________

MAG 2: Do Not Open

Yep, that’s much more interesting.

I like that the wooden coffin doesn’t do anything you might expect from a coffin in a supernatural story. The scratching was still kind of clichè, but I didn’t expect the singing in the rain. Or the “dream possession” or whatever it was that weird power that tried to trick Mr. Gillespie into opening the coffin.

It was also kinda funny to follow his misadventures in dealing with it. And understandable too: my man doesn’t want to open the weird coffin, so he will do everything to not open the weird coffin.

Honestly, same: I am a wimp and if someone delivered some weird shit in my place, I wouldn’t be so stupid to go face-first into it. Curiosity might be strong, but my will to live is stronger.

_______________________________

MAG 3 - Across The Street

That’s another interesting statement.

First, you think it will be about Graham and his journals, then there’s the weird hypnotic table with the missing piece, then Not-Graham. There are a lot of things here and they’re all creepy and interesting and I want to know more about them. Could there be a follow-up to this story? Or, at least, to its mysteries? It would be very cool to read another story and find the missing piece of that table. Or one of Graham’s journals. Or to see Not-Graham again. It would be fun. I hope there are follow-ups.

About the supernatural stuff: I couldn’t really understand what the arm-y thing-y was, so it wasn’t exactly scary, but more… bizarre? And a bit meh. It was just a black arm-y thing-y after all.

What really crept me out was Not-Graham casually saying: “Hey Amy, we live so close to each other, what a weird coincidence! Maybe I’ll pay you a visit.”. THAT was creepy as fuck and I loved it.

_______________________________

MAG 4 - Page Turner

I vaguely remember the name Leitner, so I have high hopes we will see more of his books in the future. After all, this statement looks more like an introduction to him and his books, rather than a self-contained story about Random Weird Thing no. 247.

Maybe we won’t see Ex Altiora anymore, but other books… why not? Also, Jonathan knows about Leitner and asked to search more of his books, so maybe we will see more of them.

By itself, the story is good at introducing the weirdness of these books through the equally weird figure of the Keays. I feel there’s still a lot to find out about Mary Keay’s murder, her existence, her place and her connection with Sanskrit. I want to know more about her.

And I want to know more about Gerard Keay too. Will we see him again in the future? I hope so: I feel like he has still a lot to say.

I also noticed a guy named Michael. Will we see more of him too? Is he the same Michael I’ve heard about? Or is there another Michael? Can’t wait to find out.

_______________________________

MAG 5 - Thrown Away

I don’t think this statement is creepy, but rather, a great example of weird.

There is nothing truly scary here, only weird. And I love this kind of weird. Every new trash bag is a surprise and the surprises are not gore-y, bloody, or clichè with the sole purpose of shocking you. The stuff inside is harmless, just… immensely weird: a long paper strip covered with the Our Father prayer, a huge bag full of teeth that are all of the same tooth… that’s not dangerous stuff, just weird. Unexpected. And, therefore, very cool.

The metal heart was a great choice too: just like all other findings is not disgusting nor gore-y, but it serves its purpose perfectly. You look at it and you know Alan is dead. I love it when creativity is used so well.

I also noticed there is another Michael here. Is he the same Michael mentioned in the previous story? Or another Michael? How many Michaels are in this series? XD

_______________________________

MAG 6 - Squirm

Another meh statement: a mysterious girl is feeling very sick, then she basically explodes into worms. Kind of a backlash, going from the delicious, subtle weird of the previous story to the disgusting stuff of this one.

However, I can understand Mr. Hodge: if my room was packed with worms, I would’ve burned the whole house down too.

Also, it looks like Jon knows this woman in red. Will we see Jane Prentiss again? Or more of her victims? No, of course I don’t want your answers: the series will tell me ;)

_______________________________

MAG 7 - The Piper

A simple war tale, starring a supernatural element, the Piper. I don’t find it particularly scary, but rather a melancholic figure. Sure, it’s a bit eerie and mysterious, but not particularly interesting - not for me, at least.

The story isn’t particularly captivating either. It’s just here and it screams “filler”. Or maybe not? After all, Jon remembers the name Joseph Rayner, so we will see another story featuring this guy?

_______________________________

MAG 8 - Burned Out

There’s a lot of stuff here - maybe even too much. First, Mr. Lensik’s father and fractals and math and the mysterious guy with “all the bones in his hands”. Then Mr. Raymond Fielding and Agnes, the disappeared kid, the missing hand, the tree, the green apple with spiders… woah, woah, slow down! What are all these things? Should I remember all of them? Are they all important? I feel like I already forgot something while writing them down!

Honestly, this huge number of peculiar elements is very distracting, because it gets all of the reader’s attention and takes it away from the story itself. A story that, if we reduce it to basics, what’s truly about? A man meets a ghost and pulls down a tree. Not exactly the most exciting thing ever.

Now, I’m not saying that a story with multiple digressions is bad. It just needs an extremely good writer and A LOT of time and space to properly develop everything, because it would be too easy to “forget” the story and get lost into all the digressions.

So, considering these statements are all short, I would rather avoid too many elements and keep them as simple as possible, focusing more on the story itself and adding just one or two recurring elements.

_______________________________

MAG 9 - A Father’s Love

Another meh story. Some elements are interesting, like the necklace with the hand and closed eye related to the Church of the Divine Host and the mysterious something that blows out every lightbulb. But yeah, from the moment it was mentioned that the father had a shed, I knew he was doing some supernatural circle/prayer/whatever.

A simple story, but nothing truly amazing about it.

_______________________________

MAG 10 - Vampire Killer

Seriously, every time there is a meh statement, a great one follows up. And if it’s not great, it’s extremely interesting. Or, like in this case, it’s surprising.

I mean, a statement titled “Vampire Killer”? I expected the same old tale about seductive vampires burning out in the sunlight.

But nope, this story offered a new vision of vampires. Even better, it did it by putting these details into the story, in a great example of show don’t tell.

I really like that the vampires' characteristics are so… bestial. Shark-like teeth, a leech’s tongue and no ability to talk: it’s new, it’s cool, it’s interesting and I would love to see fanarts of them (once I’ll finish the whole series).

I also appreciate that they burn like crisps, because without blood (i.e. a liquid), they dry out: so, not only it justifies why they drink blood and not eat solid food, but also why they burn so easily. It’s cool, it’s logical, it’s creative: I love it.

Oh-oh, am I also noticing a small hint of doubt in Jon’s words? Is he starting to think these statements are not just silly stories made by insane people/mythomaniacs? Didn’t expect him to start so soon, but I suppose a lot of things will happen in the near future and he needs the right state of mind to face them.

_______________________________

In conclusion

My first overall impression is positive: this series looks promising and I want to read more statements. Sure, my impression is based on 10 chapters out of 200 (so basically nothing) and on all the assumptions I made while reading. I don’t know if there will be a continuative plot, I don’t know if the characters of these stories will return and I don’t know if something huge will come in the future. I am just assuming these things, based on my experience as an “art-forms-enjoyer”.

I just hope I am right and that, while being right about these things, the series itself will keep surprising me with creative ideas. I would be very sad if my assumptions were correct, but the quality of the statements gets worse and worse. Please, keep being creative! More surprising stories and less “meh” stuff!

That’s all for now. I’ll come back very soon with the next post about chapters 11-20.

>> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

TAGLIST:

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[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XI.

GIF by tomshiddles

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Truths are unveiled and Javi begins to regret ending things with our MC.

WORD COUNT: ~7.4k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: discussions of religion, light smut but not between our main couple (rip), another case of detective!javi, lotta plot stuff/exposition dump, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: hola primas we're back again with another installment of wtf is going on in this fic?! lmfao i had a little too much fun writing this chapter so i hope u all enjoy it and thank u for reading <3 i may or may not be an august stan idk how we feeling chat?! as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

“A woman, a mother, a mother is a very special thing, and other than the Lord Jesus Christ, I think that a mother is one of the most precious gifts that God gives to this world, because the mother is the one who loves the Lord and always seems to be there when we need her. A mother is a very special thing. A mother is a very special thing.” –– Family Tree (Intro), Ethel Cain.

“No peekin’, okay?” August whispers against her neck, his voice filled with playful insistence.

Paloma can’t help but laugh, the sound light in the quiet night. “That’s the third time you’ve told me that. I promise, I ain’t lookin’!” she assures him, her eyes squeezed shut and her free hand covering them for good measure. Her heart races with anticipation, wondering what surprise he has in store for her. She can feel his warmth and the gentle pressure of his hand guiding her forward, heightening her excitement.

Sneaking away from home had been surprisingly easy. She told her father she was going to spend the night at Sloane’s and would be back the next morning, not really feeling like doing her usual show at the bar. At first he had been skeptical, but a few well-placed batts of her eyelashes and a practiced pout later, his resolve softened and he relented with his usual father spiel. She knows she was pushing her luck, but the thrill of the evening and the promise of August’s plans makes it all worthwhile.

She was also cautious not to reveal the location of Sloane’s new home. Instead, she told him that she was just going to the motel in town, maintaining the illusion that her friend still resides there. This little deception is necessary to keep him at ease, even though it means bending the truth.

Now, she finds herself being led to a mystery spot where he has prepared their long-awaited date. She has no idea what to expect, but it doesn’t really matter. The mere fact that he has put so much effort into planning this is more than she can ask for.

As they walk, she feels the summer evening breeze brushing against her skin and the soft rustling of leaves underfoot. The night is alive with the distant chirping of crickets and the faint, sweet scent of blooming flowers.

“Just a little further,” he says softly, his voice laced with a hint of excitement that matches her own. Paloma nods, biting her lip to contain her smile. She trusts him completely, knowing that whatever awaited her would be worth the secrecy and the suspense.

They come to a halt, and he gently squeezes her hand before letting go and moving to stand behind her.

“M’kay, you can open ‘em now,” his southern drawl is like syrup in her ear, his breath warm and inviting. She blinks her eyes open, her vision adjusting to the soft glow, and she gasps softly as she takes in the scene before her.

They’re in the greenhouse, transformed into a romantic haven. Various candles are scattered around, casting a warm, flickering light that dances across the glass walls and lush greenery. In the center of the space, a picnic blanket is spread out on the floor, adorned with an assortment of dishes that she assumes make up their dinner. Cutlery and plates are neatly set aside, everything meticulously arranged.

“Oh, August…” she breathes, her voice filled with awe. Her hand instinctively comes up to clutch her chest then she turns to face him, eyes glistening with adoration. Unable to contain her feelings, she pulls him in for a sweet, lingering kiss; a silent thank you for his thoughtfulness.

“You like it?” he asks with a hint of nervousness. She takes a step forward, her eyes wide as she absorbs the sheer beauty of the setup.

The moonlight streams gently through the skylight window, casting a silvery glow over everything. She almost pinches herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming, the scene is so perfect.

“Like it? I love it! You did this all yourself?” she exclaims in genuine admiration. The flowers that surround them appear even more delicate under the soft glow of the candlelight. Unable to resist, she leans forward to sniff at the peonies nearby, their sweet fragrance filling her nose.

“Had some help, but for the most part, yeah,” He replies with a modest smile. “Here, come sit.” He beckons her over, and she complies eagerly, settling herself next to him and smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

“Well, you outdid yourself. This is the sweetest thing ever,” she leans her body weight against her palm, gazing up at him with a gentle, appreciative stare.

“Let this be the first of many sweet things I do for you, pretty girl. You deserve it,” he replies, winking. Her blush deepens and she finds herself fidgeting with the hem of her dress, her heart fluttering at his words.

Their date goes effortlessly, filled with lighthearted flirting and laughter. He boasts about his cooking skills, and Paloma playfully challenges him, only to be quickly proven wrong when she takes her first bite of the lasagna he’s made. It’s fucking delicious.

She feels a sense of enchantment growing with every passing moment, the romantic setting amplifying her emotions. She mentally chides herself for not pursuing him sooner, for wasting time on the mustached older man who had occupied her thoughts for far too long.

They finish their meal, and just when she thinks the evening couldn’t get any better, he pulls out a small angel cake with the perfect arrangement of strawberries and whipped cream from the picnic basket.

“How did you know this is my favorite dessert of, like, all time?!” she exclaims, eyes wide with delight.

They share a knowing look before answering simultaneously, “Sloane.” Her smile widens, her cheeks aching from how the expression has hardly left her face since she arrived.

August scoops a spoonful of the cake and brings it up to her lips, his eyes twinkling with playful intent. She opens her mouth, maintaining eye contact as she takes the sweet dessert.

She moans softly as the flavors meld in her mouth, the light, airy cake complemented perfectly by the sweetness of the fresh strawberries. “Delicious,” she murmurs, savoring every bit.

He watches her, a satisfied and boyish grin on full display. “I’m glad you like it,” his voice is low, seductive. He takes a bite himself, nodding in appreciation of the treat they’re sharing.

They take turns feeding each other, and she is completely absorbed in his company. He makes her laugh, his eyes swimming with mischief and warmth, and she feels a connection she hadn’t thought possible.

She looks at him, beaming with gratitude and something more profound. “Tonight was amazing, August. You’ve really made me feel special.”

He reaches out, moving a strand of her hair that had fallen forward aside. “You are special, Paloma. And s’just the beginnin’.” He holds her stare briefly and she softens, “Night’s not over yet, girl. There’s still somethin’ I want to show ya.” His words promise more surprises, and she feels her excitement renew, eager to see what else he has for her.

“I’ll be right back,” leaning in to place a tender kiss on her lips, he tastes a hint of the whipped cream lingering there and it takes all his willpower to pull away.

She sighs wistfully, watching him leave. To pass the time, she busies herself by cleaning up. She carefully moves the empty containers into the basket and stacks their dirty plates before pushing them aside.

He returns not too long after, holding what looks like a photo album. Her curiosity piques immediately. “What’s that?” she asks inquisitively, shifting in her seat so her legs are tucked beneath her as he lowers himself beside her.

“A scrapbook…” He trails off, and she can sense the nerves radiating from him. Her brows cinch together, waiting for him to continue.

“‘Fore I show you this… I need you to understand how unique you truly are.” He sets the book down between them, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek affectionately as he gazes deeply into her dark eyes. She doesn’t know what to say to this, so she remains quiet but offers him a reassuring look that encourages him to go on.

“Knew it from the moment I set eyes on ya. At the time, I didn’t know what it was. I jus’ assumed it was another crush on a pretty girl. But then I got to know you, and slowly but surely… everything started makin’ sense.”

There’s an unidentifiable tone in his voice, one that makes her heart beat a little faster. “What do you mean ‘started makin’ sense’?”

He takes a deep breath, his hand dropping from her face as he places the leather-bound book into her lap. The force of it feels significant, almost like it carries the gravity of his words.

“This is goin’ to be a lot, ‘n I understand if you dunno know how to process it all after I show you everythin’. But… can you promise to wait ‘till I explain ‘fore you react?” His eyes search hers, pleading for understanding and patience.

Her heart races with anticipation and uncertainty. “August, you’re scarin’ me,” she giggles nervously, her hands growing clammy at his elusive words.

He flips the book open to the first page, revealing a photograph of a group posing in front of a grand, old church. The faces in the picture seem frozen in time, their expressions filled with a mix of hope and solemnity.

“There was a group in Italy,” He begins slowly, “that believed a new age of peace ‘n tranquility was nearing. They devoted all their time and resources to prepare for it. They were convinced a woman would be the one to bring it into fruition, so they searched for her all over the world.”

He turns the page, revealing more photos of the group alongside the majestic church. The images capture moments of gatherings, rituals, and serene landscapes. she can’t help but feel a strange sense of connection to the story, though she remains unsure why he’s telling her this.

“Why are you showin’ me this?” she voices her thoughts, her curiosity mingling with apprehension.

“Because, Paloma,” He says, turning another page to reveal a faded, hand-drawn map marked with various locations, “They documented everythin’ , kept records, and followed signs. This group believed that the woman who would bring about this new age had certain qualities, certain... traits.”

Her eyes scan the map, noting how meticulously it’s marked, the sense of urgency and dedication evident in the detailed annotations. Her confusion deepens, but she remains silent, partially engrossed by the unfolding story.

He turns another page, revealing a photograph of a necklace, a delicate cross pendant with intricate engravings. “This pendant,” he continues, “was said to be a key, a symbol of her identity.”

Her heart races as her gaze falls to the piece of jewelry. She inhales sharply, her breath snagging. It’s the same pendent that had belonged to her mother. Her fingers absentmindedly go to her collarbone that’s bare since she opted out of wearing it tonight. “What does this have to do with me, August?”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that makes her pulse quicken. “The more I got to know you, the more I realized you embody everything this group was searchin’ for. Your kindness, your strength, your spirit—it all matches what they described.”

“Are you saying… you think I’m this woman they were looking for? Don’t be ridiculous––”

“Just let me finish.” He cuts her off, looking away briefly and trying to collect himself before relaying the next bit of information. “Then they found her. The woman they’d been preparin’ and searchin’ for. She lived halfway ‘cross the world in the orphanage where she was raised. After gettin’ in contact with her, she agreed to move to Europe.”

She listens intently, her body buzzing with a feeling she can’t explain as she absorbs his words. She waits patiently, her eyes fixed on him.

Another turn of the page, and this time, she gasps loudly as her eyes land on the photo. It’s her mother, clear as day. A photo she’s never seen before, but it’s undeniably Abilene Leighton. She is always told that she resembles her, but seeing her at about the same age Paloma is now is uncanny—they look identical.

“Mom…” Her voice trembles with emotion as her fingers trace the photo, tears welling up in her eyes. He watches her carefully, studying her reaction. He wants to give her a moment to process this revelation, to come to terms with the implications, but at the same time he’s eager to keep unveiling more.

“Her real name was Calmana. The women that raised her in the orphanage didn’t think she needed a surname. From the moment she arrived in their care, they knew she was special. Seemingly dropped off on their doorstep. No one ever adopted her. She was different from the others…” His voice is filled with reverence as he speaks, his words weaving a tale that feels so foreign.

Calmana? The name sends a shiver down her spine, leaving her speechless as her eyes trace every detail of the picture. There’s a haunting beauty to her mother’s image, a sense of mystery that lingers in the air.

He presses on, his tone solemn yet tinged with awe. “Don’t know how they did it, but they were able to figure out part of her family tree. Paloma… you come from a marked lineage, akin to the story of Cain and Abel.”

Her world stills, mind reeling at the magnitude of his words. Her heart pounds in her ears with a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

“According to some religious traditions, Cain and Abel had sisters,” He continues, his voice steady as he delves deeper into the mythic lore. “Calmana was the oldest daughter of Adam and Eve and, in plenty’a sources, the twin sister of Cain. Others say she was his wife. That would make her the first female human who was born naturally. You, your mother are direct descendants of somethin’ fuckin’ divine.”

Her mind spins with the implications of this revelation. The idea that her bloodline is tied to spiritual origins feels dreamlike. Fake. Isn’t everyone technically descendants of Adam and Eve? It’s what she’s been taught growing up.

But as she looks down at the picture again, she sees her mother in a new light—a woman with a story.

She can’t help the way her hand comes up to cover her mouth, overwhelmed by everything he’s saying. It feels like the ground beneath her has shifted, leaving her reeling in a sea of uncertainty. As he continues to flip through the book on her lap, showing proof of every bit of his story, she feels a rush of conflicting emotions—astonishment, skepticism, and a growing sense of unease.

It’s too confusing, it simply must not be true. Yet, with all the texts he’s had her read and all the books they’ve both bonded over, there is a nagging possibility that all this is actually real. The thought has goosebumps curling at her skin, her mind racing with a million questions and doubts.

“No, no way.” She shakes her head, her voice trembling as she moves the leather book off her lap and places it between them. She feels like she can’t breathe, despite being surrounded by fresh air and all this greenery. Every fiber of her being screams for escape, for a return to the familiar, to the world where such tales belong only in the books that she loves to read.

She quickly stands, her movements frantic as she turns to make her exit. August’s eyes widen in alarm, and he follows after her, his voice pleading as he reaches out to stop her.

“Paloma, wait––” His words are urgent, filled with desperation. “I asked you to wait ‘til I was finished to react. Please… just hear me out, ‘n then you can decide what it is that you wanna do.”

His words hang in the air, a silent plea for understanding and patience. She pauses, her heart pounding in her chest as she wrestles with her unrest. She knows she can’t simply walk away without giving him a chance to explain, to unravel… whatever the fuck this is.

Her back is to him and she wipes some of the tears that managed to spill. With a shaky breath, she turns to face him, her eyes searching his. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible above the rush of blood in her ears. “I’ll listen.”

He lets out a brief sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing as he beckons her over again, eager to resume the exploration of the scrapbook together. She hesitantly steps over to him, her body still trembling with the heaviness of her mother’s past as she lowers herself back into a seated position on the blanket.

“Your momma… well she was the one who was supposed t’ bring this new age into order,” He explains, his tone informative, “but the group disbanded before they could follow through with it. They lost track of one another, and she ended up here in the States with a whole new life.”

“August,” she begins, her words trembling with shock, “How do you know all this?”

A silence falls over them like a veil.

“The woman that left me all this…” His voice is somber, his gaze distant as he recalls the memories. “She was part of the original group. Told me stories whenever I helped her out. At first, I thought she was some crazy old broad, so I jus’ let her talk. Then she started showin’ me photos and all kindsa crap, and that’s when I actually started payin’ attention to her ramblings.”

Her eyes widen in realization as his words sink in. The pieces of the puzzle start to click into place, connecting the dots of the journey.

“She’s the reason I started this group, s’why I started lookin’ into things on my own. She moved away abruptly, and it wasn’t ‘til I got this house and found that scrapbook that I knew why she left it all to me. She wanted me to find that woman and carry out what they couldn’t back in Rome.”

This feels like an out-of-body experience, really, as if she is standing outside of herself, watching as her mother’s past is revealed to her.

It explains so much, she thinks, her mind jumbled as she recalls all their shared memories. How she was cagey when Paloma asked about her childhood, how she was always so vigilant of her growing up. Now that she knows this new side of her mother, she doesn’t know what to make of it. The woman she thought she knew, the woman who raised her, suddenly feels like a stranger—a mysterious figure shrouded in secrets and untold stories.

Who was she, really? Did her father know all of this?

Her silence is deafening, in the air like a dense fog, and he tentatively reaches out to caress her forearm, gently urging her to look at him. She meets his gaze, her misty-eyed expression a mix of emotions—sadness, confusion, and a glimmer of something else.

“Then I found out she had passed years ago, which left you, the next in line to fulfill this… prophecy,” He continues, his voice soft yet filled with conviction.

“Me?!” She can’t help but snort, though it’s tinged with tears. The idea feels absurd, impossible.

“Yes, you, my little dove,” He replies with unwavering intensity. “I told ya you were special, ‘n you can’t sit here ‘n tell me you haven’t felt the magic that’s embedded in your bones. You’re one of a kind, Paloma. A gift to humankind that must be treasured. Think of all the pain and suffering in this world… think of how you can be the one to end it all.”

The enormity of this newfound responsibility is too big for her to fathom. She looks into his eyes, spotting the earnestness and sincerity there, and for the first time, she allows herself to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there’s truth in the stories that are intertwined with her own life.

As they sit together in the quiet of the greenhouse, surrounded by the soft glow of candlelight and the scent of flowers, she feels a sense of purpose stirring deep within her—a spark of something powerful, waiting to be unleashed upon the world.

He was right. This is a lot.

Her face must say it all because he draws nearer, enveloping her in his comforting embrace. She doesn’t move at first, but then he places a soft kiss to the crown of her head, and she lets herself go. Her shoulders drop, a heavy sigh leaving her as the weight of it all settles in her chest.

“If you need time ‘n space to process this––I understand,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “I jus’ had to tell you, angel. Had to make sure everythin’ was alright before I dropped it on your lap. Knew if I had told you the first day we met you woulda called me crazy ‘n sent me on my way.”

“M’tempted to do that now…” she mutters jokingly against his neck, nuzzling her face there and taking a deep breath, letting his scent fill her lungs in an attempt to ground herself.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest, and she melts further into his touch. “Go ahead. Told ya you were free to do as you pleased after I was finished… ‘n well… s’all I have for ya.”

Okay, there are no more twists. That comforts her some. She pulls back to look up at him, her tear-stained cheeks and beautiful brown eyes glowing softly under the romantic lighting, making her look breathtaking. Like a true angel, one that can bring so much good into this world.

Her mind is still reeling, but in his arms, she feels a sense of security. “This is a lot to take in, August,” she whispers, her voice barely steady.

His eyes soften, and he gently brushes a strand of hair from her face again. “You’re stronger than you think, Paloma. ‘N whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this.”

His words wrap around her like a warm blanket. Much needed reassurance. She takes another deep breath, feeling the overwhelming storm of emotions begin to settle.

She leans in to press their lips together and he hesitates at first. He murmurs her name in protest, but she deepens the kiss with a sense of urgency. Her lips are soft and plump, molding against his with a fervor that he can’t resist. The heat between them is palpable, the shift in the air thick with their shared desire.

His resolve drops as he succumbs to her. It’s not long after that he’s got her spread out on the blanket, naked and his tongue buried in her cunt while her fingers tangle in his hair. 

She cries his name out while she comes, her legs trembling as he kisses his way up her body, whispering sweet affirmations and filthy promises against her skin.

You deserve the world. I’ll treat you right. You’re such a good girl.

He takes her right there, fucking her passionately. His kisses are devout, his touch tender yet insistent, as he shows her just how beautiful and remarkable she truly is. She feels utterly vulnerable, caught up in the overwhelming intensity of the moment. Every fiber of her being responds to him, her senses alight with the raw, unfiltered emotions coursing through her.

The perfect date he orchestrated was already enough to sweep her off her feet. But then he gave her more: life-altering revelation of her family history, a truth so profound it has reshaped her understanding of herself.

She clenches around him, coating his cock with her slick release as her orgasm rattles her harshly. He follows not much after, filling the condom then collapsing onto her. His weight presses her into the floor before he rolls onto his back, taking her with him so she straddles his hips. Still joined, they savor the afterglow, their breaths slowly returning to normal as their hearts pound against each other’s naked and sweat glazed chests.

Looking into his eyes, she sees a reflection of a future he envisions for them—a future where she can make a difference, bring about change, and fulfill the destiny he’s convinced she’s meant for. And in this euphoric state, with her heart and soul laid bare, she knows she’ll believe anything he tells her, because with him, anything seems possible.

The next part of Javier’s investigation involves diving deeper into Jessica Valdez’s background. She was the only one to be taken and held captive for a period of time, indicating that there is something specific about her that caused the perpetrator to deviate from his usual methods.

He isn’t sure what to expect from her family. Families react in a myriad of ways to an investigator’s presence, especially when he needs to look through personal belongings with a fresh perspective. As he arrives at the Valdez home, he prepares himself to be as sympathetic as possible, turning on his Southern charm to its full effect. To his surprise, Jessica’s parents are eager to help. This relieves him, and he can’t help but note the distinct difference between them and the Thornton family. While the death of their daughter had shattered the Thorntons, it seems to have brought the Valdez family closer together.

Mrs. Valdez guides Javier to Jessica’s room, her presence lingering at the doorway as if reluctant to leave. She offers a small, encouraging nod before stepping back, leaving him to his investigation. He surveys the room, taking in the floral pattern of the bedsheets and the posters that decorate the walls. He doesn’t find anything at first, just typical things you’d come across in a twenty something year old’s bedroom.

He can’t help but compare it to Paloma’s room, thinking about how similar yet distinctly personal each space is. Javi scoffs. No matter how hard he tries to focus, she always finds a way to sneak into his thoughts, her presence lingering like a stubborn fucking ghost.

He rummages through the vanity, but finds nothing unusual—just makeup products and other miscellaneous items. Frustrated, he stands in the middle of the room, hands resting on his narrow waist as he rolls his tongue over his teeth, deep in thought. What had the assailant seen in her that made him want to keep her captive? What did she possess that the others didn’t?

Determined to find answers, Javier makes his way to her closet. A distinct groan from the wood flooring stops him in his tracks. Intrigued, he retreats a few steps and hears it again. His brows furrow as he shifts his weight, pinpointing the source of the sound. Kneeling, he notices one of the floorboards is slightly raised compared to the rest.

His blunt fingers try to pull it free, but it doesn’t budge. He quickly goes back to the vanity, grabbing a metal nail file to help loosen the board. With some effort, he manages to detach it completely, revealing a shallow hiding spot beneath. There, lying in the small cavity, is what looks like a diary. He wastes no time in taking it into his possession.

The diary has a fragile lock, but with the nail file still in hand, he carefully jimmies it open. As the lock gives way, he flips through the pages, his eyes scanning for anything that might shed light on why Jessica was different. The entries are personal, detailing her thoughts, fears, and dreams. He feels a pang of guilt for invading her privacy, but he knows this might be the key to understanding what set her apart.

One entry catches his eye, dated just two weeks before she was taken. Jessica writes about a man she noticed watching her, how she felt both intrigued and unsettled by his presence. The details are chilling and Javi’s pulse quickens. This could be the lead he’s been searching for.

As he continues to read through it, Jessica talks about meeting this guy who’s promising her the entire world. Her writing is whimsical, capturing the excitement and mystery of young love. She doesn’t go into detail, carefully avoiding specifics. She explains that this mystery boy told her that if she dared speak or write about all he’s revealed, none of it would come true.

His jaw tenses. To him, it sounds like a classic manipulation tactic, designed to keep her quiet and compliant.

“Bullshit,” he mutters under his breath, his exasperation amplifying as his fingers dig in to temples; alleviating the building migraine. He can’t believe she fell for such a transparent ploy, but he also understands the allure of a charming stranger spinning grand tales in small towns like these. It pisses him off that this guy—whoever he is—managed to weasel his way into Jessica’s life and fill her head with empty promises. He probably did the same with the others.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. He knows getting irritated won’t help him find the answers he needs. He forces himself to focus, flipping through more pages to see if there’s any additional information about this mystery guy. The eccentric tone continues, filled with hopeful musings and vague references.

He has to identify him, the one who captivated Jessica and possibly led to her captivity. He gently closes the diary, his mind racing with new questions and a burning desire for justice.

With renewed purpose, he exits the room, ready to confront whatever challenges lie ahead. Her fantasy-filled writings might have masked the danger, but he sees through it. Her descriptions of a mysterious suitor aren’t just youthful reveries—they’re potential clues.

He tucks the diary securely under his arm and heads downstairs, stopping to make conversation with her parents on the way out. Very subtly, he asks them questions about any new people in Jessica’s life, a boyfriend or a close guy friend she might have been spending time with recently. They aren’t much help in this regard, reiterating the same information they’ve already provided in various statements. Of course, Jessica wouldn’t have mentioned this secretive relationship to them, but he still had to ask—just in case.

The drive back to Seminary is quiet as he mulls over this discovery. He can’t shake the gnawing feeling that he knows who’s behind this, but his thoughts are muddled by the disdain he harbors for the blonde, tattooed sleaze that fits the vague description Jessica had written in her diary.

The charming promises, the elusive nature of this mystery man. They match the profile of the younger guy he’s had his eye on for a while—this local troublemaker known for his smooth-talking and shady past. This connection is worth looking into, especially since he already has the plans to tail August’s group.

Entering the sheriff’s department, he immediately notices Romeo chatting with Lorraine, who is gathering her things to leave for the day. Javier glances at his watch, seeing that he should have left hours ago.

“You workin’ a double?” he asks, flashing the older woman a charming smile as she bids them both goodnight.

“Had a meeting with Abbott over the phone then I did some paperwork. Paloma’s out with her friend ‘n won’t be back till morning. M’not really lookin’ to bein’ at home alone. Might stop by the bar to kill some more time.”

At the mention of her, he feels that all-too-familiar internal reaction—the one he experiences every time she’s brought up. No matter how hard he tries to bury his thoughts of her beneath his work and other bullshit distractions, it’s impossible when Romeo talks about her so frequently.

And why wouldn’t he? Romeo is none the wiser to what Javier and his daughter have been entangled in for the past few months. His guilt and desire swirl together once again, creating a complex cocktail of emotions that he has to suppress each time her name is mentioned.

He knows exactly which friend she’s with, and considering what he just discovered in the diary, he can’t help the way his heart races at the thought of Paloma being in danger. His rational mind tells him there’s no actual threat—everything is circumstantial. But he’s desperate for answers, and unfortunately, the person who currently fits the bill is too close to her for comfort.

“She not doing a show tonight?” Javier asks, his tone laced with practiced nonchalance. It’s Friday, and he knows how much she loves and looks forward to her weekend performances.

“Nah. Said she was havin’ a sleepover with Sloane at her place. Well, shit, the motel. S’where that poor girl is livin’. Dunno why they didn’t just stay at the house––she kept sayin’ that she doesn’t wanna be there all the time and that she’d just be in town. So I figured, what the hell, she is twenty-six years old. I shouldn’t be so goddamn strict on her all the time.”

He processes this new information. The fact that Sloane lives at the motel is news to him. If she stays there, it’s possible that others in their circle do too. He wonders what information he can get about them from the employees.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Javier responds, forcing a smile. “She’s an adult and can take care of herself. Still, you’re a good dad for looking out for her.”

Romeo’s face softens with appreciation, but his thoughts are already elsewhere. He needs to visit that motel and scope out anything he can get. The urgency of his mission pulses through him, driving him to take steps he might later question. But for now, he’s only focused on getting as much dirt as he can on this group.

He taps his fingers rhythmically on the surface of the entrance desk, his mind resolutely focused on his goal for the night. “Seems to me like you should be enjoying a child-free night. Just don’t drink yourself to death down at the bar, alright?” His lips quirk up into a small smirk, eliciting a chuckle from Romeo, who agrees with him before gathering his things and leaving Javier alone in the station.

His eyes drift to the clock on the wall. The overnight deputies are due in an hour, giving him a small window of time to prepare.

With his notes updated and a clearer picture forming in his mind, he closes the diary and slips it into an empty drawer at his desk. He stands, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension before heading towards the door, a determined set to his jaw. He tells the two deputies he’s going out over his shoulder, not giving them the time to reply before he’s in his cruiser and heading towards the Trails End motel.

The first car he sees when he arrives is Paloma’s, and he isn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. Parking right by the entrance, he finishes his cigarette, the neon lights of the flickering sign casting an eerie glow over his hardened facial expression.

He wonders what room she’s in, what she could be doing to pass the time, what she’s wearing. Javier curses under his breath, his lips tingling at the phantom feeling of her soft skin beneath his touch. He recalls how he could feel the pulse in her neck amidst burying himself inside her, each beat syncing with his own racing heart.

What an evil fucking thing it is to reminisce on such a memory like this. It’s regressive, the opposite of what he should be doing, but she has such a tight grip on his heart–– he wants her to squeeze it until it pops into a bloody mess. Maybe then he’d be free of this torment of yearning for her.

He exits his car, flicking the finished butt of his cigarette into a nearby bin. The cool night air doing little to calm the heated thoughts swirling in his mind. The motel’s façade is weathered and uninviting, everything one would expect from a dingy place like this. He pauses at the entrance, drawing one last deep breath before stepping inside.

The lobby is dimly lit, a faint smell of stale smoke and cleaning products hanging in the air. The clerk at the front desk looks up with a bored expression as Javier approaches.

They engage in small talk for a moment before Javi is pulling out the mugshots of August, Sloane, and Gabriel. He slides them across the counter and asks the man what he knows about them.

“Oh yeah. That’s Miss McCarthy!” The attendant points to the picture of Sloane. “A real sweet thing. Stayed here with those boys for a good while before she moved out a few weeks ago. Her checks from the bar still get mailed here, and she’s back every week to get ‘em.”

“Moved out? She’s not living here anymore?” Javier’s eyes narrow, intrigued yet confused.

“Nope. Got a house out there somewhere.”

“Is she here tonight?”

The man gives him a wary look but quickly backs down under the intensity of the sheriff deputy’s stare.

“No. Haven’t seen her since last Sunday when she came in to get her check.”

He digests this information. Sloane’s absence complicates things. He had hoped to walk away tonight with maybe a few more bad stories about her and her companions. Instead, he’s left with more questions.

His jaw clenches as he exhales through his nose, collecting the mugshots and shoving them back into his back pocket. “Alright, thanks. Mind if I take a look around before leaving?”

“She ain’t in no trouble, is she?”

“No trouble. Just following up with something.”

The attendant shrugs. “Suit yourself. Just don’t cause any trouble.”

Acknowledging him with a nod, Javier bids a brief goodnight before stepping out of the stuffy office and into the dimly lit parking lot. His footsteps echo against the pavement as he makes his way towards her car.

His frustration mounts at the revelation of the unlocked door. With a touch, it swings open easily, the interior bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light. His brows furrow as he scans the car, his irritation growing with each passing moment.

He conducts a brief search but finds nothing of significance until he flips down the visor. The keys tumble out with a muted thud, landing on the seat. Javier curses under his breath, his exasperation boiling over at the sight. She left her car unlocked and the keys inside—an invitation for trouble.

With a resigned sigh, he returns the keys to their place, his movements deliberate. He closes the door with a little more force than necessary, the sound ringing out in the quiet night.

Turning away from the car, he resumes his patrol of the motel grounds. He glances at the few rooms with lights shining from within, unable to discern which one she might be in—but he knows she’s not here at all. This fuels him to continue sleuthing.

The realization of her absence only gnaws at his unease. Where on earth could she be? Is she in some kind of trouble? Did she purposefully lie? Is she being shoved in the back of a van to meet her demise? These questions swirl in his mind, his fists clenching at his sides in a futile attempt to contain his growing anxiety. His nostrils flare with each agitated breath, the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame.

He knows he shouldn’t let himself get so worked up, but he can’t help it. The mere possibility of something happening to her fills him with a sense of dread that he can’t shake.

Determined to find something, He presses on with his search. He even manages to corner one of the motel’s housekeepers, hoping for any shred of information that might shed some light. Unfortunately, she offers nothing new, echoing the same vague responses he received from the front desk attendant.

Feeling like he’s hit a dead end, he retreats to his cruiser, the frustration mixed with anxiety pressing heavily on his shoulders as he goes through the motions of lighting another cigarette.

It isn’t until days later that Javier spots her leaving the library, a spring in her step as she rounds the building towards the alleyway. His heart races as he quickly exits his truck and crosses the street, determined to catch her alone. His conscience whispers for him to turn back, but he ignores it, driven by his relentless need for answers.

He calls out her name, and she freezes, turning sharply to face him. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words elude him, leaving him feeling foolish for being so easily affected by her presence.

Rolling her eyes, she begins to walk away. “Wait!” he calls after her, but she shows no signs of slowing down. Closing the distance, he reaches out and grabs her forearm, hoping to halt her retreat.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” She hisses, pulling viciously from his touch and the action hits him straight in the gut, having him set his jaw firmly because he knows he deserves this.

“Where the hell were you last Friday night?” Javier demands, his words sharp and impatient, as if he holds authority over her whereabouts.

She stares at him incredulously, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. “You’re unbelievable,” she scoffs, shaking her head. There’s a new intensity in her gaze, a depth he’s never seen before, and it unsettles him. Though always spirited, her demeanor now is charged with an unfamiliar energy, conveying emotions he struggles to decipher.

“You use me, break my damn heart, have the audacity to tell me to leave you alone–– and when I finally do, you’re actin’ like this,” she accuses, her voice heavy with vexation. “Treatin’ me like I’m just some doll you can play around with ‘til you get bored then get possessive over when you can’t control her. Have you not already caused me enough pain?”

For a fleeting moment, she softens but she can’t help it with the way his mopey brown eyes tug at her heartstrings. Even after all the hurt he’s caused.

He’d miss the flash of vulnerability in her stare if not for how attuned he is to her. She’s right, and he fucking knows it. He’s made a bigger mess of things, a realization that pierces through him like a dagger.

But then he remembers the anxiety that had crawled over him once he realized she wasn’t at the motel, how pissed he’d gotten at her recklessness.

“That’s not what this is about,” he retorts through gritted teeth, “All this shit that’s going on and you’re just disappearing off into the night. There’s a psychopath out there, preying on girls like you and I’m just––” 

“You’re just what?” she interrupts, her voice laced with a mixture of defiance and exasperation. “Please don’t tell me you’re ‘looking after me,’ because that’s a damn joke. I can take care of myself. Like you said–– s’not your job to be babysittin’ me. Go do what you’re here to do, Javier, and leave. me. alone.” she concludes, her tone mirroring the sharpness he had directed at her that night at the party. “And stop followin’ me around.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving him standing there, tussling with the burden of his own sense of wrongdoings.

His gaze follows her retreating figure with a heavy heart. He catches sight of August, leaning arrogantly against his motorcycle with an air of superiority at the end of the alleyway. Javier’s entire body tenses, standing there seething like a furious statue. Anger flares along his skin, transforming his melancholy into fury.

August’s smug posture, coupled with the intimate embrace he shares with her, ignites a jealous fire deep within Javier’s chest.

Every movement, every touch between them feels like a taunt aimed directly at him, a reminder of what he has lost, even though she wasn’t his to begin with.

His hands curl into tight fists, jaw twitching as he watches his possessive hand boldly grope her ass. It’s a sight that downright torments him as his mind is consumed by thoughts of what could have been and what she currently has with this piece of shit.

Paloma dons the helmet and straddles the bike behind August, pressing herself against him, and that is enough to finally get Javier to tear his gaze away. The roar of the motorcycle engine echoes in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own tumultuous emotions as they disappear into the distance, leaving him alone with his bitter regret.

[mbat]

(the comment i posted on the video itself):

i definitely get wanting money and creative freedom and stuff but idk man this dont feel right to me. a lot of people, me included, dont have the extra money to drop for another streaming service, and it feels like a bit of a betrayal after something like 6 years of following you guys around this website (and im sure for others its an even longer amount of time), and part of the appeal was getting to regularly come back to this channel every week no matter what happened in my life, and it was all here for free, so even if i had no money that week (which happens a lot for me), it wasnt gatekept.

and idk how to describe it but this feels out of character. i know its hard to be a creator online nowadays, and honestly in general, but idk i feel like there has to be at least a slightly better compromise here. it just hurts.

also man, i know _yall_ probably like having super high production since its your creations, but i promise the audience doesnt care as much. we dont watch for the fancy visuals or high priced items, we watch for your personalities, it was always your best quality. you guys could sit in a field and just talk for an hour and people would still be watching.

(end of comment)

this feels like a betrayal, idk. ive just really liked these guys for years, and its been so fun to be on the journey with them. not to mention, i started watching them for their ghost videos back in the bfu days, and i still hear people reference them SO MUCH in other paranormal videos online, and its always with so much respect, from both believers and skeptics alike. i cant even just like... escape them if i tried, and i dont even want to, but this just stings.

its so hard to describe how im feeling, but its not good. not to mention im literally wearing my 'im just here for the cult stuff' shirt that i got back when bfu was still going. like, it was the shirt i grabbed from my basket today. im gonna take it off, i cant keep looking down at it right now.

this is why i dont like getting attached to specific channels or people, and i guess i didnt realize i was doing that this time around, but its hard not to after over half a decade. ive literally been watching shane and ryan since before my oldest nephew was born. i dont like getting attached because people can always let you down, and you cant really do anything about it.

i know im being dramatic, but im not exactly someone with the busiest and most exciting or happy life, so watching fun videos is the best ive got, and they were always so fun.

[hqmillioncorn]

Fun in the Sun (or the Shade!)

“Here ya go miss!”  Babycorn stepped aside to let Cherrypit deliver a bag full of millioncorn to the woman who had hired them to gather them. “We got as many as you told us to get and then we got lots more too!”  It had been almost too easy. Especially with Babycorn’s newfound skill of actually being good at botany.  “Lotsa corn! We go lots!” Cherrypit cheered. He was always happy to help.  The woman nodded, thanking them and giving them the gil she had promised. “If you’d like–you can join me inside for some stew as well.” It had been so long since she and Al had had guests. A part of her missed it. “It might be a while though so I understand if you adventuering types don’t have the patience for-” “YIPPEE FOOD!” Babycorn ran in with Cherrypit right behind her. Both of them hopping up and down in excitement.  There was something about them that was so familiar to Meeth. Too familiar. 

ffxiv write day 21: shade

aleria and lalatov go vegetable picking for some millioncorns but also its really hot oh no :(

The sun relentlessly shined down on almost all of eastern Thanalan. Today was a particularly strange weather day. The sky was almost covered entirely in clouds, making the possibility of the sun making it through near impossible. 

Yet of course, fate always found a way to make Aleria’s life just a little harder. 

Aleria moved her hand slightly above her eyes to try and block out the sun. She let out a small growl while considering the ramifications of what destroying the sun would do to the local ecosystem. 

Both her and Lalatov were currently hard at work collecting millioncorn as a favor for Meeth. 

Meeth hadn’t seen either of them out into the sun without any protection. Meeth had sent them both out into the wild with two of the biggest sun hats she owned. “Make sure to bring them back in one piece and bring yourselves back in one piece too!” Then she laughed loudly at her own joke before sending them off. 

But even with the added buff of having a sunhat, Aleria was still getting the sun in her eyes. 

Aleria noticed that Lalatov was having just as much trouble as her. Either the millioncorns were stronger than they looked or Lalatov had little to no strength in those skinny arms of his. Something told Aleria it was probably the latter. No matter how hard he seemed to pull, the millioncorns wouldn’t budge. “Do you need some help?” Aleria cried out.

“Huah?” Lalatov turned his head over to look over to her, “No! No! I’m fine! Totally fine!” 

Aleria was less than convinced. “Are you sure?” While her basket was already filled to the brim with millioncorns, Lalatov was struggling to even get halfway. Aleria grabbed a millioncorn from her basket and looked at it.  Was it worth it to work this hard just for this little thing? “What are these even for anyway?” 

Lalatov took a step back from trying to harvest a millioncorn to catch his breath. “They’re for Meeth’s stew!” She had told them that they could get as many helpings as they wanted in exchange for helping her gather ingredients. 

A stew in such hot weather wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Aleria was dying to try. Not only that but she preferred eating at home, alone. “Sorry but I think I’ll pass on the stew.” 

It’s better for her not to get close to people. 

“What?!” Lalatov fell on his back in surprise, scrambling to his feet in record time. “I promise it’s like the best thing you’ve ever tasted!” 

If Aleria learned anything about Lalatov by now it was that he never gave up easily. 

“Really?” Of course there was skepticism on her part. One didn’t just declare something being the best thing you’ve ever tasted without some proof. There was only one way for Aleria to test this. “...Could you survive being buried up to your head in it?!”

Lalatov didn’t miss a beat. “I would eat myself out of the stew in a flash!” 

“Damn. That must be some stew.” 

Lalatov nodded excitedly, “You don’t know the half of it!” He turned his back to her and looked at the millioncorn with more determination than ever. “And once we finish here we can go and eat with everyone!!” Though he had more determination, his strength sadly had not increased at all between then and now. 

Unbeknownst that Lalatov was doing all of that to impress Aleria, she decided to step in. “Here let me help!” Alaria walked up behind him, wrapping her hands around his own. “Alright-! On the count of three we pull together! Okay?” 

Lalatov’s face blushed a light pink. “O-O-O-Okayyyy…!”

Aleria was confused. Why did it sound like Lalatov was suddenly shivering? In this hot weather? Oh well, probably nothing to worry about. He was a weird guy. He had to be–if he wanted to befriend her. 

Lalatov had almost been too flustered to do anything on three, having just been quick enough to help Aleria once the number left her mouth. It was a shock to him how easy it had turned out to be. 

The millioncorn landed in Lalatov’s palm and he hurried to drop it into his basket as if he were holding a hot popoto instead. 

“Wow! You’re a natural!” Lalatov grinned, “You made it look so easy!”

“Hey don’t forget you helped too.” Even if it wasn’t by much.  

“I-I guess so…!” 

Lalatov looked around nervously. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel and admit he just wasn’t cut out for farm work. “Could you…Maybe help get the rest too…?” No doubt Aleria had already seen his poor attempt to harvest millioncorns already. Why would she offer her help otherwise? 

Aleria looked surprised, if only for a second. Then she gave Lalatov a sympathetic smile. “Alright! But only if you carry the basket behind me.” She didn’t want him to feel too left out now.

“Of course!” 

Lalatov grabbed the basket, happily carrying it while running behind Aleria. 

With the millioncorn that Meeth had asked Aleria and Lalatov to harvest all collected, both started on the journey home. It wasn’t a particularly long trip back home but the heat was making it feel like it would never end. 

Even with the help of Meeth’s sun hats the sun was relentless. 

For Aleria the heat wasn’t much of a problem, it was the sun getting in her eyes that she couldn't stand for much longer. Aleria set down the basket of millioncorn to adjust her sun hat for the umpteenth time. “Sorry Lalatov.” She sighed and picked the basket back up, “I just don’t like having my eyes hurt so much. You know?” 

That and the idea of not being able to see where she was going. It was making her nervous. 

Though she would never admit that part. 

Lalatov nodded, “We’re almost there! Don’t worry!” He assured her. 

Ever the optimist. Aleria liked that about him. A little too nice for his own preservation but that’s what she was here for, wasn’t it? 

As they continued to walk suddenly, the sun disappeared from Aleria’s eyes. “Hmm?” Instead now there was what looked like a shadow of something over her, completely blocking the sun from hitting her. “That feels nice…” Aleria hummed. A nice cool shade was just the right thing she needed on such a hot day like this. 

It was so nice that, for a moment, she never considered where the shade itself might be coming from.  

Aleria let out a sharp gasp and looked up. Afraid of what she would find.

Instead of the worst she could imagine, she was staring right at the wing of a dragon. A wing she had seen not too long ago. “Jeepers…” Aleria’s mouth hung open. That being said, it still was quite a sight to behold for her. 

Lalatov leaned in, a smirk on his face. “Is this any better?” He flapped his dragon wing a bit, trying to create a slight breeze. 

His wand, the limiter that his parents had given him, was broken now. 

With it gone he was free to do whatever he wanted to do with his inheritance. The dragon blood from his mother was never anything he was scared of showing people, unlike what his parents believed. The day he used it to its full potential to save Aleria was one of the best days of his life so far. 

Aleria thought otherwise. “Are you crazy?!” She dropped her basket and grabbed Lalatov by the collar of his robe. “If someone sees you with that wing out or anything they’ll…they’ll…” Her hands were shaking, she knew what the consequences of standing out were. 

The idea of losing Lalatov–of losing the one person who could come close to understanding her. It would be too much to bear. 

Lalatov gently held Aleria’s hands with his own, giving her the chance to let him go. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere!” He took his wing and wrapped it around Aleria. Shielding her from the outside. “Besides I'm already hanging out with you! I don’t think my social standing could get any lower!”

“You’re so…” Aleria wiped some tears from her eyes and laughed,  “...You’re so stupid you know that?”

“I’ve been told once or twice.” 

Sometimes even thrice. 

With the Lalatov’s wing protecting her from the sun, Aleria picked her basket back up and sighed. “Sorry I can’t shade you with my own...” 

“Don’t worry about it!” Lalatov gave her a warm smile. The same one that Aleria loved seeing.  “Until you can and even if you never do, I’ll stay right by your side.”

[emilou-keen-gear]

Halloween Story

Word Approx.: 2,900

Characters: Webby, Lena, Violet, May and June

Title: Three’s a Crowd Part 1

            “Halloween Slumber Party!” Webby shouted at the top of her lungs as she performed a perfect pile-drive onto a stack of pillows, sending them flying in all directions.

            Lena blocked a few with just a wave of her hand, magic sending the fluffy projectiles harmlessly away. Violet batted one away from her book without looking up. May swatted the pillows with an irritated frown but June took one full in the face, then laughed at herself.

            Webby was giddy with delight. Not only was this her first slumber party with her clone-sisters, but it also promised to be an extra delightful one with it being during the Halloween season. Which meant telling ghost stories into the night, playing scary games, and eating way too much candy.

            However, Webby’s plans for her slumber parties never turned out how she wanted them to go. Little did she know that she thought would be a fun night filled with harmless thrills and chills would turn into a slumber party she would soon regret.

            “I’m glad that you planned this slumber party,” Lena said, digging into her backpack.

            “Of course. All my slumber parties are totally excellent,” Webby said, trying to remain upbeat for May and June’s sake. After all, they had no knowledge of her previous slumber parties. That last thing she needed was for them to know about the money shark, jumping into the Shadow Realm, and the weird shared dream.

            “Because I really need to practice my necromancy and it’s not a good idea to do it alone,” Lena said, bringing out candles, chalk, and incense.

            “What?” Webby cried out before laughing. “Oh, Lena, you joker.” She nervously glanced at May and June. They didn’t seem to notice. “Lena, is this really a good time? Couldn’t we do it a different time?”

            “But it’s a full moon, and it’s only a week before Halloween. It’s prime spirit communication time,” Lena said. “I won’t have an opportunity like this until next year.”

            Webby bit her lower lip. Why couldn’t she, for once, have a nice, normal slumber party? Given, because of these weird episodes, she was able to get Lena back from the shadow realm, but still, it would be nice to have one night where the most exciting thing she did was play Truth or Dare.

            “Necromancy? Isn’t that, like, raising zombies and bringing the dead back to life?” May asked skeptically.

            June’s eyes widened.

            “Technically, Necromancy is magic dealing with the dead. From what I was able to read from Lena’s spell books, most of Necromancy is communication with spirits and sending them to the next world. Zombies is high level necromancy, and nobody can bring the dead back to life,” Violet said in her no-nonsense way. “Although there is a lot more to it than that.”

            “Oh, so we’re going to play that one game with the magnifying glass and letters and numbers on the board to talk to ghosts, right?” April asked. She didn’t seem concerned by the idea, nor did she sound interested. In fact, she sounded bored.

            But June looked worried. “Aren’t those things dangerous? Don’t they summon evil spirits?”

            Lena rolled her eyes. “What you’re describing is an Ouija board, and, yeah, I have one of those. We can try one out. And, no, we’re not going to summon an evil spirit, June. Scrooge has this mansion protected against evil spirits. Plus he has Duckworth, who would keep us safe. We’ll only communicate with good spirits. Besides, I can only summon weak ones at my level of necromancy.”

            April rolled her eyes. “You really are selling us on this party game.”

            “Party game?” Lena repeated.

            “Yeah. It’s just a game,” April said. “We’ll ask the board a bunch of questions, and one of you will move the magnifying glass around and pretend that a spirit has come to talk to us. Let’s skip it. We’re not that gullible.”

            June still looked nervous but nodded her head in agreement with her sister. “Yeah, it sounds…silly. Let’s do something else.”

            Webby jumped on that idea. “Yeah, because I have a whole bunch of activities we can do tonight. We don’t have to summon spirits. Right, Lena?” She looked at her friend hopefully.

            Lena sighed. “Fine. I’ll put all this stuff away. I wouldn’t want to scare anyone tonight anyway.”

            “Scare?” May demanded, knowing a challenge when she heard one. “This child’s game doesn’t scare us, right June?”

            June had found a blanket to wrap around herself with only her eyes peeking out. “Yeah. It doesn’t scare us.”

            Lena and May looked at those wide-eyes, not believing that lie.

            “Prove it,” Lena said, pulling out her Ouija board—a homemade one—and waggled it at May.

            “Fine,” May said, snatching the board and setting it on the floor.

            “Hey, I understand that you want to practice, Lena, but this is a slumber party and it’s obvious that not everyone wants to summon spirits,” Webby said. “Maybe we should do something that all of us will enjoy. How about we watch a movie?”

            “Or we could put it to a vote and let majority rule?” May said. “There’s two for summoning spirits—or at least pretending to summon spirits—“ She shot a smirk at Lena. “—and two for doing something else.”

            The four ducklings turned to the fifth member of their party who had remained quiet for the most part.

            Violet set her book down. “And it looks like it comes to me to be the tie-breaker. As much as I would like to stop the squabbling, perhaps I could propose a compromise so that there are no hard feelings throughout the night and spoil Webbigail’s slumber party.”

            Lena rolled her eyes at her adopted sister’s lengthy explanation.

            May looked intrigued.

            “I suggest we allow Lena to practice her necromancy for a limited time of fifteen minutes and fifteen minutes only, just to see if she can do it or not since there isn’t any guarantee that it will work,” Violet continued.

            Lena folded her arms. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Vi.”

            “You’re welcome. I, for one, believe that you could if you have the concentration since we all know you’re powerful enough to do it,” Violet said. “I would love to be able to communicate with some historical figures once you have mastered this branch of magic. However, for the sake of certain members of the group who are uncomfortable with the subject matter, I suggest that some of us go downstairs and prepare snacks and the movie.”

            “Oh, I could do that,” June said, jumping out of her blanket. “I’ll just wait in the TV room until you’re done.”

            Webby was surprised with how quickly June had gone for the compromise. “Great, June. Thanks. Do you want any help?”

            “No, I got it. I’ll just ask Mrs. Beakley if I can’t find anything,” June said, going out the door.

            Webby turned to the others, having found Lena already drawing a protective circle large enough for the board and everyone to sit around it. Violet was getting her phone ready to time the séance so they didn’t go over the fifteen minute time period.

            “Okay, everyone, sit in the circle,” Lena said, putting down the last candle.

            “And let me guess, we all hold hands,” May said blithely.

            “Only if you get scared,” Lena said with a smirk. “I have to hold the crystal, so we won’t be able to hold hands, but I should only be summoning a low-level spirit, so the protective circle should be enough.”

            May frowned, looking uncertain. But she sat down on one side of the Ouija board, the others joining her until they formed a square facing the board.

            Lena held out a crystal on a chain over the board, the crystal dangling just a few inches over the letters and numbers on the board.

            “I thought we had that magnifying glass that we all touch,” May wondered.

            “Yeah, because that’s for a game,” Lena said. “This is the real thing. Do you honestly think that a ghost is going to visit a bunch of kids and try to wrestle a little plastic triangle just to write out a dumb message to scare them?”

            “Uh…no. Thus the sarcasm,” May pointed out.

            “Well, this is how a real spirit medium does it,” Lena said. “Now before I begin, everyone must expel all negative emotions. We must have positive emotions in the circle. Most spirits are neutral, and our positive energy will make them positive. If a negative spirit answers our summons, positive energy will deflect them. But it is unlikely that a negative spirit will come.”

            “Based on Webbigail’s record for slumber parties, I think that statement is false,” Violet said.

            Webby’s face fell, her worries showing through.

            “It was a joke,” Violet said, a smile showing through her deadpan demeanor. “I was trying to bring in some levity to help with the positive emotions.”

            Webby laughed. “Yeah, good one, Violet,” she said. The joke actually helped.

            “Okay, I think we’re ready,” Lena said with a smile and started a chant in a language nobody but Violet recognized. After a while, Lena asked, “Is there a spirit here that is willing to communicate?”

            Everyone looked to the crystal still dangling over the Ouija board. It didn’t move.

            “We’d like to talk to a spirit. If there are any nearby, use the crystal to speak to us,” Lena said, trying to concentrate on positive energy as well as clear thoughts for the spirit. Both of these things weren’t her strongest suits.

            She kept asking questions and inviting spirits to come talk to them, but still the crystal didn’t move except for a bit of trembling from Lena’s hand. It was hard to keep her hand still while holding it out.

            “We have two minutes left,” Violet announced, glancing at her phone.

            “Let me try one more time,” Lena said. “I think I sense something, but something is preventing it from communicating. Is everyone thinking positive thoughts?” She shot a glare at May.

            May shrugged. “Hey, I have been thinking positive thoughts. I’m positive that this won’t work.”

            Lena gave a frustrated sigh. “Come on, May.”

            “Okay, okay. Positive thoughts. Kittens and rainbow and marshmallows,” May said.

            Lena glared again.

            “Hey, those were positive,” May defended. “I like kittens and rainbows and marshmallows.” She was sincere.

            “I’m getting something,” Lena said, closing her eyes. “If you’re there, do you want to talk to us?”

            Suddenly, the crystal started to rotate in a circle slightly then it straightened, pointing to the “Yes” on the board.

            “Yes!” Lena cheered.

            May’s eyes widened. “Okay, I’m not going to insult you by asking how you’re doing that. I’m just going to swallow my pride. But I’m not scared.”

            Then the chain jerked to the “No”.

            “Whoa, what’s going on?” Violet asked.

            “I’m sensing there’s two spirits,” Lena said. “They seem to be fighting over the crystal.”

            “Are they both friendly? Maybe one of them is shy?” Webby asked, not liking how quickly the crystal went to “No” but she was always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, even ghosts.

            “And are there only two of them?” May asked, looking around as if there were hordes of ghosts spying on her.

            The crystal moved to the number two and then it went to the one.

            “I guess one left,” May thought and she shivered. “Did it suddenly get cold in here?”

            “The temperature has dropped by twenty degrees ever since the crystal started moving,” Violet said. “I brought my equipment to test Lena’s experiment, and I’ve been getting some interesting data. I can’t wait to listen to the audio recording I made once I get it on my computer.”

            “Did the other ghost leave?” Lena asked.

            The crystal went to the “Yes.”

            “Where did the other ghost go?” Webby asked.

            The crystal jerked again, this time going to a letter, then another, spelling something out. The girls spoke each letter as the crystal pointed to it.

            “H. E. S. W. I. T. H. J. U. N. E.”

            “He’s with June?” May spoke the words once the crystal stopped moving. Her eyes widened. “June.”

            She raced out of the circle and downstairs, calling for her sister’s name. She didn’t know why, but she felt scared. She hadn’t felt scared all night, but she did then. She first checked the TV room, and finding it empty, went to the kitchen. She shoved the door open and shouted her sister’s name.

            June was standing by the back door that was wide open and was waving. “Bye, Auggie. Thanks for your help.” Turning around, she looked at May curiously. “Oh, are you guys done already? Wow, time sure flies.”

            “June, are you okay?” May asked, going to her sister.

            “I’m fine. It’s not that hard to make some brownies,” June said. “I just barely put them in, so they won’t be done for a while, but you can start the movie without me.”

            May looked to the open back door. “What were you doing? Who were you talking to?”

            “Just a boy. Auggie,” June said, confused. “He stopped by and helped me make some brownies. Why do you sound angry?”

            “I—I’m not. You just shouldn’t talk to strangers,” May said, closing the door.

            “He said he knew Scrooge McDuck,” June said. “I thought that Auggie was Huey, Dewey and Louie’s friend. He was so nice, and he knew his way around the kitchen, so he must know the house.”

            “It’s not your house. You shouldn’t invite strangers in,” May said before realizing how loud she was talking. The look on June’s face was enough to make her realize that she was yelling.

            “I’m sorry,” June said.

            Webby stepped forward. She, Lena and Violet had followed May but kept back until now. “There’s no harm done. Everything is fine.”

            June wiped at her eyes, clearing away any tears before they could be seen and nodded. “I’m sorry. He was just so nice, and I promise that nothing bad happened.”

            “It’s okay,” Webby said again. “It’s just…we contacted some spirits and…we think…”

            “We think that they were just trying to scare us, and I was afraid that one of them would try to scare you,” May jumped in. “But you’re fine, and the spirits are all gone, so everything is fine.”

            Webby was surprised by May’s lie, but she kept her beak shut.

            “Oh,” June said. “Then I’m glad Auggie was with me. He made it so I wasn’t scared. And I bet that if a ghost did appear, he would have protected me.” She then hummed a bit, happily.

            May cast a glance at Lena before saying, “We’re going to go get the movie ready. Violet, could you help June with the rest of the snacks.”

            “Sure,” Violet said.

            May then pushed Lena and Webby out of the kitchen.

            “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were being too bossy,” Lena quipped.

            “Are those ghosts gone?” May demanded of Lena.

            Lena shrugged. “I’m not sure. You left the circle so suddenly that I didn’t have time to end the ritual. But more than likely, the ghosts weren’t powerful enough to stay. The mansion’s protection should move them along. Not unless they have an emotional attachment to the area.”

            “But you could do something else to make sure they don’t come back, right?” May asked.

            Lena nodded. “Sure.”

            “Could you do it now, please?” May asked, her bossiness dropping. She looked more concern.

            “Yeah, I’ll get to it now,” Lena said. “Don’t worry. The ghost was just a kid. More than likely, he won’t do your sister any harm.”

            “Yeah, okay,” May said, folding her arms.

            After Lena left, Webby said, “I feel kind of sorry for Auggie.”

            “The ghost? You feel sorry for a ghost?” May asked.

            “Well, he’s just a kid, like us,” Webby said sadly. “He died so young. It doesn’t really seem fair.”

            May’s face slipped to sorry. “Yeah, that is kind of sad.”

            “And since he’s a ghost, there’s probably not a lot of ghosts his age around. He’s probably lonely,” Webby continued. “I bet he just wanted to spend time with June. She’s really nice and likes to make people happy.”

            May knew that June was a people pleaser. She always had. She always sought out approval to anyone around. To May. To Bradford. To Red Heron. And they had all demanded so much of June. Even May demanded things of June.

            At least they had Donald and Daisy and all these new friends. With the kindness and attention that they were giving the clone sisters, June might eventually learn that the only person she had to please was herself.

            “At least he seemed to be a friendly ghost,” Webby said. “Don’t worry about it.”

            But May did worry. But perhaps the boy wasn’t who she should worry about. What about the other ghost? And were there truly only two ghosts? Could there be more?

            Bad things come in threes.

            Could there be a third ghost?

            May felt a chill go down her spine which she shook away. She had been thinking too many dark thoughts. Lena was going to wiggle her fingers and say a few magic words, and all the ghosts would be gone.

            And that would be the end of that.

End of part 1

Hi, I was trying to write a bunch of short stories for the Halloween month, and this one kind of went a little longer than I wanted to. I thought I would break it up in sections. I have a few other stories I want to get to first, so the second part may take me a few days to get to.

[drill-teeth-art]

Since you think about cassetticons, and Frenzy and Rumble specifically, a lot; do you also consider their relations with Soundwave, not just between the two? Related, are there any Soundwave ideas and headcanons you'd like to share, perhaps? = 3

I don't post that much of my writing very often other than summaries of my plot ideas and headcanons, but I actually have been writing about a cassettes and Soundwave origin story just in my spare time for fun! I'll put an excerpt from that under the cut with some other headcanons! But in summary, my headcanon is that Soundwave met the cassettes it carries over time on Cybertron before the war.

First it met Ratbat, who is older than it and an appraiser of spare parts and vintage gadgets. Ratbat took a liking to it and decided to stick with it on its personal quest to find some other cassettes to work with too. Then they met Rumble and Frenzy in a stretch of wasteland separating the duo's old work site from large Cybertronian cities. The two had been crossing the wastes in search of a Cybertronian legend of a cassette home city that would be safe and welcoming to them. During their journey, they had the displeasure of working with a handful of scummy carriers who screwed them over, so they were extremely skeptical of Soundwave at first. But it was the first carrier they met to already have a cassette, so they decided to give it a chance. Soundwave was very surprised when they first leapt into battle to protect it as Ratbat kept it out of the way for emergency repairs. But it had been patient and compassionate as they grew to trust it, so they protected it. Down the road, it met Ravage and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. I'm still ironing out headcanon details on Soundwave meeting those three, but they also boil down to Soundwave just being an all-star carrier who is sweet to its cassettes.

The Arrival: Soundwave + Cassettes Fan Origin Story (excerpt) content warnings: mentioned betrayal by unnamed carrier, mention of injury and repair, (if there are other content warnings I should add for this excerpt, feel free to let me know)

Ratbat descended towards a small, makeshift camp a ways outside of town and set them down gently before touching down on the ground beside them. They both wobbled a bit on their treads, so Ratbat took them each by a hand. “Come on. Soundwave will get you each a generous portion of energon and look you over for repair,” Ratbat said and approached the tent. Rumble wrenched his hand free and grumbled a bit. “Repair?!” “Yes,” Ratbat turned his head to face Rumble and looked at him quizzically. “You both look battered. You should at least let Soundwave check your vital systems.” Frenzy whined a bit. “Can’t you do it?” “Yeah. I don’t want any carrier’s, good for nothing, articulated servos poking around my hardware, got it?” Rumble hissed. Ratbat understood their anxiety. He knew it wasn’t about Soundwave. They hadn’t even met Soundwave yet. They seemed to have been brutally betrayed by their last carrier, so he figured they wouldn’t be too keen on a new one. But they did need repairs. “I can only do so much as I’m not a repair specialist. Soundwave is excellent at cassette repair, so I think you should let it give you a look. I promise, if you say to stop something, it will. And I’ll stay there with you the whole time.” The two cassettes still looked skeptical. “It repaired my reels recently,” Ratbat told them. Reel repair was a very delicate process. The cassettes knew that very well. They only had their reels repaired once or twice at their old job site, and they hadn’t let a single carrier do it for them. Ratbat nodded when they looked at him with surprise. “Yes. One of my tape reels slipped out of place when I was blasted out of the sky by some trigger happy jerk,” he explained and the two cringed at the thought, knowing how much that hurt. “But Soundwave put it right back in place. Not a bit of damage to my other hardwave. See?” He opened up a panel on his chest plate for them to see. They leaned in a bit. His reels were neatly in place, and Frenzy pointed a bit where a few small parts had been replaced since the replacement parts were a lighter color than the rest. Ratbat nodded again and closed up his chest panel. “That must’ve taken a few cycles…” Rumble said, surprised at the skilled repair job. “Indeed,” Ratbat replied, smiling softly. “But Soundwave cares very much. And as you can tell, it took the time and effort to do the repair just right. So I assure you, if you allow it to do your repairs, it will not harm you.” The two cassettes looked at each other and nodded a bit. “Where’s this Soundwave bot? We wanna meet it,” Rumble asked. “Just through here. In the tent,” Ratbat gently took Rumble’s hand and led both cassettes inside the large tent. Rumble and Frenzy were surprised to see Soundwave right inside. It probably was close enough to have heard the whole conversation, and the cassettes weren’t sure if it had tuned it out or not. When they entered, it turned its head some to face them. They flinched a bit. It was the biggest carrier they’d ever seen. “As I told you over our frequency, these are the bots who were at the auction house. They need some energon and probably repair as well,” Ratbat nodded at Soundwave. Rumble was about to protest that they didn’t need anything from any bot, but he felt his fuel tank grumble and kept his mouth shut. Soundwave nodded at Ratbat and then took out and offered Frenzy and Rumble each a full, big cube of rich energon, something they’d never even seen before. Rumble accepted the offered energon excitedly. He figured he should be more skeptical of the fuel, but he was too low on energy and tired to care. Frenzy grabbed his arm to make him wait for a second, holding their cube in their other arm. He paused as they dipped their finger into their cube to test for hazardous materials. They waited for a few seconds and pulled their finger out. They nodded at Rumble, signaling that it was clear to drink, and they both started to eagerly drink the energon.

End Excerpt

I realized I hardly got into my Soundwave specific headcanons. Mostly focused on the relationships in this answer, but I hope you enjoy :D Thank you for the ask!

[starspray]

BTS for what your life is?

BTS: I’ll write a DVD commentary about my personal favorite passage from [that fic]

What Your Life Is was so much fun to write! I'd never done anything with Harad before and it was a lot of fun to do some worldbuilding there, and to figure out all the OCs--who they were, what their relationship to one another was, etc. I have a fair amount of notes that never made it into the fic, that I jotted down before I knew where the story itself was going to go.

It's a TRSB fic, for @independence1776's gorgeous moodboard. Fun fact, IIRC said moodboard was made with me in mind because I'd made a joke about having written Maglor being more or less forcefully befriended by smaller and hairier creatures (hobbits twice and Roverandom once) several years in a row for TRSB. I was extremely excited to snag it during claims!

It's very hard to pick a favorite passage but I'm very fond of this one:

"Father also wanted to ask if he can bring the family here before the storm season begins in earnest," said Mathos. "He does not feel it is safe anymore for anyone known to do business with Elves. And he promises to bring extra supplies." "Yes, of course," said Maglor. "You would all be welcome. I'll go tomorrow—" "You can't go!" Nanaia protested. "Haven't you been listening to what Mathos is saying?" Iset demanded at the same time. "I don't plan to draw attention to myself," Maglor said. "Besides, if what Barca told me is true, they all think I walk around dripping blood everywhere." "Huan will draw attention, and you know that he won't be left behind," said Iset. "He drew very little attention when we were there just a few weeks ago," said Maglor, "and I can change both his and my appearance if I must." "You said you couldn't, last time," said Iset. "I cannot shrink him down to the size of a cat," said Maglor, "but I can give him the seeming of—oh, I don't know, a pony or something. If I must. Huan can take care of himself, and I can of course change my own appearance." When Iset still looked skeptical he added, "I have sung the Lay of Leithian for you before. Do you remember Felagund's arts? If he could make himself look like an orc, I can certainly change my hair color." "You are not Felagund," Iset said, in the same tone that Vanna used to scold the twins when they tried to imitate the great heroes of their favorite tales. "No, I am not," Maglor agreed, only barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I am the one who taught him. It just takes more time and effort than I care to expend on a routine shopping trip. This will be different." "You aren't going to go to the temple, are you?" Mathos exclaimed. "Maglor, you can't!" "Everyone around here seems very sure of what I can and cannot do," Maglor said. "I have walked this world for more than three Ages of the Sun, remember, and faced far more serious dangers than a few Men in dark robes who believe they can bring Morgoth back from the Void with a few chants."

Maglor has just learned that the Sons of Elrond were looking for him before disappearing, and both fortunately and unfortunately for him he is surrounded by people who would very much like him not to endanger himself, but who also have been living with him in peace and (relative) safety for a long time, so they don't really know precisely what he's capable of. I love a Maglor who is both competent and confident--he's not very happy about this turn of events, but he's not going to shy away from doing what he has to, especially if Elrond's kids are involved.

I also really like the idea of Maglor having taught Finrod both music and magic back in Valinor, though I haven't done anything else with it.

What I liked most about writing this fic was now unsolitary Maglor is, in a pretty big departure from how he's typically written (and how I typically write him) post-Silm--it was part of Indy's premise with the moodboard, and it was so much fun to write a big complicated household/found family for Maglor to be a part and nominal head of. And I got to make OCs galore! There are a grand total of four canon characters present in this almost 20k word fic, and I think it's great.

[golbrocklovely]

since i have nothing else to post right now…

here’s the last of colby’s tweets from 2020.

i don’t have proof that these are his tweets, but believe me, they are his.

if it’s bold and italicized, it’s someone’s tweet to him.

if it’s in (), that’s just me commenting lol

added bonus: if they have a * next to them, that means it’s been deleted

~~~~~~~~~~

Oct. 1 - love doing things for myself

Oct. 4 - i’m in so much pain. sos

fan: u ok?

poison oak. everywhere …. everywhere.

Oct. 5 - i like the simple things

Oct. 7 - less is more

Oct. 10 - i wanna make you happy

how am i so busy during the day but still manage to find 2 hours to mindlessly scroll through tik tok? i can’t be the only one

Oct. 14 - i care too much

Oct. 15 - somehow it wasn’t enough

Oct. 18 - fan: I CANT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO ALWAYS WONDERED WHAT COLBY SMELLED LIKE..I WANA KNOW WHAT COLOGNE HE WEARS

mayonnaise

(i hate this man so much lmao)

Oct. 19 - Justin Bieber’s new song made me tear up, that dudes been through so much. no one could even imagine what that’s like.. achieving everything and being in the biggest spotlight at such a young age.

Oct. 20 - @/samgolbach: less than 6 months ago i broke my back. and i decided to take that as a challenge to get healthy again. and today i ran the fastest mile i’ve ever run. so yes, i might be an idiot but i’m a determined idiot 🤘🏼🏃🏼

🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼 that’s an insane accomplishment ! i remember when it was a struggle to stand up out of bed

new day, same cycle

Oct. 21 - my mom is texting me all the young pictures of me and it’s bringing me memories i didn’t know i had

Oct. 25 - panic attacks late at night are the worst

Nov. 1 - @/colbybrockscar: reminder that it’s no nut November!!! @/ColbyBrock doesn’t even have to try. He’s got this shit in the bag. It probs comes out like baby powder if he tries

did my car just roast me ?

Nov. 4 - this is scary

cuties! all 3 of you! (reply to fan in merch with friend and cat)

Nov. 6 - @/GracynCarr: I can’t believe the audacity of a high school tweet to pop up on my timeline lmao.. miss u tho @/ColbyBrock :)

hope you're well xx

Nov. 8 - so much talent thank youu love (reply to fan's art)

fan: Um. So I tweeted this to you before but alot has also changed since then sooo wanted to say thank you 🖤 🖤 @/ColbyBrock

proud of you, and good luck with your dreams darlin 🖤 you can accomplish anything with the right mindset and hard work. i believe in ya

time flies, and i’m so scared of losing my youth. it’s inevitable i know, but damn makes you wanna cherish every moment you got

Nov. 11 - i hate when nothing is wrong but nothing feels right

Nov. 12 - the person who makes you forget about the rest of the world

Nov. 13 - today marks 6 years since we posted our first YT video on the MAIN S&C account .. 🖤 what a wild ride

Nov. 14 - promise you i’m a good waste of time

Nov. 15 - @/katstuartmusic: “sunday is my funday” - colby brock 2020

🥂💁🏻‍♂️💁🏻‍♂️

fan: Colby u get drunk off of one white claw

fight me

other fan: my money is on mags

round house kicks to the face don’t feel too good

(is it bad that i like when colby gets weirdly violent with us sksksks)

Nov. 16 - the Why Dont We dudes are some of the nicest people in LA

*Nov. 17 - @/gabytriana: It’s out! Sam and Colby were so much fun to work with, and despite what Colby said, I did not hate him when we first met! 😆 Both he and Sam are super kind, smart, generous entertainers who know how to tell a good story! I love them both!! Happy Book Birthday, @/samandcolby

hahaha thank youu so much for all the hard work ! so excited it’s finally here

(interestingly enough, colby didn't delete his tweet… gaby did)

Nov. 19 - went to a Pyschic Reader tonight. my mind is blown. im not a skeptic anymore, video coming tomorrow

fan: Get ready for religious people to freak out

the psychic i talked to was religious, i’m not sure how but i think the two concepts can exist at the same time

Nov. 21 - hard to trust

fan: @/ColbyBrock hey, i love u lots

love you 🖤

Nov. 23 - fan: imagine if @/ColbyBrock responded to this

could you imagine

Nov. 24 - fan: lmao okay so my friend put this together when I FINALLY received Colby's reaper merch yesterday and I had to laugh, I am actually stupid. But I thought it was a lil funny so y'all can see it too then xx

hahahha love it. thank you. you’re not a sack of potatoes in my eyes

Nov. 27 - happy b day @/SamGolbach you know this and imma save the sappy shit for your big 25th bday but i wouldn’t be here without you. you’re the most intelligent, deep thinking dude i’ve ever met and i feel pretty damn lucky to be able to call you a business partner AND best friend

Nov. 28 - take it easy

Nov. 30 - should i hop back on tik tok?

Dec. 2 - @/aaron_doh: At least I got a photo shoot out of it 😄

whaaat. dude i wish you a speedy recovery

Dec. 3 - it’s hard to move on

Dec. 5 - a nice escape is all i need

welp. i guess i’m a lightweight

Dec. 9 - miss you

Dec. 14 - all the baggage that comes with me

Dec. 15 - been workin hard for you , announcement tomorrow

fan: omg are you pregaganant

how'd you know

@/samandcolby: announcement tomorrow… 2021 will be the best year of our lives (and probably most difficult)

fan: are we getting married?? is that why?

yes

i hate how having anxiety makes me nauseous. it’s the worst feeling

Dec. 16 - it’s all about living in the moment and making every. second. count.

fan: yeah @/ColbyBrock how much are you charging for tattoos…

free for you

Dec. 18 - big tool pic but i’ve been workin hard

@/mannymua733: we absolutely do not mind

hahahaha

(god damn… this pic is still so good lol)

also cold weather always makes me want a special someone to spend time with. cuddle buddy is neeeeeded

fan: okay but can we just take a second to appreciate how hard colby’s been working in the gym because dayum

thank you sweeeetheart

fan: HELP COLBY IS TRENDING

yoo i love you guys 🥺

Dec. 20 - got tatted last night and i barely remember

how i feel this morning (pic of him floating)

fan: you’ve seen elf on the shelf… but have you seen cole in a hole? (@/ColbyBrock)

i’m mad i laughed at this

Dec. 23 - why’d ya have to change on me

so bittersweet saying goodbye to my childhood home of 18 years… i’ll only be back to kansas to visit and sleep in hotels from now on. strange feeling, but so happy for my mom and dad for taking a chance and moving

it’s like i don’t have a real “home” anymore. since i move so much anyways it’s hard to find a spot to actually call home

fan: i just want to say that colby has helped me through so much this year. i had a tough year as many others did but you’ve seriously have helped me through so much. i love you so so much @/ColbyBrock

awh that’s why i make videos in the first place. for people like you

Dec. 24 - addicted to you

my mom and i are the weirdest duo on the planet when we’re together i swear

fan: Make a video with her for Christmas

my whole family despises being on camera 💔

Dec. 25 - fan: momma brock is the sweetest ever

she’s my favorite woman in the world

Merry Christmas friends ! 🖤

i wish i could have face tats for like one week but it doesn’t really work like that huh

Dec. 26 - everyone’s battling their own demons

Dec. 28 - fan: Colby drinking wine but he's such a lightweight that he's probably drunk, lmao @/ColbyBrock

🤫🤫🤫

fan: the vibes are fucking ethereal i’m guessing @/ColbyBrock

you got it