#ch | dapper

[pxppetafterdark2]

JJ tends to go a little 'nuts' when he tops, which is why he rarely gets to. Can't have him getting too disobedient!

[mcytblrconfessions]

I wish I could main Dapper. They'd do some crazy grindy shit on stream then a few minutes later be like "ah yes, I gotta go child" and go slam people into the ground while placing slander on signs or do the horrors for fun! They'd play fnaf fan songs on stream too 100%

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 5

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Flirting, probably incorrect White House descriptions, this is almost definitely not how receiving lines actually work, celebrity chef cameo, the tension is building. Summary: Marcus pulls out all the stops at the State dinner, and June accidentally spills the beans. Notes: I unapologetically love this chapter. The State dinner is straight out of An American President and we even have a West Wing character sighting as well!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4

If Sydney hadn't gone and called in that favor with one of the stylists she knows, you sincerely doubt that you would have been ready for the dinner in any way, shape, or form. The gown, the jewelry, the shoes — all of it is lovely and sumptuous in a way you think you'll never get used to, but you will be sending this particular stylist an enormous thank you gift from the local chocolatier for all the wonderful work she did on you. Despite the help, though, you're feeling remarkably nervous as you pace around your apartment waiting for enough time to pass that you can actually leave to pick up Marcus.

It almost feels wrong being picked up by you for the State dinner. He understands that it’s not a date, just a friend doing another friend a favor, but he was raised as a gentleman. He was taught to show up to the door of a lady’s house, escort them and show them a good time and then deposit them back onto their doorstep safely.

It's a sleek, black car that shows up in front of his apartment building. Nondescript in that way that reads definitely government issued but also not important enough to follow, and of course that is deliberate. It isn't your car. No, he's seen your little blue sedan several times already. He wouldn't even know it was you if he hadn't gotten your text and spied Agent Bailey in the passenger seat. When his buzzer goes off a second later, it's distinctly your voice on the other end.

“I’ll be down in two seconds.” Marcus promises, grabbing the small brooch he had seen when he was at an antique store running down a lead on a case. While it might not be protocol to give you a brooch, he felt like it was more appropriate than flowers for the occasion.

"You might want to let me up!" You counter, quickly before he walks away from the speaker. "I have something for you."

“Oh, uh, sure.” Marcus flushes even though you can’t see him and hits the buzzer to unlock the security door.

In what feels like just a few seconds, you rocket upstairs in your full gown and best peacoat. It wards off the February chill nicely and has pockets deep enough for your best gloves without crushing them. The little white cardboard box clutched in your hand was retrieved this morning, and you hope he appreciates the small, albeit grateful gesture.

Marcus checks his reflection in the mirror next to the door and opens it quickly. He isn’t sure if you know what apartment he is in and he doesn’t want to leave you guessing.

"Hey." He looks devastating the second he opens his front door, dapper and clean cut in his tuxedo with what looks like a fresh haircut to boot. There is a little less guilt when your stomach flips at the sight of him and you feel a flutter in your chest, but you tell yourself that it's just nerves for the night to come. "Please accept my heartfelt thanks for tonight, in the form of the best muffin you will ever eat," you offer, holding out the bakery box and hoping he hasn't forgotten your little bet.

He tilts his head in confusion for a moment before a slow smile breaks across his face. “We’ll have to see about that.” He vows as he takes the box as gently as it if were a priceless work of art. “You can’t eat mine, but I also picked up a gift for you.” He explains as he sets the box down and picks up the antique velvet box. “I was in this little antique store on Tuesday, and as soon as I saw this, I knew it was made for you.”

"You really didn't have to." Even standing there in the entryway of his little DuPont Circle apartment, the heat in your cheeks spreads all the way down your neck and shoulders instantly. Carefully cracking open the velvet box reveals a stunning circular brooch with the Presidential seal set in gold in the center, surrounded by small but stunning stones that shine either clear or light blue when you turn them to hit the light from different angles. "Marcus, it's stunning."

“I thought it was perfect for tonight.” He explains, overjoyed that you like it. He had talked himself out of giving it to you three different times but then thought that it would be rude not to give you something as thanks for allowing him to take part in such a historic occasion.

"I wish I could wear it tonight." Apologetically, you pluck at your burgundy-colored skirt where it sticks out under the bottom of your coat. The soft blue and deep purple-red would clash entirely. "I'll have to make sure I pick the next dress specifically to match it."

“No, I didn’t expect you to wear it.” Marcus hastily corrects. “I just thought it was appropriate for the occasion.”

"It's wonderful." Though it doesn't keep you from wishing you could, and you slip the jewelry case into your jacket pocket for safe keeping. "Thank you. For the perfect gift and for being my lifesaver tonight."

“I don’t think escorting you to the State dinner is anything like lifesaving.” Marcus jokes. “But I’m here for you.”

"Are you ready to go?" You won't debate with him all the ways that he has very definitely saved your skin from an enormous amount of worry and explanation. Just as long as he knows that you're grateful, that is all that matters.

“Absolutely.” The key fob in his pocket is simply to get into the door and he has left his gun locked in his safe, but his badge is in his breast pocket. He holds out his arm. “Shall we?”

"No time like the present." The offer of his arm is elegant and old fashioned, and the two of you step into the elevator together. Agent Bailey is there waiting, of course, and ushers you back into the car to make sure you get to the White House on time.

Marcus nods politely to the Secret Service agent. “Agent Bailey, nice to see you again.” He murmurs, aware that the woman is working and cannot spend too much time chatting with him.

"Special Agent Pike." She nods back, the acknowledgement appreciated as much as the professionalism. The car that the President sent came complete with a chauffeur so she at least does not have to split her focus between driving and protecting. "We're right on schedule," she tells you both, once everyone is back in the car — then promptly raises the privacy barrier in the sleek town car.

“Well.” Marcus chuckles at the gesture and looks over at you. “We’ve been dismissed.” He jokes and adjusts in the seat slightly so he can talk to you and not crease his jacket. “Should I be offended?”

"Not at all." Although you can see how someone else might think so. "I think she's nervous. The first State dinner is a big deal. We're all a little nervous."

“Everything will be great.” He assures you, resisting the urge to take your hand and squeeze it. “I understand it’s a large undertaking, but security will be on top of their game and everything will move like a perfectly trained team winning a World Series.”

The baseball metaphor makes you smile, and you carefully buckle yourself in just before the car pulls out into traffic. "I think the kinks in the system they're worried about are me and my siblings," you admit ruefully. "Just because we were good on the campaign trail and for the inauguration doesn't mean we will be now, so they're just waiting to see if we all behave."

“I think that you and your siblings want nothing more than to make your mother proud and that is a reflection of her through you.” He observes, having listened to your stories about your brother and sister.

"You have far too much faith in my brother." The small laugh from your lips as you sit back is pure amusement, but he's right. None of you would ever do anything to interrupt so an important night. "Maybe if there wasn't royalty coming tonight. Because Alex is an agent of chaos, but only the good-natured kind."

“What young man isn’t?” Marcus snorts.

"His partner." You chuckle slightly, knowing how calm and collected your brother's boyfriend is by comparison. "Alex isn't out publicly. But he's known his soulmate since they were kids, and David just goes everywhere with him as his inseparable best friend. He'll be at the dinner tonight, too."

“It’s good that he can be with him tonight.” Marcus nods, not even having to say that your brother’s secret is safe with him. He wouldn’t dream of misusing that information.

"David's a sweetheart." He's good for Alex, and an active member of the family just like Sydney is. They were essentially adopted into the fold very early on. "He's going through law school with Alex at Georgetown. Family law, like adoption cases and child welfare. And I really think he's going to be a great lawyer." It's easy with Marcus, you reflect again, watching the streets of DC pass by the window beyond his profile. These are things that you hadn't even told Sam until a month or more into the relationship as you had been very careful about guarding your family's secrets at any cost. With Marcus you just seem to...open up.

“That’s great.” Marcus agrees. “I have a lot of respect for the good lawyers that are trying to make a difference in the world.” Marcus has met a lot of lawyers over his career and he can tell a difference in the ones that are genuinely there for the law and people’s rights and ones that aren’t very scrupulous.

"Then you and David should get along swimmingly." Feeling the nerves in your belly as the car pulls through the busy city streets, you offer him a warm but thin smile. "Sorry if I'm talking a lot," you offer. "That's my way of being nervous."

“Nothing wrong with that.” He assures you. “You talk out all your anxiety and I will listen.” He bites his lip and again is wondering why he has such a strong urge to comfort you and hold you close while you babble.

"Watch out." There's a softness in the way you smile so reflexively that you just sink into it, wishing you could reach for his hand. "Or I just might invite you to more of these things if you're going to be such good company."

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no.” He snorts. “I would hate to be invited to amazingly historical events as a bystander and not work.”

"We'll see how little work you think it is when my family has gotten used to you and you start getting tapped into family debates." You snort right along with him, knowing that if he does come around your family often enough — an idea that you somehow don't hate even one single bit — it will happen fairly quickly. Nobody adopts their kids' friends quite like your parents do, and nobody likes debating as much as your parents, either.

Marcus laughs. “Sounds like dinner time conversation in the Pike household.” He admits, grinning at the memories. “My mother always believed in ‘healthy’ arguments so we debated early on and often. Even if she agreed, she could take the opposite positions just so we could rationalize what the other view would be thinking.”

“Sounds just like my house growing up.” You snort, though, rolling your eyes. “Hell, it sounds like them now, forget then. I had to negotiate my own damn birthday party because debates and negotiation are how everything gets done in my family.”

“Birthday?” He raises his brows and smiles. “You have one coming up?” He asks, wondering how old you will be. He thinks late twenties but he could get wrong, not exactly remembering the whole spiel on the first family during the election cycle.

“Thirty.” When you nod your head it comes with a slight shrug. “Next month. My parents tend to…it’s Mom, mostly. They make a big deal out of birthdays. And personal achievements. And pretty much anything else they consider important in life. It’s part of their philosophy of uplifting their kids, but it can get…heavy.”

“I get feeling that celebrating is great, but sometimes you would just like to do your own thing?” He asks, tilting his head. “Perfect birthday?” He challenges.

He's completely right, but there is a sort of naked and vulnerable feeling to admitting that he understands you so well this quickly that makes your heart skip and your palms sweat — not necessarily both positive feelings. "Sleep late, pancakes for brunch, then a ball game in the afternoon and dinner with my partner. Anything else that happens is extra, but those are the pillars of the perfect birthday." It's a little bit of a pipe dream, all things considered, but you smile nonetheless. "Oh! And cake. Birthdays have to have cake. Even if it's just a cupcake, it's got to be there."

“That sounds perfect.” Marcus groans, nodding. “Well—I have….” He pauses, wondering if he would overstepping boundaries. “I have season tickets for the Nationals, even if they aren’t my team.” He flashes you a grin. “You���d be surprised how many favors I can pull with a pair of tickets, field level.”

“Honestly? I don’t think I would be. A day at the park is kind of the perfect relaxer. To me, at least. Everything lifts away and you can just breathe.” Laughing, despite yourself, that lift is in your chest right now. Wondering if he’s really offering what you hope he’s offering. “I probably sound silly. But I just…I love going to baseball games. It almost doesn’t even matter who’s playing. It’s the experience of going that I love.”

“Eating ballpark dogs, drinking overpriced beer.” Marcus nods. “Have to get a bag of peanuts, it’s a crime not to.”

“I’m a Cracker Jack girl. Always have been.” It’s nostalgic and silly, and being able to just chat without tension has pulled the anxiety away from your bones. “The people around you are in a good mood, the game is fun, and hopefully you get to go with someone you enjoy. It’s the perfect afternoon, or evening, or whenever.”

“Best way to spend a Saturday night in my opinion.” He flashes you a grin. “Quick, tell the driver to drop us off at the Navy Yard.” He jokes. “We’ll go to the game in formal wear.”

“If I hadn’t promised my mother that I would behave, I might take you up in that.” It draws a groan from you, playful and light, and when you glance out the window to find yourselves pulling up to the White House already, you laugh again. “That was a fast drive.”

This time Marcus does reach over and take your hand in reassurance. “You will be wonderful. I’ve seen you around the inn, you’ve got this.” He squeezes gently and lets go. “You have a natural ability to put people at ease.”

“You’re…incredibly sweet.” This time the pang of guilt in your heart isn’t about how handsome his smile is, it’s how much you want to just hold onto his hand and not let go. It’s about how good touching Marcus felt, even for the briefest second. It’s…about the fact that you haven’t technically broken up with Sam yet because he’s been so sick.

“Thanks.” The smile he gives you covers the resounding gong of disappointment in his heart. Reminding him once again that the seemingly perfect woman for him isn’t available. You are dating an up-and-coming congressman and he’s gone out with Vanessa two more times. Both of you agree that it’s a little awkward how close the playing ‘seven degrees’ goes, but that it shouldn’t hamper the two of them from enjoying the other’s company. “That’s me. Sweet.” He tells you with a grin right as the car comes to a stop.

“Sweet is underrated and underappreciated,” you tell him honestly, waiting for the door to be opened and a hand to appear that will help you out in this enormous dress. “More men should be sweet.”

“I guess that’s true.” He snorts, reaching out to help with the back of the dress so you don’t have any mishaps.

The flashbulbs seem unnecessary, but with the help of the man helping ladies from their cars and Marcus with your dress, you pass through the line of new arrivals in no time. The agent at security checks your name off the list and inspects Marcus’s ID closely even after you hand over your invitation that formally lists both your names, but that’s protocol. Next step is the metal detectors and soon enough you’re being escorted to the receiving line. “Ready?” You ask Marcus quietly, knowing this might be the first President he’s ever met and recognizing that for the important occasion that it is to him.

“I am.” Marcus has met many esteemed members of congress and governors, but a president is a new on for the books. “Are you?” He asks, looking over at you earnestly. “Let me know if you need a break and I’ll need to use the bathroom or something.”

“The receiving line is going to be the most daunting part, I think.” There was some back and forth about whether or not your escorts — you being the kids — would stand with you in line but in the end your father made the case that Alex should be able to have David with him so it was all in. “But I’m okay. This is just going to be a lot of smiling politely as you stand between me and my brother. Probably a lot of telling people your job title. Then we’ll get to eat and drink and that will be worth it.”

“Hopefully no one asks if I can fix a parking ticket for them.” He snorts. “It’s kind of concerning how many people think the FBI can influence traffic tickets.”

“If anybody asks that,” you lend him a smile and slip your hand into his arm again. “You just refer them to me. I can’t do anything about it either, but they’ll either feel special or laugh.”

Marcus laughs as you guide him towards the small room where he assumes the family is assembled before the beginning of the dinner.

"There she is!" It's your father who spots you first, pulling you forward and into a tight hug as an attendant nearby takes your coat and Marcus's as well.

"Hi Dad." It's not as if you didn't see them just last night, but really and truly — everyone is nervous. "Everybody, this is Marcus." The ‘be nice’ is implied, but only because you said it explicitly last night. "Marcus, this is...everybody. My Father, my little sister June, my brother Alex, David and his brother Noah, and...of course...my Mother."

“Nice to meet you all.” Marcus doesn’t fawn over your mother, giving them all a warm smile and reaching out with a handshake for them all. “Junie, right?” He asks the younger girl, smiling when she hums and nods. He greets Alex and David by name as well, making your brother shoot you a questioning look before he moves on to your mother and father. “Your daughter has nothing but wonderful things to say about all of you.” He assures your father and then your mother. “Her pride in her family is obvious every time she speaks.”

“Oh Birdie, you didn’t say he was handsome,” you mother teases, knowing you did not say anything about the young man’s appearance one way or the other. He is your type, though, and she wonders in the way a mother does, if there is anything you haven’t told her. “Special Agent Pike, we are very glad to have you here tonight. My daughter has spoken nothing but wonderful things about you as well.”

“Happy to be here.” He admits, wincing slightly. “Although I hate that the congressman is sick.” He mentions Sam so the family knows that he is aware of your relationship status. “When Birdie called, I was happy to do her the favor.” He wonders at the nickname but doesn’t ask, knowing he didn’t hear it during game night, so it must be a family thing.

“Anybody else ready to embarrass me right off the bat?” The nickname is…less than ideal, given that you still haven’t talked to Marcus about your — potentially shared — tattoo, and you try not to flinch. “Dad? Alex? You guys up next?”

“Relax, Slugger.” Your Father flashes a grin even as he steps forward to shake Marcus’s hand. “We have the whole night to mortify you in front of your friend. No need to rush.”

Marcus laughs and feels at ease in the presence of your family. There’s a very happy sense of unity that is rare. “I promise I won’t hold the embarrassing stories against you.” He promises you with a wink.

“Very gracious of you,” you huff, but it’s all toothless. They’re your family, and even though they’re merciless sometimes, you love them. It keeps you all honest.

“I know.” He likes the fact they all chuckle and move back to your side. “Are there any protocols I need to be aware of?” He asks seriously, shifting the conversation back to the dinner. “I do not want to accidentally cause an international incident.”

“The king and queen are your Majesty the first time, and after that it’s sir or ma’am,” your Father explains, silently approving of the question with a glance and smile in your direction while he talks to Marcus. “Other than that, mind your manners and find any of us if you need a rescue. Birdie has your back and so do we.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Marcus nods and looks over at you. “Ready?”

“Mom?” Of course, she calls the shots. And the fact that she’s here in the room with you and not being escorted from the West Wing straight into the dinner is fairly impressive.

“Let’s line up.” She nods, gesturing for Junie and Noah to be first. “Kids in ascending order, and the king and queen will join us in the ballroom.”

Marcus offers you his arm again, wanting to formally escort you to your position, even if he is a supporting player tonight. Of course he will be written about, but he doesn’t focus on that, this is about the President having a wildly successful first State dinner.

"Madam President." The aide that appears looks official and tense, signaling that the night is ready to begin. There is...what would you call him? An announcer? A man in a tuxedo introducing each of you as you enter the room. When it gets to you and Marcus there is an odd sort of haze on the whole thing, and you swear you're trying not to think too hard about how much you like the sound of your names side by side like that. It feels just like when you were in middle school and doodled your name in your notebook next to your crush's.

Marcus straightens slightly and he reaches over and covers the top of your hand with his gently. “It’s kind of surreal.” He admits, whispering to you.

"The inauguration still feels like a fever dream," you murmur back, squeezing his fingers a little to show support. That you completely agree and understand. "Just smile and look like you're having fun and you'll be fine."

“Would it be wrong if I did enjoy myself?” He asks softly, wondering if you really hated events like this. “Maybe if you pretend to be undercover, it will help make it interesting?”

"It wouldn't be wrong." Once you fall into place beside Alex, you take a deep breath and smile — smiling at Marcus is remarkably easy and you decide not to think about it too hard. "These things...the spotlight, I mean?" You whisper to him, making sure not to move your lips too much so anyone watching can't tell what you're saying. "It just makes me nervous. That's all. I'd be glad if you actually enjoyed yourself."

“I only enjoy myself if my partner does.” Marcus leans in to murmur into your ear, explaining his view. “So it’s my duty to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

"I'll try not to make it too hard for you." The feeling of his breath fanning over your neck should be criminal, and it takes everything in you not to shiver and to lift your eyes to meet his instead of shying away. "But I get the feeling you don't shy away from a challenge."

“Never.” He promises. “Not even if it takes all night.”

He can't have meant it as an innuendo, but for the first time all night you're grateful for the voluminous skirts of your dress. No one has any idea that you just squeezed your thighs together wishing it was. "I'll remember that," you hum, turning to pay polite attention when the President is announced entering the ballroom.

Marcus realizes that it could have been taken another way and straightens as quickly as possible. His cheeks burning and he hopes that he didn’t offend you, even though you don’t seem like the type to easily be offended.

"I hope you can dance, G-man." Alex murmurs from Marcus's other side, quiet enough that you can't hear him and sending your escort a knowing smirk. "The girl has princess fantasies a mile wide." He's thrilled to not see Sam but won't say so until he knows the self-centered Congressman is out of the picture entirely. Instead, he'll play his hand quietly from the sidelines.

Marcus hums and glances over at you as you straighten your spine even more as the doors open. “She certainly looks like one.”

"Attaboy." Your brother laughs softly, giving Marcus an approving nod before he, too, straightens out of respect for his mother.

He can’t respond, but he wonders why your brother would say something like that. Only pondering on it for a moment before there are one thousand flashing lightbulbs making halos appear in his vision.

With the receiving line in place, the guests of honor are introduced next, and they make their way down the line with polite interest. So far, they have only met the President and First Gentleman. When they reach you and Marcus, you curtsy and thank god for all those times you watched The Princess Diaries as a kid. You're at least not blanking out on how to be polite to monarchs.

Once the line starts, it seems like it will never end. Marcus shakes hands and recognizes faces, all of it becoming a surreal blur after a bit. Trying to take the time to check in with you, his hand finds your back and he presses gently, offering comfort when he notices that you shift slightly.

If he had any idea his hand was right over your tattoo, he might have felt differently about the gesture. You can’t know for sure, of course. All you do know is that every time he touches you, you want to wilt into his arms like some ancient damsel and there’s no way to logic yourself out of it. There’s no explanation or reasoning beyond wanting him. But — you remind yourself each time you glance up to meet his eyes and silently tell him I’m okay because you’re here supporting me — he’s dating Vanessa. He’s with someone else and this is just a favor for a friend.

Marcus feels guilty, so fucking guilty because he’s absolutely in-tuned to you. He tries to be observant and thoughtful, but unlike with his ex, or even Teresa and Vanessa, it’s so easy with you. It’s like he can sense your emotions and adjust to them. Hating that he wants to see you look at him like he is wonderful every day and not sure why he feels like you should.

By the time the line ends you aren’t just mentally exhausted, you’re hungry to boot. “I have no idea how many people we just met,” you admit in a whisper, when you take his arm again to be escorted to your seats. Your father had smartly separated each of his children to a different table tonight to cut down on potential shenanigans, so you and Marcus have been placed with a few members of your mother’s staff and a few esteemed guests. There are no judges or members of Congress here, so conversation should stay light and entertaining.

“Three hundred and twenty-six.” Marcus supplies as he walks with you to the table. “And I’m absolutely in need of a roll and a drink.”

“You kept count?” It’s impressive and just a dash nerdy, making you reach for the nearest passing waiter to snag two glasses of champagne in appreciation. “Pretty cool that Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem came, though. I’m bummed Pedro Almodóvar turned down the invitation.”

“I’ve seen some of his works.” Marcus nods. “He’s a good visionary.” He had been impressed with the foreign dignitaries and celebrities alike, finding it to be slightly overwhelming. “It will be interesting to see who is sat with us.”

“He’s remarkable.” The last few things you’ve seen from the Spanish filmmaker were truly moving, and you had happily dragged Sydney and Juan along to the theater with you. “Apparently he’s working on something new. So he couldn’t be here tonight.”

“I think that’s a good reason to not be available to attend.” He murmurs, smiling slightly as you tip back the champagne. His own is still untouched. “Here.” He offers to exchange glasses.

“You said you wanted a drink?” That had been the entire reason for grabbing the glasses early, and you tilt your head at him. “Don’t worry, there’s a five-course dinner to soak it up.”

“Your glass is empty, though.” He insists. “I can wait for the waiter to come around. You’re still thirsty.” He doesn’t mention that you still seem nervous as well.

“Be careful,” you warn, as playfully as you possibly can while your stomach knots at the thought. “If you’re too good at this I’ll want to bring you to every fancy dinner and party.”

He chuckles, knowing that wouldn’t happen because of your relationship with Sam. The congressman will be the one to escort you next time. He exchanges glasses with you with a smile. “There.”

“Come on.” After another grateful sip, you slip your hand back into his arm and feel that gentle lift of tension again, the same way you’ve felt each time he’s touched you tonight. It goes hand in hand with the fire in your belly. “I see my mother’s deputy chief of staff at our table, but he’ll be up and down a dozen times during dinner.”

He wonders if the seating arrangement was made when he wasn’t attending and Sam was. It would make sense and it’s another reminder that he doesn’t actually belong here, with you. “Then you will have time to relax.” He reasons.

“I’ll be okay.” You can promise him that, despite his attention and seeming insistence to the contrary. It’s like he can sense your nerves, but you don’t want him to miss out on any fun because he’s babysitting you all night.

He doesn’t argue with you, aware that you have more experience in these situations than he does, so he just nods. “Are we sitting down now, or can we escape to the bathroom?”

“I think we have a few minutes, if you need it.” There will be speeches and the like before the first course is served, and there is wiggle room to be found. “Do you need me to show you?”

“Would you mind?” He knows you could probably use a breather, even if you don’t want to mention it. There are a lot of people who fawned over you and your siblings simply because of your proximity to the most powerful person in the country and he imagines it’s exhausting.

“It’s this way.” On the edge of the ballroom in an alcove of sorts, with a Secret Service agent whose name is temporarily escaping you standing by in a tuxedo. “I’ll wait for you. This place is a maze if you’re not ready for it. I got lost in the residence for an entire hour on my first day there.”

“That had to be fun.” Marcus snorts, shuffling slightly. “I don’t really have to go.” He admits. “I just thought you might like a moment.”

“You are…remarkably good at taking care of me.” A fact which is slightly disarming, in as much as it is infinitely comforting. The trouble is that it makes you lean into him in a way that seems far too intimate for the moment. But you’ve chosen not to care if you so much as even think about it for a second. “It is…deeply appreciated.”

“I’m glad you don’t find it annoying.” He admits with a small laugh. “My ex sometimes told me it felt like I was undermining her autonomy.” He quotes.

“She objected to being cared for?” That makes you frown instantly, wishing you could reach back in his past and soothe the hurt left by an ungrateful partner. “I can’t imagine that. At all. Hell, half the time if I didn’t have Syd right there in the kitchen to feed me, I would probably forget to eat. Workaholic’s curse, I guess?”

“Oh absolutely.” He nods. “Sometimes the best feeling in the world is just someone calling up and asking if they should bring home dinner, right?” He asks. “That’s all I was trying to do. My dad would be exhausted after work and he’d still call Mom to see if she felt like cooking or if she wanted him to grill something or pick something up.”

“It’s caretaking.” Something you see so deeply in your best friend’s relationship with her soulmate and you have silently started to wish for yourself. Something that you yearn for the way you see it around you. It’s what your parents always strived for, although they sometimes fell short. Their strengths are elsewhere. “I’m…not used to it,” you admit after a pause. “And I appreciate it. Wholeheartedly.”

“Good.” He flashes you a relieved smile. “Although, if you get annoyed or I overstep, you just tell me, okay? I know it’s not my place, that’s Sam’s, but for tonight, you’re in my care.”

“It’s—” You have to swallow the objection, knowing that it wouldn’t be right to tell Marcus before you even tell Sam what your plans are. And while the impulse to confide in him is deep, you have to wonder if it’s because you might have that soulmate connection, or just because you have a crush. “Just for tonight,” you offer instead, choosing to embrace that with open arms.

He nods and tries not to read anything into it. Hating how he hopes that is longing in your eyes. It’s not fair and he smiles. “Do you need to powder your nose?” He asks teasingly.

“I might as well.” Glancing around, there are eyes everywhere and you know they’re watching. Plus, it would probably do you well to step away from Marcus for a second and calm the fuck down. “Someone is probably watching and it will get remarked on in some gossip column if neither of us does.”

“I can step inside the bathroom then, after you go into the women’s room.” Marcus offers, not wanting to put your reputation on the line.

"If nothing else we should probably wash our hands after that receiving line," you offer, trying to diffuse any tension that surely lives only in your head. "I'll be right back."

“Good call.” He flashes you a smile and waits for you to disappear into the bathroom before stepping into the men’s room. “Get it together, Pike.” He huffs to himself as he stares into the mirror. He had shaved right before you arrived and had gotten a haircut this morning to make sure he looked his best. “You gotta get over this little thing.”

A mere ten feet away, you're staring yourself in the mirror giving yourself almost an identical short, stern lecture and shaking your head. This thing is going to get out of hand. And maybe you can't rein it in completely, but you have to at least behave your damn self until you can properly break up with Sam. Marcus washes his hands and dries them, straightening his bow tie before he steps out of the bathroom to wait for you.

"Let's go back to the table." You appear only a minute later, having lectured yourself silently in the mirror long enough and washed your hands thoroughly for good measure. "My father played with the seating chart a little so there would be some people at the table for you to talk about art with."

“That will be fun.” He doesn’t mean that sarcastically, aware that he learns odd facts and titbits about art.

"Hopefully you mean that." Lending him a smile, you nod your head and put out your hand to him. It's an offering if he wants to take it, and if he doesn't that's okay too. It will probably help you chill the fuck out to have a small gesture rejected, if you're honest with yourself.

He doesn’t think you want to hold his hand, so Marcus takes it, squeezing it gently and then wrapping it over his extended arm. “I get to be formal tonight.” He jokes, sending you a small wink.

In absolutely no way is that a rejection, and your cheeks burn as you absorb that small gesture and walk with him back to the table. You manage to sit just as the speeches are beginning, and survey the table for anyone you recognize while everyone is paying rapt attention to the stage.

Josh, your mother's Deputy Chief of Staff, is seated to your left. Guests you recognize as being staff members at the Spanish embassy are seated on his other side. Beside them are the counselors from the State department who are apparently staples on the White House guest list and have been for the last eight years. You have no idea who they are beyond that, and the random detail that your father mentioned they are foodies. Which makes sense, as they are seated next to famous chef José Andrés and his wife. Considering they are seated next to Marcus, you must deduce that these are the art lovers your father was so glad to introduce to your new escort.

Marcus makes note of the exits, the Secret Service positioned strategically and for a brief moment wonders what it would be like to protect someone like this. He doesn’t know if he has the fortitude for it, becoming emotionally attached to the people he works with. It’s what made him an effective leader but also would make him a poor protector as a career. He glances back at the podium and listens carefully.

The speeches are...a bit endless. After what must be thirty full minutes of gratitude and platitude, well written jokes that are mostly poorly delivered, and even a few self-deprecating cracks, all the speakers seem finally to be done and the waiters pour out of the woodwork with the first course. Every course is influenced by your Spanish visitors and the menu is printed out neatly on a card at every seat, which you know very well you will be keeping in a stack in a shoebox in your apartment as the best keepsake from every single White House event.

“It looks delicious.”

Marcus smiles at the woman who speaks up as the plate is sat in front of her. “I can only imagine the chaos that is occurring in the kitchen.” Marcus replies. “They have been working hard and it shows.”

"Every meal I have ever had from that kitchen has been exemplary," you promise them, knowing that you are currently the table expert on the quality of the White House kitchen. "The whole menu sounds very promising." Gazpacho with garlic shrimp for the first course, and the traditional Spanish tomato soup is garnished with lovely bits of the fresh vegetables that make up the refreshingly cold puree.

“And that is saying something, considering her best friend and business partner is a culinary artist.” Marcus brags. “She eats fantastically every day.”

"Oh?" That catches the attention of the chef sitting two seats over from Marcus. He and his wife both perk up measurably to find those who love food nearby. "Please say more," he chuckles.

"I...run an inn." Apparently you're going to spend at least part of tonight chatting with a world-renowned chef that Sydney is going to be so mad she missed this. "And my best friend is the executive chef of the restaurant on property." The chance to brag on her behalf will absolutely not escape you. "She was just nominated for a James Beard Award, actually. She's absolutely remarkable."

“I can attest to that.” Marcus seconds as he picks up his spoon. “Her food is absolutely incredible. I’ve not had such good food since I was actually in Italy. And it might be better.” He boasts. This is his friend’s wife and better yet, he’s not stretching the truth. Her food is that good.

“Better than in Italy?” Chef Andrés’ eyebrow raises in discerning interest. “We may have to visit. If it is possible?”

“Possible?” You almost choke on air at the request, but manage to hold your composure long enough to nod in a reasonably human manner. “We will make sure that it is possible. It would be an honor.”

“You won’t regret it.” Marcus promises. “You should honestly book a night at the inn. Their brunch is probably my favorite but their dinners are amazing as well.”

“You should hire your boyfriend to do your PR,” Andrés teases, the smile on his lips stretching wider when his wife rolls her eyes in amusement. “If it is as good as you say, I must try it, yes? Bring my wife?”

Marcus chuckles, hating how he almost perks up at being called your boyfriend. “I’m afraid that I’m just a friend.” He explains with a smile. “But I know good food and a charming, romantic atmosphere when I see one.” He tells him. “You take your wife for a weekend and she will be singing your praises.”

The two guests beside him seem to tut at Marcus’s correction but say nothing else on the topic, instead beginning to eat along with the rest of the table after you delicately pass them a business card from your clutch.

“So what is it that you do?” The chef’s wife asks, glancing at Marcus.

“Oh.” He’s a little thrown off by the question but he smiles. “I’m the head of the Art Crimes department for the FBI.” He explains. “We investigate thefts, forgery rings and work with Interpol.”

“How fascinating!” Her eyes light up with the declaration. It obviously isn’t a polite interest, which is nice for utter strangers seated next to each other at dinner. “To investigate these forgeries you must be very well versed in all sorts of art.”

“I have learned my fair share and the some about art.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “Honestly, sculpture is my favorite. Although there are not a lot of forgeries in that area.”

“I imagine it would be much harder to accomplish,” she agrees, seeming to consider the thought before going on. “Do you create art as well? Or stick to protecting it?”

“I am a phenomenally bad artist.” Marcus snorts and laughs at himself. “Stick figure bad. So I try to just protect the art created by others.”

“I bet you’re better than you think.” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop yourself, but you just can’t imagine that Marcus Pike is bad at…well…anything. He seems to radiate positivity and confidence.

Marcus sends you a warm, amused look, positively happy that you would try to protest that. “I’m afraid that my fingers are only good for playing instruments.”

Tutting and rolling your eyes playfully, you nearly huff at him but end up grinning. “You say that as if it’s deficient in some way. Playing an instrument is extraordinary.”

“Three.” He admits with a grin.

“Three?” Your jaw nearly drops out of indignation, as though he were keeping something from you. Which is patently ridiculous. “I only knew about one!”

He bites his lip playfully. “Guitar, bass and….” He snickers quietly. “Violin.”

“No.” When you nearly erupt into giggles you have to stifle it behind your napkin. “That’s discipline! Or did you decide it wasn’t cool enough and that’s why you picked up guitar and bass?”

“Actually….” He shrugs. “There was a girl.” He can look back and laugh now. “She didn’t think playing guitar or bass was ‘real music’ so I made a bet that if I could perform Bach’s Violin Concerto in E Major, she would go out on a date with me.”

The rest of the table has faded into the background, with a hall of focus encompassing you and Marcus entirely. You’re not sure when it happened but everyone else just became a smiling face and white noise compared to the man next to you. “Please tell me it worked. That would be a shame if it didn’t work.”

There’s a flash of something bittersweet, there and gone before most can even register it as Marcus nods. “We were married for three and a half years.” He looks around the table and grins, trying to make sure no one feels sorry for him. “Think that was a good play.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment floods your system immediately and your cheeks burn with it. “It…was your wife. Of course it was your wife. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—that was thoughtless of me.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Marcus is adamant about that, reaching over and patting your hand. “I admire your stance on non-soulmate relationships.” He admits. “Even if my ex wasn’t my soulmate, she’s a wonderful woman and I grew in our relationship together. More people could use that.”

“It’s just that I think everyone should be able to choose,” you admit, having been struggling with the topic as much as you have recently. “This idea of only having one perfect match chosen for you? It doesn’t mean it’s the only way to be happy. My parents are soulmates, my brother has a soulmate, our friends are soulmates — I’m happy for all of them. But not finding your one preordained needle in the haystack of the world shouldn’t mean you don’t get a shot at happiness.”

“No,” Marcus agrees. “Happiness shouldn’t be tied to one person or one thing.” He longs for his soulmate, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t open himself up for others.

“That’s all.” There is no show to put in here. No soapbox to stand on. It isn’t a campaign event or even an interview. It’s just talking — and talking to someone you suspect more and more might be the needle you were meant to search for. “I would love to meet my soulmate,” you admit after another moment. “But I want it to be my choice to love them, not the world’s.”

“If it weren’t for the tattoo, I would wonder if my soulmate existed.” Marcus admits. “The scars, I can’t even remember whose is whose, but…my soulmate doesn’t want to be found and I will respect that.”

“What would make you think they do want to be found?” The idea that whoever is tied to Marcus wouldn’t want to be found by him seems ridiculous now that you know him. But you know that’s personal bias.

“Never been on Mate Marks.” Marcus shrugs. “Not once. Just figured they aren’t interested.”

“Not everyone can be on Mate Marks.” You remind him gently, but deflect right away. “Maybe she’s a movie star.”

“Maybe.” It hurts him in a very raw way so he changes the subject. “Perhaps there’s supposed to be some kind of dramatic meet cute.” He shrugs, turning towards the Chef and his wife. “How did you two meet?”

“She was hanging out with her friends.” Andrés regards his wife with a warm smile. “At my restaurant. Many, many years ago. But I could not take my eyes from her once I saw her. I was—” He pauses for a moment, searching for the word, and then grins when he finds it. “A goner. For such beauty, how could I not be?”

“Love at first sight.” Marcus hums at the romanticism and whimsy of it. “You are a lucky man.” He admits. “There is something so beautiful about that.”

“There are many beautiful ways to fall in love.” The chef contends with a shrug, as if to say any love is good. And he does have a point. “Sometimes the one best suited to us is directly under our nose, sometimes they are a surprise. But always, they are worth finding.”

“Love is always worth it.” On that, Marcus can completely agree. “I’ll drink to that.” His champagne glass has been swapped for a new one and he holds it up. “To love, in all forms.” He offers. “The world is better for it.”

“Here here.” On your other side, Josh raises his glass and the rest of the table follows suit, all of you drinking a toast while your mind begins to work.

Marcus takes a sip, noticing that you look introspective and he wonders if you are thinking about Sam. Instead of prying, he sets his drink down and takes up his spoon again, listening to the conversation start around the table again and this time, it’s not focused on him.

The courses go by like clockwork. Every bite is delicious, every sip of accompanying wine is refreshing. Conversation becomes easy with the rest of the table and as all the guests relax the atmosphere becomes more and more party-like.

Watching your mother begin the dancing with a king is something entirely surreal. There’s something sort of spectacular about seeing this woman that you know as everything from determined to downright silly getting up there and whirling like she hasn’t a care in the world. She glows in that spotlight, soaking it up and radiating the same appreciation back out to the rest of the room — but she only gets brighter when the song changes and your father steps up to take her hand for the next dance.

Marcus watches the First Gentleman bow slightly, the grin on his face making him look years younger and there’s a moment where Marcus is envious. He wants a life like that, a life like his parents have. Love is love and he appreciates that, but he wants love. Vanessa isn’t in love with him, and he’s not in love with her. Not in a way that would have him picking out wedding venues with her. They have companionship and fun. He gets the feeling that she’s trying to get over someone and that’s okay, but he wants to have someone light up when they see him like the President just did for her husband of over thirty years.

As other couples start to join in, you see your siblings join the dance floor — probably to gossip, that's in keeping with a tradition they started when your mother was Governor of Pennsylvania — and your hand twitches on the table wishing you were brave enough to just reach for Marcus like you want to. To find out if he dances as well as you've dreamt that he does. Because that thought has permeated every single dream you've had this week.

It must be a tradition to have the entire first family on the floor and Marcus decides that you won’t break it. He stands and offers you his hand as he moves around the chair. “Shall we join them?”

A shaky breath passes your lips, but your hand settles in his before you can second guess yourself. You want to dance with him and you can dance with him. It isn't overstepping or cheating or anything of the sort. "I promise not to step on your toes," you murmur, not bothering to temper the brightness of your smile. Though that is partially because you really can't feel how much you're glowing in this moment. It's not something you've ever felt before — not like this, at least.

“I have a feeling you are a better dancer than me.” He guides you to the edge of the floor with quiet pride and bows.

"It's just practice." The smile of assurance on your face as the do the formal thing and curtsy never flickers. You take his hand and let him guide you to the floor, knowing that it isn't necessary here for most people to learn ballroom dance. No one is expecting a perfect tango out of the couples on this floor. As long as you and Marcus can make your way around the floor in a reasonable facsimile of a dance, all will be well. "Haven't you seen Sabrina? Just pretend you're David Larrabee."

Marcus smiles as he steps close and settles his hand on your waist. “Did I mention my father insisted that I learn to dance?” He asks as he starts to move to the song. “Dancing helps coordination.”

"How could I possibly be a better dancer than you now?" Have you had lessons? Sure. Of course you have. All three of the First Kids of Pennsylvania took them so as not to embarrass their parents at formal events. But all that knowledge seems to leave you in a flash with Marcus holding you close like this. You're pretty sure you even forget how to breathe for a second. "Is there anything you can't do? And don't say art, because I still don't believe you."

“It’s really bad.” He promises with a laugh. “I never graduated beyond first grade stick figures.”

"Well..." As the two of you begin to turn in time with the music, the breath returns to you only to be whisked away again with every turn. "Your dancing is..." With your cheeks burning again, you feel like you can barely look him in the eye. "It's top notch, I promise."

“Then the lessons paid off.” Marcus laughs. “Dad said they would. Didn’t believe it when I was seven, but now I see the light.”

“If I ever meet your Dad, remind me to thank him.” Whoever the couples around you are, whatever the band is playing, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Everything about this moment is perfect, and there really is no talking yourself out of it at this point — this crush you have on Marcus Pike is officially out of hand.

He smiles and nods, no comment needed as he sweeps you around the dance floor and he tightens his grip on you. “Hold on.” He warns, right before he dips you low.

A collective gasp from the room full of spectators is followed by titters of laughter and exclamations then punctuated by applause, but you are holding on. You’re holding on to Marcus with an iron grip on his shoulders, laughing in your own right but it’s disbelief and a sort of bubbling giddiness that you can’t quite describe. It’s all-consuming just like your focus on him, so much so that you don’t even notice the flashbulbs going off in the ballroom.

It’s been a long damn time since he could say that he has had this much fun dancing. You are a great partner, seeming to fit into his arms perfectly. Moving with him naturally and his matching grin when he pulls you upright is beaming.

“I—” What can you really say? If you weren’t in a room full of people and if you weren’t still technically in a relationship, that’s the kind of move that would have you reaching up to kiss him in a heartbeat. As it is, you barely manage to stop yourself from licking your lips a little at the thought. His eyes and his smile are brilliantly bright and you wish you could just let your pounding heart speak for itself. But all that comes out as he starts to whirl with you again is “Wow.”

“You like that?” He asks, even though his tone makes it clear he is aware of your astonishment and delight. “Figured you needed a moment where you can look back and pretend that you were the princess at the royal ball.” He jokes. “The glass slippers are in another room though.”

“You’re never getting out of this,” you tease, feeling the burning in your cheeks even as you get your footing back, and with your eyes still locked in Marcus. “Four more years of these things if you’re going to dance with me like that. Get ready, Pike.”

He could tell you that he would gladly dance with you, but he doesn’t. He just laughs and steps away so he can twirl you around.

All it does, besides give you that feeling again of being a princess floating on air, is seal how doomed you really are in your mind. When your twirl back into Marcus’s arms, you swear you actually sigh outright. It’s all just too dreamy and you’re forever in Sydney’s debt for making you ask him.

The song is quickly coming to an end, and Marcus is aware there are too many speculative eyes on the two of you, so he doesn't spin you or dip you again. He doesn't want to cause issues with Sam, just enjoying the dance with you and got a little carried away. His mother would accuse him of subconsciously showing off and that might be true, but he brings you to a stop when the music ends and hates that he hates when his hands slide away from you so he can clap politely. "Sorry." He hums as you both clap. "Got a little carried away."

“You never need to apologize for having fun.” You assure him, knowing that you certainly aren’t sorry for your part in it.

"I'm sure the press corps absolutely loved it." Marcus laughs. "At least your Agent Bailey didn't think I was attacking you. That would have been mortifying, being tackled to the floor for dipping you." It's a joke, not particularly a good one, but he needs to get over this feeling of rightness. To distract himself from the want of pulling you close and pressing his lips to your stained ones. Obviously he needs to not do that and corny jokes puts a little distance from him and that thought.

“Don’t let Bailey fool you. She’s a softie.” The other half of that thought is that she would never mistake a romantic gesture, but it’s just wishful thinking to one dance to be a romantic interlude.

The music has a thirty second delay to allow dancers to join or exit the floor and in that time, Alex comes up to the pair of you. "May I cut in?" He asks, standing beside Junie and David's brother that Marcus hadn't caught his name. "David doesn't want to dance, for obvious reasons."

“The reason is his two left feet,” you tell Marcus with a knowing grin. “I’ll be right back. Unless everyone mobs you for a dance after what they saw you can do.”

"I'll dance with him." Junie offers with a matching grin towards her sister. She hadn't missed the dreamy look in your eyes and wants to see if it was because of the dance or the man. "If you don't mind?"

Marcus shakes his head and looks towards her date for the evening. "May I?" It might me a little archaic, since Junie has full autonomy over who she dances with, but it was polite manners who ask the escort for their blessing and Marcus was nothing if not polite.

“Go for it,” Noah’s answering nod is easygoing, and he has to admit he’s curious too. There is speculation amongst them now and he wants to know what Junie has to say after dancing with him.

Marcus offers his hand to Junie, bowing just like he had with you before sweeping the younger girl into his arms. "Your escort is a friend?" He asks, curious since he looks so much like David.

“Pretty much family at this point,” Junie confirms, taking the elegant bow to mean that she should attempt a curtsy just before she gets pulled into the dance. She wobbles a little but makes it. “He’s Alex — our brother’s — best friend’s little brother.” Not being sure how much you may have told FBI Marcus Pike about Alex or the family, she carefully doesn’t say more. “So we’ve known each other a long time.”

"It's a shame that David has a case of the left feet." Marcus glances over at the table where the law student is passionately talking to a judge that had been seated with them. "Hopefully Noah is not the same?" He admires the protectiveness of the younger girl's tone and approves of it wholeheartedly. You protect family and that’s something special amongst siblings.

“Not at all. That’s why he’s here.” She laughs at that, realizing it’s silly, but doesn’t quite care. “We all had to have someone with us for this one, and I’m not much for the dating scene so Noah gave me a rescue. He’s basically my other brother.” The steps are easy enough to be led through, or else Marcus Pike is a very good lead, and June turns with him a few times before she starts thinking that smile on her big sister’s face was about the dance as much as the man. He’s good, but he’s not Fred Astaire, so it has to be a combination.

"Very nice of him." Of course there would be a million different selfish reasons why he would want to come, but it's also a very nice gesture. "Friends that are family are the best." He agrees.

“Firmly agree.” June nods with authority, holding on tight as Marcus turns her around in the dance. She can see why you liked this so much — those fairy tale fantasies you think are secret must have loved being twirled around a ballroom.

There is a moment where Marcus could dip June, but he doesn't. He knows that people are speculating and he keeps a respectable amount of distance between him and your younger sister. Knowing that it could be taken out of context if someone really wanted to stir up trouble. He does spin her though, making her laugh as he pulls her out of it.

“Oh, you’re going to get yourself invited to all of these,” she laughs. It’s a little archaic in her opinion, but a pretty face with good manners and talented dancing shoes is like an endangered species at these things. Especially one who passes the background checks. “Did Birdie tell you about her birthday yet?”

"She did." Marcus laughs. "Talked about having to negotiate." He wonders at the nickname again and glances over to where you and Alex are dancing and laughing together. "Where did the nickname Birdie come from?" He asks. "I've only heard family use it."

“She was a giant ornithology nerd when she was a kid,” June explains easily, not thinking any of the question. “Bird feeders everywhere in the backyard of the house in Philly. There’s a bunch at the inn, too. She even got a bird tattoo when she was old enough. Mom freaked out.”

Marcus doesn’t stiffen, which is a credit to his undercover training. But he’s instantly on alert. You have hummingbird feeders at the inn. “Oh?” He manages to keep his tone causally interested. “What type of bird?”

“It’s this hummingbird and flowers design that she got on her back.” June shrugs again, even in the dance. “Why would you get a tattoo on your back where you can’t see it? That never made any sense to me.”

“On her shoulder?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Shoulder tattoos are pretty popular. You can show them off or cover them up.”

June snorts, lowering her voice. “Who even gets a tramp stamp anymore? Her shoulder would have been way better.”

It’s like the world fucking stops when he hears June’s confirmation of what he had suspected. You are his soulmate. The undeniable attraction and need to be around you is suddenly explain. Though, you had to have known, and worse, you kept it a secret. Marcus feels his heart clench, although he smiles and chuckles at the horror on the younger girl’s face. “Easy to conceal.” He offers, making it seem like his whole world hasn’t shifted off its axis. He’s hurt, deeply, but he cannot make a scene - nor would he.

The song ends either in the nick of time or far too soon, and a Junie thanks Marcus for the dance before trotting off to disappear into the crowd and out of sight. This is a very easy room to disappear in, after all.

Marcus needs a drink, but he waits on the side of the dance floor as Alex brings you over. “Nice dance?” He asks.

“Nice enough.” Alex had talked your ear off about something David said at dinner and then asked a million questions about Marcus, so you’re feeling a little warm in the cheeks and a little knotted in your stomach. “You?”

“Absolutely.” He paints a smile on his face and offers his arm as he turns you from the dance floor. “Your sister is a charming young woman.” He compliments. “I need a drink, how about you?”

“Please.” What you need is courage, after talking to Alex, and a drink is that in liquid form. “And…I wanted to ask you something? If that’s okay.”

“Your sister has already warned me I will the attending these from now on.” Marcus jokes, although he’s not sure he would want to attend. To know that you were aware of the potential soulmate connection and not breathing a word of it hurts in a way he cannot describe. Especially after the conversations you’ve had about choices. You’ve taken his own choice away from him in a sense.

“Yeah…” A huff of a laugh comes out of you, and you take Marcus’s arm to walk away from the dance floor but it isn’t as relaxed as before. You have to wonder if more of this sounds that terrible to him. Or more of you? “Dad said that any friend we have who was a good dancer was going to end up on all the invitation lists by default.”

“Of course.” A subtle, slapping reminder of what he is to you goes a long way to not saying something. The bar is thankfully devoid of too many people and he quickly looks towards you. “What will you have?” He asks politely.

“A Manhattan with Statesman?” You glance over at the bartender and he nods and sets to work. Asking Mar is what you want to ask is so loaded and terrifying that you really are going to need that courage.

“And I’ll have a triple Statesman on the rocks.” Marcus adds, knowing that a double won’t be enough.

"Was Junie really that bad?" you tease. But if the answer is yes you'll be furious.

“No, she was wonderful.” Marcus assures you. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“I wondered if I could ask you something?” You’re practically shaking in your heels, but you may never get the courage to ask again and short of straight out asking to see his tattoo, this is the next best thing for confirmation. “At dinner you said you have scars? Yours and your soulmate’s and you’ve sort of forgotten whose is whose?”

“Yeah?” There’s no way you can know how the casual question rips him apart but he shrugs slightly and tilts his head curiously at you. “They are old.”

“Like from when you were a kid?” The ache in your chest is undeniable, wanting so badly for him to confirm things for you. The scar from when your appendicitis operation is fairly unique. The surgeon must have desperately needed new glasses or worse.

“I know the scar right here is from my soulmate.” He points to his side and shrugs. “Assuming their appendix burst or something.”

The smallest breeze in the world could knock you over right now. A single breath would be enough, but neither you nor Marcus seems to be breathing at the moment. The only noise between you is the pounding of blood in your ears and the dull thud of two glasses hitting the bar beside you which knocks you out of your trance. “Appendicitis sucks,” you manage to murmur ineloquently, and rummage frantically for a tip in your clutch.

“I’ve never had it, so at least there’s not a double scar.” Marcus hums, watching you search through your bag. “I’ve got it.” He promises, reaching to his wallet and pulling out a bill.

“Thank you.” Even a few seconds to shut your eyes and take a drink isn’t enough to steady you, but you have to fake it. Right now you’re shaking like a leaf. “Soulmates are…they’re interesting…” you manage, trying your best not to just burst out with it in the spot. You have to break up with Sam first, you tell yourself over and over.

“Sometimes.” Marcus agrees, wondering why you are talking about this now. Is it to rub it in? To test him? He picks up his drink and takes a sip.

“I’m sorry.” Taking your drink away from the bar, concentrating on not spilling it will help you not shiver or shake as much, but you still shake your head. “I guess I’m…distracted. And that’s not fair to you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Marcus promises you softly, wondering why you are having such an extreme reaction right now. Like you are having an internal crisis. “I’m here for you.”

“You can’t possibly know how much that means to me.” And how much it makes you ache in turn. How much you wish he would be there for you as a partner. As a lover. But he might not even want you. Just because you’re soulmates — there it is, you’ve admitted it to yourself — doesn’t mean he will choose to be with you. He might be ecstatically happy with Vanessa.

He smiles and takes another sip of his drink, honestly unsure of what to say right now. Taking a drink seems like the safest option and he wishes he were brave enough to down the smooth whiskey in one belt and order another.

There really was a solid chance that you would be able to keep your head on straight but then you looked at him again. The way your resolve crumbles in the face of those big, brown puppy eyes is laughable. “I decided I’m breaking up with Sam,” you blurt out, instantly squeezing your eyes shut and berating yourself internally for it.

He’s nearly spitting his whiskey out when you say that, choking slightly and coughing. “I— I’m sorry.” He murmurs, patting himself on the chest. “I hope that it’s not because I came with you to the dinner?”

“What! No. No…I—” You can’t say it has nothing to do with him because that’s a lie. Meeting Marcus was the catalyst that led you to the decision. Meeting Marcus has been tumultuous and eye opening. “The decision has been coming for a little while, I think.”

“Okay.” He is relieved about that. “The last thing I wanted was to cause issues with you and the congressman.”

“And I don’t want to cause any between you and Vanessa.” As much as you may wish he wasn’t seeing her, it isn’t for you to decide. His life is his choice, entirely and completely.

It’s interesting that you would say that. Considering that he’s never said anything beyond inviting you to dinner. “You won’t.” He promises.

“Right.” The confidence he says it with makes you feel utterly small, and you force yourself to laugh just so you don’t say anything else stupid. “Of course not. That was a silly thing to say.”

“It’s not silly.” Marcus doesn’t like the way you seem to deflate slightly. “I just mean we are all adults.”

“Yes. We definitely are.” The way it stings your heart is very real, but this is not the time or the place to feel that feelings in its entirety. Instead, you remind yourself to smile and calmly sip your drink.

It feels like the night has gone sideways for multiple reasons and Marcus isn’t sure why. He finishes his drink and looks over at you. “Need another?”

“I’d rather dance again,” you admit. But it’s partially because you know you shouldn’t have too much to drink. That wouldn’t be a good look when so many eyes are on you.

“Then let’s dance.” He sets his empty glass down and offers his hand to you again.

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @storiesofthefandomlovers

My Masterlist!

[nhlclover]

𝖭𝖤𝖶 𝖸𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖲 𝖤𝖵𝖤 𝖳𝖱𝖤𝖵𝖮𝖱 𝖹𝖤𝖦𝖠𝖱𝖲

word count 1.39k summary on new year’s eve you finally decide to tell trevor how you feel warnings brief mentions of drinking + smoking, making out

I sat at my vanity, putting the final touches on my makeup for the New Year's Eve party I was attending that night. Tate, my best friend, was in the ensuite bathroom straightening her hair and my getting-ready playlist was blaring through a speaker.

“Please tell me this new year I'm not going to be spending midnight next to you?” Tate asked, poking her head into the bedroom.

“You don’t want to welcome the new year with me by your side?” I retort.

Tate rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she said, pointing her flat iron at me. “I know you like Trevor.”

I made eye contact with Tate through the mirror at the mention of him. Trevor and I had only met in September but had become really close in the span of almost 4 months. Trevor never failed to make me laugh, and I never failed to cheer Trevor up, especially after a bad game. Sure, I found Trevor attractive. I maybe even wondered sometimes what it would be like if we were in a relationship. However, neither one of us had done anything to suggest we should be more than friends. And I didn’t like Trevor like that…right?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I replied, continuing to apply my blush. “I don’t like him like that.”

“Bull fucking shit!” Tate countered. “You have such a fat crush on him.”

“I do not!”

“Y/n, be so for real.” she said, walking into the bedroom and standing next to me. “I think you should kiss him at midnight.”

“What?” I asked, slightly taken aback by her, almost out-of-pocket, suggestion.

“Listen, just ask him if he has someone to kiss at midnight and if he doesn’t you won’t either so boom!”

“That’s never happening.”

“Oh come on.”

I continued to apply my makeup, not fueling the conversation any longer. “Consider it.” Tate sang out, walking back into the bathroom.

I rolled her eyes but the idea of kissing Trevor at midnight stayed with me. When I thought about it, I got nervous. What would his lips feel like? What would he taste like? Would he be soft and gentle? Or passionate and strong?

I caught myself mid-thought and dispelled it. I didn’t like Trevor like that. End of conversation.

The two of us finished getting ready and ordered an Uber to take us the short ride to Trevor and Jamies’ home. When we arrived, there were already quite a few people there, spilling out onto the front lawn. We maneuvered our way into the home, pushing past drunk people and fanning away clouds of smoke, before finding ourselves in the living room.

“It is so hot in here.” I whined, fanning myself. The smell of the air was a combination of drugs and sweat, making my stomach turn.

“Look who I found.” Tate says, waving to someone behind me. I turn around, seeing Trevor walking toward us with a happy smile on his face.

It was clear he put effort into his look tonight as he donned a fresh haircut and a loose cream polo with dress pants. He looked good put together and I would be lying if I said my breath didn’t catch in my throat as I took in his look. He bent slightly, wrapping his arms around my torso, and giving me a soft squeeze. “Welcome, girls.”

“Thank you for having us.” Tate said, accepting a side hug from Trevor. “You look dapper tonight.”

Trevor chuckled, motioning to his outfit. “Thank you, I am in my new year's eve best tonight.”

I look him up and down, admiring the way his pants are snug around his thighs. The sleeves of his button-down are rolled up, exposing the intricate tattoo of an angel on his forearm. I go to look at his face, only to realize he is looking me up and down as well.

“Hey stop eye fucking each other in front of me.” Tate said, pulling our eyes off one another.

My eyes widen and I give Tate a smack on the shoulder, while Trevor laughs it off. “Listen, there are drinks in the fridge if you guys want anything.” He tells us, changing the subject.

“Trevor!” We all hear someone shout.

All of us turn and see Mason walking into the room. “Happy new years guys!” he shouts, pulling us into a group hug. It was clear Mason had already made his way through a shot…or four. “Trev, Matty just got here, I want you to meet him.”

Mason begins to pull Trevor away before he can protest. Before leaving the room, Trevor turned back to us. “I need to see you before midnight! Please find me!” he calls to me, just as he is dragged out of the room.

I turn to Tate, a mixed look of shock and realization on my face. “Oh my god, Tate. I’m in love with that boy.” I say.

“I knew it!” She squeals.

“What do I do?” I panic.

“You find his ass at midnight and kiss him.” She says.

“No, it’s not that easy.” I sigh. “What if he doesn’t share the same feelings?”

“After the way he looked at you there? No chance you’re just a friend to him.” Tate tells me.

I look back at the doorway he just left through, a smile coming onto my face. “Oh you’re so cute when you’re pining after someone.” Tate gushes. “Alright, let’s go get drinks.”

She drags me to the kitchen, finding drinks in the fridge for us. Trevors’ choice of words replays in my head. I need to see you before midnight. Please find me.

I can’t help but wonder what he means. Why did he say he needed to see me? What if he did want to kiss me at midnight?

These thoughts occupied my mind for the rest of the night. Each new room Tate and I walked into, I scan for his face, to no avail. About an hour before midnight, Tate’s boyfriend Eric arrives and suddenly I’m hardcore third-wheeling. I now get desperate in my search for Trevor, his words almost tormenting me now. For a little bit, they help me look for him, but eventually, I can tell they want some alone time, so I leave them and make my way to the backyard.

With less than 30 seconds till midnight, I found myself alone on the patio, looking out at Trevor and Jamie’s view of Anaheim. It was so beautiful, seeing all the lights, especially the moon bouncing off the water in the distance.

Behind me, I hear the door slide open and then shut, briefly letting out the sound of people counting down from 10. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see a couple looking for alone time, but instead saw Trevor with grateful eyes. The butterflies in my stomach took flight, seeing him with the top two buttons of his shirt undone and his silver chain catching the moonlight.

Trevor walked over to me, a smile on his face. I tucked my hair behind my ears as he approached me, unsure of what was about to happen. As the people indoors reached the end of their countdown, Trevors' hands found my face, grabbing it and connecting our lips. It took me by surprise but by no means did I want it to stop.

He slowly separated himself from me, but not backing away more than a couple of inches. He stared into my eyes for a moment before catching himself.

“I am so sorry, it just happened I-I-”

I lightly grab his chin, causing Trevor to halt his rambling. “Please don’t ever apologize for kissing me.” I say.

I resume the kiss as Trevor, less tense now thanks to my reassurance, slid his hands down to my waist, finding a grip on my hips. My hands fell to the back of his neck, pulling him into me. I slip my tongue past his lips, deepening the kiss and sliding my hands up to his hair. We only broke apart when we heard the sliding door open. People streamed into the backyard, some jumping into the pool.

“Happy New Year.” Trevor said, tucking a piece of hair behind my left ear.

“Happy New Year, Trev.” I replied.

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 1

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

AO3 Link: click here

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

It starts with dreams.

The first one, he stands in the middle of his living room. Everything is exactly where he left it, contrary to many of his previous dreams where reality constantly shifts. It's different this time, because it's so real, like he actually stood there with his socked feet on the carpet, lights and lamps on and the windows dark outside. He breathes, and he feels his lungs expand, and he speaks. He talks. There are people standing around him in a semi-circle. One by the stairs, one on the bottom step, a couple in front of the TV, and the others in front of the blinds. And they have distinctive colors and cadences, so vivid in their mannerisms. They argue, they debate, they laugh, they listen.

It starts with that first one, a dream yes, but for some inexplicable reason Thomas finds himself gasping awake in a cold sweat. He throws off his covers and sweeps around the room, unable to get past the nagging sensation that he is not alone.

More dreams persist, to lesser degrees. There is nothing to do about them but experience them. He dreams of horseback riding with a prince, riding fast through wind-swept lands. He lays under a starry night and points out constellations with someone who knows more than he ever could. He bakes cookies and hums 'Sweet Caroline' with another voice keeping harmony. There is wine and he shares a drink with a cloaked, dapper fellow. He falls into the ocean and meets what lurkes beneath, hears cackles beneath the waves. And he lets hands nestle protectively over his ears and tell him to breathe in and breathe out.

For weeks, the images of these- people? They haunt him in his sleep like wisps of smoke. So real in the moment, but fogged over when his eyes open. He tries to recall the things said, their exact expressions, who they remind him of. There has to be a reason they plague his nights. A connection he missed. Why it seems to matter, he doesn't know, only that it did. Incredibly so. Thomas could write off the dreams. If it was just some really specific, lucid dreams he kept having, fine, he can deal. Maybe refer to a dream dictionary, see what might be bugging him in real life.

Then he starts to see the dream people in the waking world.

He's filling his thermos in the kitchen and out of the corner of his eye, he catches a black polo shirt and blue tie. When he looks at the sink, there's no one standing by it. He turns around, but Thomas is definitely alone in his house. He shakes it off. Rationalizes it. Moves on.

He stands in the store, contemplating the pros and cons of protein bars versus candy bars. A yellow hand flashes, and he swears he glimpses a hatted figure., but as Thomas spins around in the aisle, there's just a mom and her kid. No one dressed that formal or intriguing.

Thomas gets together with his friends. They're working on a new video, a music mash-up because those have done well in the past. For a second, he blinks and there's a figure dressed in white and red standing next to a hooded figure, and it's like they're a part of his friend group, just goofing off. But when Thomas blinks again, there's no one standing behind Quil, and Terrance is waving his hand in front of Thomas's face to get his attention.

He goes to bed, dozes and peeks the eyes that stare at him from the open closet door. There's a shine of sequins and jazz hands. Before his heart can start, there's a soothing weight at his side. It reminds Thomas of when he had nightmares as a kid, how his dad would sit at his bedside and tell him goofy stories with the most serious voice. The prescence remains even as he drifts to sleep. It follows him into his dreams.

For weeks, it goes on, and Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point. How does one say, "I think my imagination has dreamed up whacky characters who are now haunting me." They'd tell him he's working too hard, that he should get more sleep, or that he's always been so creative. Worse, they'll think it's more serious. It can't be that serious. It can't be actual hallucinations, right? He's not really interacting with them, and though it feels real for those half-a-seconds, it's not concrete. It's out of focus, and somehow not alarming. Should he be alarmed?

It's a whole mishmash of indecisiveness. It's the American way, to say, "Well I'm not dying, so I don't need to go to the hospital yet." He's just one Floridian man with a lot on his plate, and yeah, maybe he's working too hard, maybe his head had been hurting more lately from all the whiplash of trying to spot the men from his dreams. Maybe he's just going through a weird phase. If he waits long enough, surely...

He works himself to exhaustion. And his head really has been hurting more than usual. It pounds through the back of his head and erupts behind his eyeballs. He's starting to toss and turn more in bed until he gives up altogether. One day, he goes out to meet Joan and Talyn. They take one look at him and send him back home. The bags under his eyes have bags, and they claim they can hang out just fine with him resting at his apartment. And the crowd of colors follow, the ghosts hanging close but always in the peripheral. 

He wants to tear his hair out in frustration at himself. He kind of does think he's going insane.

Then to no one's surprise, he gets sick. Really sick.

The headaches are insufferable. He's running a fever. He doesn't know how high. He lost his themometer at some point and told himself that he would eventually get around to buying another one. He can't leave the house to get another one. Hell, he can barely leave the bed. And he'd be damned if he calls anyone for help. The most he allows is a text to his mom letting her know that he needs to cancel coming over for lunch, that he's staying home to rest. She sends back a series of well wishes and love, and Thomas thinks of how lucky he is to be her son and thinks in spite of himself that she was here to take care of him.

He's never been that good at taking care of himself, and this latest illness brings it into perspective. He's got pills somewhere, Ibuprofen that could bring the fever down and ease the overwhelming ache, but it's like admitting defeat. They haven't been doing anything for his head lately anyway. There's definitely voices edging around him, reminding him of what he should do, how foolish he's being. How if he could only listen...

Thomas rebels and curls up into a shivering ball under his covers.

He doesn't keep track of time. The curtains hanging over his bedroom window are too thick to let much light in anyway. There's darkness, and there's pain. He comes out of another dream, half-awake and bleary-eyed. The pain in his head comes to a blinding, boiling point. It's far too much and Thomas full-out whimpers. Weakly, his body contorts to try to find some relief that he knows is not there.

"Medicine," he hears a voice. He doesn't know if it's one of them or himself begging. The fever has him in a death-grip and he questions if he ever truly woke up. "We've got to get him to take some medicine."

"I'm working on it!"

"I know this situation is worrying, but please try to remain calm. Let me try-"

Thomas gasps as a knife twists inside his skull. He sees little stars and fireworks, and it spins him so off-kilter he thinks he's about to faint or throw up. Belatedly, he realizes that he's crying. A dull panic envelopes him. He regrets not calling for help sooner. He thinks he's dying now. He wants his mom desperately.

"I don't like this."

"None of us like this!"

"He looks pale, like a corpse. Do you think he's dying?"

"Not at all. He's perfectly healthy, don't you see?"

"You're okay Thomas, we're here. I just wish-"

"Logan's got it! He managed to grab it, he's bringing it-"

"Okay, but how do we get him to take the medicine anyway? In case you forgot, we can't touch people!"

"Please don't yell, I'm trying to concentrate."

"Sorry."

It doesn't make sense, and Thomas isn't entirely convinced the chatter is outside of his head. It's so hot and so cold, and Thomas wishes he knew where he left his phone or how to make his muscles co-operate, or ya know just how to stop his head from exploding.

There's shuffling and the whisper of cloth moving. His bed dips? He swears someone is sitting on his bed right beside him. He hears the subtle swishing of a pill bottle, the cap opening. There's more words being said, but he can't concentrate past the ringing pitch in his ears.

He opens his eyes, not realizing he had closed them again. There's something being pressed to his mouth, a pale wrist hanging above his face.

He doesn't think, just grabs the wrist.

Dimly, he's aware that the chatter muffles. Mostly though, his clammy hand has the wrist in a frantic clutch. It's cold, and he kinda wishes he could pull it to his forehead, a cooling balm.

He whines again in misery and a voice clears their throat. Hands touch at his shoulders. First one, hesitant, then more. He's being sat up, and it does nothing but wrench his equalibrium into a joyride. Moaning, he sits in a gasping slump and waits for whatever is to come.

There's a couple of pills forcing their way into his mouth. He doesn't fight it, a part of him realizing someone is trying to help him. They slide past his tongue, and then a water bottle presses to his lips. They tilt his head back to allow him to pull slow sips.

It's not magic. The pain doesn't disappear, and the fever doesn't sporadically abate. He's still a mess, but there are hands lending him strength. They ease him back down on the bed. They right his T-shirt where it's bunched up and shift the covers. They push back his hair, and Thomas wants to weep when a wet cloth settles over his forehead.

There are whispers, soft and sweet and awed.

Drained, he falls unconscious.

***

When he wakes next, the headache is still there. However, it's a low thrum in a way that Thomas hasn't experienced in days. That in and of itself is no small miracle in his eyes.

His fever must have abadated at some point in his rest as well. He finds the covers have been kicked off of him, the vent from the AC blowing against sweat-damp skin. He feels gross and tender, and he can't remember the last time he ate anything substatial or had a proper shower. All in all, he might as well have been a piece of wet laundry that had been beat over a railing and left out to dry.

Can insides be bruised just by sickness alone? he thinks as he blinks lazily. There's the ceiling, white above him. In his room, there's a hush, and he knows even before he sits up that there's a crowd.

His arms shake as he pushes himself up. He's too tired to do anything but stare at nothing in particular. There are six people around in his room. It's not the biggest bedroom, so they're rather sandwiched in where they can.

He recognizes them of course. Thomas first sees the bowler hat. The guy who wears it sits in his only chair in the corner, legs crossed. A man decked out in sparkly green sits on the floor beside him, hair fluffed with a shock of white in the bangs. Standing at the foot of the bed, arms mid-pinwheel, is the prince. He's staring down at Thomas like- well, Thomas isn't really looking at his face, so he's not really sure, but it's like he's cut himself off mid-sentence once Thomas sat up.

There's another figure standing to Thomas's immediate right. It's the black polo shirt and blue tie. Glasses. The man's wearing glasses. Somehow, Thomas never noticed and he doesn't understand why his brain is latching onto this fact as if it's ground-breaking information.

Beside him on the bed sitting criss-cross applesauce is another guy with glasses. It's the one he dreamt of baking cookies with. He's hovering to his left, a hand raised in the air towards him but not going any farther.

"Hey there, Thomathy. Feeling any better?" He's got a polo shirt on too, but light blue. It looks like very soft fabric. The cardigan tied around his neck even softer.

Thomas doesn't react. Doesn't know how he's supposed to react. He still doesn't look directly at any of them, and he's not all the way convinced this isn't another dream.

"Hey Colon Sanders!" the green guy hollers. "Hey! HEY!"

"You know those people who think they can get through language barriers simply by being louder?" Bowler Hat says. "That totally works is what I'm saying, do keep trying."

The green guy does nothing more than blows a raspberry. "Poop. And shit. Poop shit."

"I... suppose it was a little much to hope," the prince gives a little chuckle, but it's sad.

"Is he still sick?" a gruff voice asks below Thomas and to the right. Out of view and almost missed. Thomas focuses on the purple hoodie. He's crouched beside the bed, arms barely taking up any room on the mattress by Thomas's hip. His fists are clenching. "Maybe he's gonna hurl. Does he look like he's going to hurl?"

"He is undoubtably still sick," Blue-Tie announces. "It will take time for him to recover, and we managed... much more than we thought possible last night. There is victory in small successes."

"Has anyone tried touching him again though?" the prince asks hopefully.

In answer, Thomas twitches his hand until it lands on Purple Hoodie's fist. There is definitely a hand there under Thomas's own. The cuff of the sleeve slides against the side of his hand. It's real too. Purple Hoodie gives a barely perceptible choking noise. He's gazing up at Thomas like he's sprouted wings and laid eggs. Thomas doesn't exactly meet the stricken stare, but it's close.

Around them, the others don't notice at first. They've started arguing, and wow is it weird to be able to hear all the words finally. He hears some of their names, and he hears their voices with crystal clarity. And all the while, the fist under his hand is beyond stiff and unmoving.

Cardigan, from Thomas's left, gasps. His hands fly up to his cheeks.

"Patton Pending?" Prince asks in response.

"Thomas is holding hands with Virgil, look!"

And everyone does.

Six pairs of eyes hone in on Thomas holding hands with a guy, and it's the least gay thing ever.

"I don't think I'm dreaming," Thomas declares. He picks up Virgil's hand for good measure, and the dude lets him. He's got this deer-in-the-headlights expression going on, and the eyeshadow he wears is impressive, but Thomas is more concerned with testing the weight of the hand. It feels like a hand and moves like a hand. Therefore, it must be a hand.

Thomas drops the hand. "Yeah, I don't think I'm dreaming." He grabs the water bottle left on his bedside table and calmly drinks some. He can't bear the tacky feeling in his mouth. He needs to brush his teeth at some point.

"Holy shit," Green Guy surmises. Bowler Hat has uncrossed his legs and sat forward with intent.

"Thomas?!" Prince and Cardigan and Blue Tie all say in varying stages of alarm.

"That's my name," Thomas agrees. He's so tired. He sits the bottle in his lap in favor of rubbing at his face. He thinks he remembers crying at some point. God, what a mess he must look like.

"You can see us?! Like you can actually see us?!" Prince exclaims. He staggers one knee onto the foot of the bed in his haste. His eyes are so bright they make Thomas's squint. "Thomas, please say you can see us. Don't let this be a dream."

"I've seen you guys in my dreams," Thomas murmurs. He doesn't know how else to answer. If he's matter of fact, maybe things will be easier to process.

To that, Prince is at a loss. An excited loss, but still a loss. He wears a half-cocked grin of question, glancing to Blue Tie and Cardigan and Virgil. And Bowler Hat is now standing beside him.

"Patton, do us all a favor and poke him," Bowler Hat commands.

Patton pokes Thomas's shoulder. It's gentle enough and sways Thomas minutely. With rapt attention, Patton pokes him again.

"I poked him," Patton says with wide eyes.

"You poked me," Thomas confirms.

And that's when the chaos erupts. They're all talking at once, some of them trying to get his attention again. Virgil's got a vice of a grip on the bedsheets. Prince tries crawling onto the bed, only held back by Bowler Hat. Green Guy grins at him in the most bewildered fashion. Blue Tie is gesturing for everyone not to talk over each other, and Patton keeps poking Thomas's shoulder while saying, "Poke, poke, poke."

It's a lot to take in for a guy who thought he was dying a few hours ago. With that same calm in place, Thomas drags his legs over the side of the bed onto the floor. Virgil scrambles back to give him room. Thomas wonders if he should apologize, and then reminds himself that this is his room and that dream people shouldn't exist.

"Thomas?" someone calls, he doesn't know who.

"I'm going to go get a shower," Thomas announces.

No one stops him. They get quiet again, and he can feel them watching him. His body is sore and his head won't shut up, but he manages well enough. Blue Tie steps out of his way so he can grab some clothes from his dresser. If anyone tries to say anything more to him, he ignores it completely. He's too busy barricading himself in the bathroom.

[megidonitram]

Everyone's Running From Something (ch. 4)

A Baldur's Gate 3 University Professor AU

Rating: M

Quick Summary: Astarion and Gale are two University English professors precariously mentoring a troubled 19-year-old and falling in love.

💖Main Pairing : BloodWeave,(Astarion/Gale) 💕Side Pairings: Shadowheart/Nocturne, Karlach/Dammon, Wyll/The Dark Urge, Tav/Tav 💔Past Pairings: Gale/Mystra, Astarion/Sebastian, Astarion/Tav

<=Previous Chapter | Master List | Ao3 | Next Chapter =>

**Please see Master List Entry for Full Content Warnings**

⏰Chapter Warning⏰ None

The all-hands meeting for the beginning of the semester went the same way every all-hands meeting at the beginning of semesters go. Every professor and TA in a humanities field got squeezed into a conference room that wasn’t quite big enough, had a powered sugar donut or a couple cubes of assorted melon with half a Styrofoam cup of burnt coffee, and listened to the departmental dean give an un-rousing speech about being on the same page with the other departments. Then he talked at nauseam about school policies and ran a quick training session over a new time-tracking software that would be implemented in 3 weeks’ time.

Gale scribbled down notes on a big yellow legal pad and tried to ignore Jen and Astarion, making faces at each other as he wrote. He’d been in academia long enough to know they’d both be crying to him in a few weeks when they messed up their timecards.

As the meeting drew to a close, a dapper man with slicked-back chestnut hair and a car salesman smile stepped into the room. Astarion went stiff like a cat puffing up to defend itself. The dapper man just gave him a plasticky, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The dean perked up a bit as he noticed the man lingering in the back of the room. “Raphael, what a pleasant surprise! I had no idea you would be joining us,” he exclaimed, “We were just finishing up. Are there any words of wisdom you’d like to impart to our humanities faculty?”

“Oh, nothing so important,” Raphael said, and suddenly Gale understood why Astarion was so on edge. Everything about the man oozed with a disingenuous charm that made Gale’s hair stand on end. “I just realized I forgot to send out a notice about the upcoming donor gala the next coming Friday. I realized you were all in a meeting right now, so I thought I’d pop in and remind you in person.”

Raphael’s eyes landed directly on Astarion as he spoke his next sentence. “There is a reasonable expectation that faculty attend these events.” Out of the corner of his eye, Gale saw Astarion’s expression go steely. “After all, we want to show up and show out for the people who allow us to do so much.”

“Of Course!” The dean chirped. “I know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The meeting adjourned, and Astarion immediately made a break for the door. Gale hurriedly gathered his things in one arm, instinctually following after the only person in the room he really knew, like a baby duck.

Raphael stepped into Astarion’s path before he could get out of the meeting room. “Ah, we meet again, Dr. Ancunín!” Raphael’s voice dripped with sugary contempt. “I will see you at the donor gala, won’t I?”

“Perhaps. Are you thinking about calling in that favor I owe you?” Astarion’s voice was clipped, his face unnervingly blank.

“I think I’d like to wait on that a little longer, but I would like you there in case I change my mind.” Before Astarion could respond, Raphael’s gaze slid off him and onto- “Dr. Dekarios! Wonderful to see you. Are you settling in well?” He reached out a hand to him.

Gale stuffed his legal pad into his work so he could shake Raphael’s hand. “Exceptionally well!” he replied. “Everyone’s done their utmost to make me feel very welcome!”

“Oh, you don’t have to fib on your new colleagues’ account, Dr. Dekarios. I’m more than familiar with how surly certain members of the English department can get.” Raphael laughed congenially, but Astarion shot him a poisonous look.

“I’m not lying to you, sir,” Gale replied. “Astarion’s been nothing but professional.”

“Well, perhaps he’s going a bit soft.” There was a flash of something dangerous behind his eyes. He turned to Astarion. “I shall see you next Friday.” It was a command more than a farewell, but he walked away all the same.

Astarion muttered under his breath. Gale didn’t catch what he said but could make an educated guess. Astarion exhaled a deep breath like he was equalizing pressure.

He turned to Gale and said, “Thank you.”

Gale blinked. “Of course.”

Astarion opened his mouth to say something else, but the words couldn’t or wouldn’t form.

Shadowheart stepped in between them, too concerned with responding to a text message to notice the weird tension. “Karlach wants to get drinks.” She said. “She got stuck in traffic and doesn’t want to drive all the way down here for nothing.”

“Roveer’s?” Astarion asked, a very weary resignation in his voice.

“Yes, probably.”

“Nothing like running into your students at a sports bar a week before classes start…” Astarion grumbled. “Fine. Let me finish here, and I’ll meet you there in, oh… 15 minutes.” He turned to Gale. “Are you coming?”

“To the office?”

Astarion gave him a perplexed look. “To the bar.” He clarified. “You should take the opportunity to meet Karlach.”

Gale could feel himself going bright red as Shadowheart snickered. “Right. Yes. I would love to.” He replied.

“I’ll let Karlach know you’re coming. She’ll be thrilled.” Shadowheart replied, giving Gale a warm smile. “I’ll go lock up. See you in a bit.”

“Come on then.” Astarion replied, nodding for Gale to follow him.

***

The all-hand meeting was on the third floor, so by the time they’d returned to the basement and back up a floor to leave, Gale was starting to fear his knees wouldn’t survive the week- let alone the semester. “There has to be an elevator in this building.” Gale huffed and puffed as he hoofed it up the last flight of stairs. He didn’t want his new colleague’s first impression of him to be of him on his hands and knees wheezing. “I can’t take much more of this…”

“There is, but personally I don’t like chancing it unless I really don’t want to be in a meeting.” Astarion slowed to a stop at the top of the stairs to wait for him. He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but he also seemed much trimmer than Gale was- or at the very least, his shirt accentuated the pleasing nip of his waist. Gale wondered if Astarion was a swimmer. “A history adjunct got stuck in it overnight a few years past, and it still reeks a little bit when it gets hot enough.”

Gale laughed, but Astarion very pointedly did not.

The conversation lulled a little bit.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Gale asked.

“That entirely depends on what you want to ask.” Astarion stepped into the hallway, taking a moment to slip into his grey wool peacoat before they ventured outside.

“Raphael, is he always…”

“Such an ass?” Astarion finished his thought. Gale wouldn’t have used such a strong word, but Astarion had gotten the spirit of the question right, at least. “He’s usually much worse.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a glorified middleman with too much power and time on his hands.” Astarion scoffed. “He enjoys putting things in people’s way and watching them try to wriggle their way out of problems he created. My advice is to deal with him as little as possible.”

“Is he who you went to talk to earlier?”

Astarion gave him a poisonous look that only confirmed Gale’s suspicion.

They walked across campus in uneasy silence. The bitterly cold wind whipped and whistled, tossing the last remnants of fall leaves across the concourse. The few student residents who’d gotten in that morning had either decided to hold up in their rooms or were enjoying their free time in more exciting corners of town. Gale found himself wondering what Xenia was doing... He hoped she wasn’t all alone in an empty dorm.

“Does Xenia have many friends?” Gale asked as they approached a crosswalk leading to the block of shops across from campus.

“Hm?” Astarion tapped the pedestrian-call button, which commanded them to ‘wait!’ in a mechanical voice. “I think she probably has more friends than she realizes she does. Kids like her tend to think they’re alone in everything.”

“Poor kid… Seems like she’s been through enough.” Gale sighed. There was something heartbreaking in the phrase ‘kids like her.’ It was sad to think that there were more 19-year-olds out there carrying emotional burdens far too heavy for their age- sadder still to think that if there weren’t, then Xenia would be alone.

“She’ll figure herself out eventually. She’s not like…” Astarion paused, seemingly a little shocked by what he was about to say. He leveled a wary glance at Gale. “She’s not a quitter, I mean.”  

“I’m sure she’s not. I just hope she doesn’t run herself ragged.” The walk light flashed, and they hurried across the street.

***

They were comedically out of place in Roveer’s Roadhouse. A group of grown adults in Oxford dress crowding around a sticky Bud-Lit branded high top surrounded by a bevy of flatscreen monitors playing every sports broadcast under the sun. Shadowheart was already nursing a syrupy cocktail out of a chipped margarita glass.

An extremely tall woman with a red tipped mohawk and smiling eyes bounded over to Gale and clapped a firmly friendly hand on his shoulder. “You’re the new Adjunct, I take it?” She asked. “I’m Karlach, Professor Cliffgate, if you’re nasty.”

“Gale Dekarios.” He reached out to shake her hand. She fist-bumped him instead, and Gale got a glimpse of a nasty burn scar peeking out from the sleeve of her jacket. “It’s a pleasure!”

“Aw, I have a great-aunt named Gale!” Karlach replied.

“I get that a lot…” Gale sighed. “I like your hair!”

“Thanks!” Karlach tussled her own hair. “Told my kiddos they could pick what color I dyed it if they all passed their benchmarks.”

“Does Balduran give benchmarks?”

“Oh, no. Teaching university is my side gig,” Karlach replied. “I’m actually a full-time middle school teacher.”

A spindly girl with bleach-blonde hair pulled into space buns sidled up to the table, clutching a notepad. “Can I take your order?” She seemed quite put upon being asked to do actual work on a slow day.

“Vodka Soda,” Astarion replied, holding his ID out to the server.

She took it and dropped it in her apron, jotted something down on her notepad, and turned to Gale with an expectant look.

“I’ll, uh, take a Corona,” Gale replied. He’d never ordered a Corona in his life, but it seemed like an acceptable ‘getting drinks with colleagues’ kind of an order.

The server stood there staring at him a moment long before she asked, “ID?”

“Oh, um…” Gale patted for his wallet and realized he left it in his desk drawer. “I didn’t realize I would need it…”

“You didn’t realize you’d need an ID at a college bar?” Astarion asked dryly as he turned to the server. “Just put it on my tab.”

The server nodded and walked away without asking if they needed anything else.

“Wow Gale, just one day on the job, and you’re already bumming free drinks off the department chair.” Shadowheart teased. She took a sip of her drink crinkling her nose at the taste.

Gale flustered. “I-I was going to pay with my phone, I swear! I wasn’t planning this.”

“Relax. We’re not so underpaid that I can’t afford to buy you one beer.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “You can return the favor when you get your first paycheck.”

Gale blushed. “Alright.”

The server brought them their drinks without another word, then plopped down at the end of the bar to scroll on her phone. Gale pushed the lime through the neck of his beer bottle and watched it fizz as it sank to the bottom of the dubiously golden liquid.

“So, did I miss anything important at the all-hands?” Karlach asked idly, stirring her bourbon and coke.

“You know you didn’t,” Shadowheart replied. “We’re changing timecard systems, and Raphael and Astarion are in another one of their weird power struggles-there, I saved you an hour and a half.”

Karlach’s eyes lit up, and she turned towards Astarion. “Before the semester even starts?” There was a conspiratorial glee in her voice. “What the fuck could he have possibly done this time?”

“Why spoil the mood by ruminating on that rat bastard?” Astarion said. He picked the lemon slice out of his drink and laid it on a napkin. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Fair.” Karlach shrugged. She turned back to Gale and fixed him with a warm smile. “So, Gale, what brings you to the wonderful world of higher education?”

Gale had thought a lot about what he would tell people when they asked him why he wanted to teach college. He’d written little speeches in the shower about the joys of teaching language and the satisfaction of helping students reach their goal, but sitting in a group of other English professors, that suddenly all felt very trite.

“I was a public librarian, but I had to step away from my last position when I got divorced.” He admitted. “I found a job at a community college teaching database management, and I realized I’d just always missed teaching.” He took a long pull of his beer. The sour of the lime battled with the bitterness of the beer on his tongue.

“Library science might be a harder industry to break into than academia. It must have been tough to leave that behind.” Astarion mused.

“I do miss it terribly sometimes… but my ex helped me get into graduate school and got me my first library job. If I stayed, I would never be able to make anything that was truly mine.” Gale sighed. He could see the wheels spinning in Shadowheart’s head as she tried to figure out his age.

“You talk like you’re as old as this bag of bone,” Karlach pointed a thumb at Astarion, who glared daggers at her. “But there’s no way you’re that old.”

“I’m 35.” Gale clarified.

“That’s a little bit older than I thought, but still nowhere near as old as Astarion,” Shadowheart said.

“You are barely two years younger than me.” Astarion snapped.

“Barely a decade older than Gale, too.” Shadowheart shot back.

Astarion rolled his eyes and muttered something into his drink. “Did you go to get your master’s straight out of undergrad?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

Astarion shrugged. “That’s just quite young to be with someone that well-established in their field.”

“Oh, we didn’t get together until I graduated.” That wasn’t entirely true. They didn’t get together publicly until he graduated. He didn’t know why he was still defending Mystra. It wasn’t like any of his new colleagues would ever meet her.

“I wasn’t trying to imply anything…” Astarion lied.

“Of course not.”

They both took a sip of their drink, holding awkward eye contact.

“Well, here’s to making something for yourself then,” Shadowheart said, holding her drink out to Gale for a cheers.

Gale clinked the neck of his beer bottle against her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

[simpinghour]

Cake and Pears at 2am Hange x fem! reader (ch 2)

Summary: What is meant to be a casual night out to hang with Mikasa and friends leads you to meeting the very dapper, very suave even though they sometimes remind you of a golden retriever, Hange.

This was meant to be a mafia AU and there are light mentions of it but that’s not the focus. Here you’ll read about a fem!reader who is 14 years younger than a nonbinary Hange but doesnt let that stop her from dating them.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Nonbinary Hange, gothkasa, Strap on sex, loss of virginity with strap on, this is smutty as hell and I have no regrets, side Eruri, Side Eremika, Squirting, Oral Sex, Fingering, also side Mikenana, Yelena needs her ass kicked, age gap, but not a creepy age gap I promise, I had to do so much research about strap ons for this damn fic

link to chapter 1

Ao3 link

Chapter 2

You were nervous the entirety of that following week, unsure if Hange was going to contact you. After going through several scenarios in your head, you finally put on a horror film to serve as a distraction. Just as you began screaming at the screen, telling the main character that she was an idiot to go out into the dark to investigate a strange sound, you got a text from an unfamiliar number Thursday evening.

‘Hi! Sorry it’s late, but I didn’t want to keep you waiting. It’s Hange, we met at Levi’s bar. If you were waiting, that is. I don’t want to assume. I’d love to meet you for lunch or coffee one day if that’s okay.’

A full-on scream left your mouth, and immediately you felt like a jackass. You weren’t in high school and Hange wasn’t your first crush, but somehow you were easily reverted to a swooning schoolgirl.

It was a few minutes before you replied, not because you wanted to play it cool but because you felt like an idiot and didn’t know what to say. Finally you told Hange that you’d love to meet them for coffee.

You insisted that you were fine with meeting at Starbucks, but they were adamant about wanting to take you to some café you’d never heard of.

“It sounds like Hange finally texted you,” Mikasa says dryly when you answer her call the next afternoon. “Does this mean you’re going to stop moping around like some sad emo?”

“I was not moping and I wasn’t acting like an emo,” you protest.

“Yeah, anyway. So are you two going out soon? Please tell me you made plans.”

“Yes, Mikasa, damn! We’re going to meet up for coffee next weekend.”

“Great,” she replies in a dry tone. “I’ll be there bright and early to do your hair and makeup. Also to do an outfit check because you know when you get nervous that focusing on anything is like trying to hold onto a snowball in hell.”

“Beautiful analogy, and fine. I’ll let you know what time when I speak to Hange again.”

As promised, Mikasa shows up bright and early, smelling of clove cigarettes with her makeup kit in tow.

“Have you showered yet? Did you wash your face? Did you moisturize and put on spf?” she asks in a tone that sounds somewhat accusatory.

“Yes to all of the above, boss,” you tell her mockingly. “And I’m not wearing this,” you continue, gesturing to your old Siouxsie tee shirt and leggings. “I sweat when I get nervous and I didn’t want to ruin my outfit.”

“Well of course you’re not wearing that,” Mikasa says, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go, I want to see what you picked out.”

Your date outfit is laid out at the foot of your bed, and Mikasa eyes each piece critically. A simple but cute blouse, skirt, cardigan and boots all in earth tones is what you picked out.

“Okay, that works with the type of makeup I have,” Mikasa announces while shoving you into a chair.  

Your best friend’s brusque manner of speaking was completely contrary to the way she delivered personal attention. Perhaps that was why your friend group had no issue with letting her practice makeup on them; it was relaxing enough to make one fall asleep. And that was why you found yourself almost dozing off from the almost ASMR-like sounds of compacts snapping shut and different brushes stroking over your face.

Mikasa works on your hair last, and you move your head as directed when she uses a spritz bottle to revive your curls. She arranges it in a style that is cute but also out of your face, which she knows you hate. Your makeup is perfect; Mikasa has the ability to do makeup that almost looks like a filter on one of those apps. There’s just enough color on your eyelids, cheeks and lips and you’re enthralled with everything.

“Yes, I know, my work is impeccable,” Mikasa tells you as she begins repacking her makeup kit. “Now get dressed.”

“You’re so damn bossy. But I love you anyway.”

***

An hour later, you drive to a quaint part of town that you’d only driven through. The coffee shop turned out to be gorgeous; instead of traditional tables and chairs there were squishy sofas and armchairs, and a real working fireplace. Everything was done in warm tones, and decorated with autumn and Halloween items as it was the beginning of October. You asked the waitress if you could take a cornered window seat, since there were two comfortable looking armchairs with a low antique table in between. waiting in a window seat, hoping that you wouldn’t have to wait long.

One in the afternoon was the chosen meeting time, and it’s five after when you get a text when they apologize for running late. When they finally arrive and find you sitting at the small table with the open menu spread out, they immediately grin and wave.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hange says after they sit down, taking the jacket that was thrown over their shoulder and draping it on the back of their chair. As they move you try to avoid the graceful column of their throat that’s peeking out from the unbuttoned collar of a light blue button down. Their long legs are encased in slim, tan trousers and they have on a matching red belt and suspenders. Their shiny auburn hair is messily pulled back just like before to expose a slanted smile, and you can feel your heart kick up a notch. “It took me forever to find my car keys.  I swear, I could trip over them ten times in an hour when I don’t need them but the moment I do? They sprout legs and walk away. You look amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you, so do you. I almost wondered if I’d got stood up,” you say jokingly, and Hange looks aghast.

“Definitely not!” they reply adamantly. “Levi told me I was a dumb ass for not asking for your number that night, along with Miche. But after that graceless encounter with my ex, I didn’t want to seem pushy.”

“Nah, you would have definitely got my number,” you assure with a grin. Just as you lean forward with an elbow on the table, a waitress comes over and asks if you two are ready to order.

“I didn’t get to ask you much about yourself the night we met,” Hange says after you two have placed your orders. “You let me ramble on and didn’t stop me.”

“I liked listening to you,” you admit with a shy smile. “What do you want to know?”

“Ehh, anything. Favorite food? When’s your birthday? What are your hobbies? Do you have any pets and if so, can I meet them?”

You tell Hange about yourself and they do the same. You find out they’re a chief scientific officer of a lab on the outskirts of the city. That in itself sounds fascinating and Hange is all too eager to talk about their work.

“Wait, I thought you and Levi and everyone else…” you trail off, wanting to ask about the whole mafia thing but unsure if that question would be well received.

“Oh, that,” Hange replies with a small smile. “Let’s just say it helps to have someone around with my background.”

“I gotcha. Do you have any pets?”

“No, unfortunately not. I like cats but my place isn’t exactly the safest place for one.”

“I could always see if there’s a cat café. Maybe we could go together.”

“Cat cafes?! Those exist?!”

Hange looks so excited and adorable that you want to kiss them.

The date lasts a little over two hours. Despite the age difference, you find that you and Hange have a lot in common and a million things to talk about. You’re sure you could have talked to them some more only the waitress is apologetic when she brings the check, stating that they have a two-hour seating limit.

When you reach behind the chair to grab your purse, Hange immediately stops you.

“It’s my treat since I invited you,” they continue, pulling out a wallet to withdraw a silver card and place it in the bill holder.

“Fine. But can I leave the tip? The waitress was really nice.”

“Something tells me it’s futile to argue with you so I’ll concede,” Hange tells you teasingly.

Once the bill is paid, you and Hange head out to the parking lot. It’s clear that neither of you are ready to part ways just yet, and you end up standing outside talking for another twenty minutes.

“Okay, as much as I hate to say goodbye it’s clear that you’re cold,” Hange tells you when they notice you shivering despite your upper half being covered in a thick cardigan.

“I don’t either,” you tell them in a pained voice with a grin, “but yeah, I am getting a little cold. This is that weird part of autumn when it’s hot one minute and cold the next.”

“Well I’m hoping we’ll see each other again? Sooner rather than later?” Hange asks hopefully.

“Oh trust me, we will,” you admit. “I had a good time today. This was nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Hange sighs, slumping back against their car door. Then they straighten up and sort of turn towards you. “Is it okay if I hug you goodbye?”

“Yes, it’s definitely okay,” you answer, and immediately step closer to them.

“Damn, you smell good,” you murmur against their neck upon catching a whiff of what smells like tobacco and sweet vanilla.

“So do you,” Hange says in a similar tone, their head almost buried in your curls. “Your hair smells amazing.”

“You aren’t making us having to part ways any easier,” you tell them in a slight whine.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Hange lets you go and reaches into their pocket for their car key. “Will you let me know that you got home safe?”

“Will do!” you reply, turning to get into your car.

***

When you text Hange upon getting home, they immediately text you back and tell you that it was nice to see you and they look forward to your next date.

Later that evening after dinner and a bath, you find yourself online searching for a local cat café. You’re surprised to find a cat café that isn’t too far, but it’s a thirty-minute drive away.

You text Hange and ask if they’re busy next Saturday and if not and they want to hang out, you’d love to take them somewhere. Hange calls you pretty girl and says they’ll go anywhere with you. They also state that they’ll meet you at your house if that’s fine because their house isn’t exactly close to anything.

Hange is excited to be in the passenger seat and is surprised when you let them connect their phone to your car so they can put on a playlist.

“You really don’t mind?”

“Nah,” you reply. “There isn’t much I don’t listen to so I’m sure I’ll like whatever you put on.”

The easy beat of indie music fills your car, and you laugh after hearing a handful of songs by bands you also listen to. Talk of music and bands you both like takes place the rest of the ride, and soon you’re pulling up to the destination.

“What! You found one!” Hange yells when they see the glass window of the cat café. On it are adorable hand drawn kitties frolicking about between mugs and plates of desserts.

They continue losing their shit after you two walk inside, and soon they’re seated with a latte that has a cat face drawn into the foam, which goes ignored for the hazel-eyed grey tabby who leapt onto Hange’s lap to sniff their sleeve.

“Ooooh, aren’t you cute!” Hange coos, holding out a hand. The cat ends up shoving their head into Hange’s palm, demanding to be petted.

While Hange is busy meeting the demands of their new furry friend, you slip away to find a dispenser that sells cat treats. After you return to the table, you slide some of them in Hange’s direction and they immediately pick up one and the cat politely takes it from their hand.

“Oh my goodness, he ate it! What a good boy!” they enthuse, happily stroking his head.

The rest of the afternoon finds you and Hange seated on the floor near the cat towers, dispensing treats and cuddles. A striped tabby with white socks found its way to your lap and keeps hugging you, and you laugh when she nuzzles her face against yours.

“I want to take you home,” you tell the kitty, on the verge of tears with joy when she purrs contently as you stroke her back.

Eventually it becomes apparent that multiple cups of lattes and macarons aren’t enough sustenance, and hunger drives you two to finally leave. Then it turns out neither of you are ready for the date to be over, and you both get takeout sushi and bring it back to your place.

“Today was fun, thank you,” Hange tells you later after you’ve finished eating. Now you two are on the sofa with hot mugs of tea before you on the coffee table, and Hange is sticking their legs out straight and flexing their toes in the thick fuzzy socks you loaned them. “These are cute. And comfortable.”

“You can’t relax properly at home until you have on comfy socks,” you reply, then something else comes to mind. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you look surprised when I paid for our stuff at the café?”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Ah. I think it’s because besides my friends, I’ve never had a date offer to pay.”

You stare at them incredulously with your mouth open. “Hange… what kind of derelicts did you date?”

They give you a sort of embarrassed laugh while ruffling their hair.

“Did Yelena expect you to pay for everything? Even if she was the one who offered to take you out?”

“Ah…I think so?”

“Hange!”

“What?”

“You can’t let people take advantage of you like that.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was a big deal. I did make more money than her, which she even pointed out so—”

“That makes it even worse! No wonder Levi hated her entitled ass—whoops, pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Hange laughs raucously though they no longer sound embarrassed. “I guess Mikasa told you about that. It’s true though; he didn’t like her. Actually, neither did the rest of my friends.”

“Now Mikasa didn’t tell me this, but I’m guessing Levi said she was selfish. Am I right?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. But I know her type; there was a time when I was surrounded by selfish people but I was too involved to realize. You know that analogy about not seeing the forest for the trees? That was me.”

“I see. Was that an old boyfriend, or…”

“Boyfriend, friends, and family. I’m twenty-six now and it took me twenty-one of those years to get to a point where I no longer tolerate selfish people. It’s funny how many people no longer like you when you force them to respect your boundaries. It’s fine though; I have really great friends now.”

“You’re a good person,” Hange murmurs. “How are you single right now?”

“Have you met some of these people?” you ask, giving a dry laugh. “It’s not that hard, believe me.”

“I suppose you’re right. Though now I am curious; have you been with someone like me before?” Hange asks, leaning their head against a hand while peering at you.

“What do you mean, someone who’s super smart, nonbinary, or the whole organized crime thing?”

You say the last part in a sort of whisper and it makes Hange laugh. “You’re cute. Either or.”

“Both, but if it matters I don’t have much experience with seriously dating anyone of any gender.”

“What? That’s surprising.”

“The dating world is a cesspool,” you explain, thinking back to all the secondhand knowledge you gained at the expense of your friends and their failed relationships. “The last few guys I went out with were so charming— at first. It was a damn case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; one demanded a blowjob because he paid for my one cider at the bar. The other ran up a $200 drink tab and claimed he forgot his wallet when it was time to pay the tab. Mind you I only had a couple of sodas because I don’t get drunk around people I barely know.”

“What the hell! How did that night end?”

“The bar owner gave him two choices—either wash dishes or go to jail for the night. I paid for my two drinks and left before he made a decision.”

“So no old girlfriends?”

“Crushes, yes. Girlfriends… no.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I was too shy to tell a girl I liked her,” you confess, cringing as you think back to the few times you made an attempt at flirting with a girl. “Though one time we all went to a club and two girls literally made me into their sandwich filling and danced with me most of the night. And by dance, I don’t mean in the ‘leave enough room for the Holy Ghost’ kind. Anyway, I asked one of them for her number at the end of the night, and she told me she was straight and seemed so offended that I even considered her like that. Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt.”

“They were probably using you to keep other guys away, but that’s only supposed to be done with a friend or consenting person,” Hange explained. “That way no one is hurt or offended.”

“Is that what that was about?!” you exclaim, mouth hanging open. “I felt so confused for the longest and wracked my brain but kept coming up empty.”

“Unfortunately yes.

“On the topic of dating and such, do you mind if I ask what happened with Yelena?”

“I don’t mind. Yelena and I were off and on for the last few years but things got really bad since last summer. You know what they say about ignoring red flags when they’ve been there all along?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Well, that happened. The last straw was coming home to find that she’d trashed my place and stole some of my things. The only reason she didn’t finish is because Levi has a key to my place and stopped by to drop off something and caught her in the act. He told her to get her shit and get out before he snapped her neck and buried her carcass where no one would ever find it.”

“Yeah, he seems like he can be scary.”

“Only if he doesn’t like you,” Hange says brightly. “He never did like Yelena but I didn’t listen to him. He turned out to be right when he said she was a selfish narcissist with a toxic personality. But you said the same thing happened to you?”

“Well, not exactly the same but the narcissist thing? Oh yes, only it was a friend. That’s sort of how I met Mikasa and Armin. I was friends with this girl and when I turned 21, she swore we had to go to a club and get shitfaced. Personally I hate the feeling of being so drunk that I want to puke, but she and her little clique thought that was the only thing to do on the weekend. Anyway, I got ditched because she wanted to hook up with some random guy.”

“What?! That’s horrible.”

“I know. What makes it worse is I was always the mom friend who stuck to one or two drinks or didn’t drink at all, only because I knew those idiots were going to get knee-walking drunk and end up needing to have their hair held back while they puked out their guts. Actually, that’s how I met Mikasa. She found me crying in the bathroom after I was sick and she helped me fix my makeup because by then, I looked like a raccoon. I ended up hanging with her and her friends the rest of the night and they made sure I got home safely.”

“That sounds like Mikasa,” Hange replied. “She and Levi are similar like that; they look like they’ll cut you but deep down they’re both very kind. Mikasa offered to help deal with the Yelena situation but I didn’t want her to get into trouble.”

“So is Mikasa into, err, the same things as you all?”

That makes Hange chuckle. “No, Levi would have a fit if she did anything untoward, but let’s just say Mikasa can hold her own. That’s the only reason Levi isn’t too worried about Eren; he knows if he were to try anything Mikasa would turn him into mincemeat but between you and me, I think Eren is okay. He’s young and a bit simpleminded, but he’s loyal and he’d kill someone if they tried to hurt Mikasa.”

“Yeah, I believe that but damn, I just wish Mikasa would focus on the time and not his cock when we’ve made plans to meet up somewhere.”

Hange laughs raucously and even though you were being serious, you end up laughing with them.

“I swear, I’m not bitter or anything,” you continue. “I couldn’t believe it when her stoic ass met him. It was like someone switched on a damn light or something. Everything was about Eren; Eren this and Eren that. But I tolerated it because I knew she was in love.”

“So what about you? When was your last relationship?”

“Freshman year of college, I think? Surprise, surprise, it didn’t last long. He had the nerve to be shocked when I got mad at busting him screwing his lab partner. You know what he told me? ‘Well I have to get it from somewhere’, all because I declined his gratuitous offers of blowjobs or quickies when his roommate wasn’t around.”

“He sounds positively charming.”

“He held all the charm of a public bathroom at a gas station along the freeway. And not a good gas station, but a no name one with stale shitty snacks that you can only find on that one freeway.”

“And the filthy bathroom with no toilet paper and a broken door.”

“Exactly. See? You get me.”

“I like you. And this sofa; it’s dangerously comfortable,” Hange says through a yawn. “If I don’t get up now I won’t make it home.”

“I mean, I’m definitely not in a hurry to kick you out,” you reply casually. “I take naps here all the time. Say the word and I’ll grab some pillows and blankets. I’ll even grab a tee if you want to get more comfortable.”

“Well, it’s not like I had anything pressing to do tomorrow. Sounds good, let’s do it.”

A glance down at both your outfits are an instant reminder of the cat café; you’re both covered in cat hair and it makes you laugh.

“Okay, what about a shower first?” you suggest, plucking one of the hairs off your shirt. “You can use some of my sweatpants; sorry in advance because I’m sure your ankles are gonna be sticking out.”

“I’ve got these so I’ll be fine,” Hange replies, pointing down to the stripy fuzzy sock and wriggling their toes.

After taking turns in your shower and changing into comfortable clothes, you and Hange are buried beneath your comforter on the sofa. You both get through fifteen minutes of a horror movie before falling asleep against one another, and when you wake up to the sound of screaming, you realize that you’re both lying flat on the sofa. At some point you began using Hange’s shoulder as your pillow but apparently they hadn’t minded, because they’ve got an arm slung around you. You wonder if you should move but decide you’re too comfortable and end up shutting your eyes.

[st4rry-fruitz]

i love watching fit and phil do egg tasks together bc its like every time they turn around an egg is doing something insane.. fit says "RAMON GET OVER HERE" then phil turns around and oh look chayanne is in a tree OH ANDD dapper is grapple hooking and Oh come on now ramons placing tnt AND WTF CH–

[callm3-q]

WIP

disclaimer: Starhalo/sweetduo, Marriage, homosexuality[ don't know what else you'd expect from the LGBTQSMP]

-Summary-

-Bad and Ètoiles get married in the span of 15 hours, cause they don't know any better, and why the hell not :D

-Fluff

-WIP

Just a long term alliance, not a marriage proposal

[Ch 1- Isn’t that how it’s done?]

WHAT!? BAD! NO NO NO NO NO! AHHHHH! NO NO NO BUT ALSO FUCK YESSSSSS! BAD YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED! HOLY SHIT! IN I-IN LIKE… FUCK! IN LIKE 10 HOURS!? OH MY FUCK…

You good now?

Y-you’re getting married…YOU’RE- YOU, YOU, MARRIED!?

Well… I wouldn’t call it that… More of a… Long term alliance

Of course you would call it that…

Chill out Baghs, I already dealt with most of it

Really?

W-What? Of course! I’m not some soulless person who would give someone a crappy wedding! What kind of monster do you think I am?

Bad said, sounding kind of genuinely sad that she would think that.

W-Well… You are a demon…

…One thing you may not know about demons Baghs… We can through one heck of a party

…

…

…

Ok! 5 hours left… Hmmm… I cannnn… Ooh! I can make a new ring , I just needed one quick for the… asking for the long term alliance… Definitely not a proposal. Anyways! The store bought ones are always just straight terrible all gross and basic [for how expensive they are], non of which are anything close to what Ètoiles is, he’s just… The best. And he deserves the best, obviously. Why else would I marryyyyyy- suggest a long term not proposal alliance. 

…But how should the ring look… We need something that is easy to wear during combat, something that will stay on, and it has to be small, not to much, not to little, something that will suit him. Hmm… Maybe… Stars! That’s literally what “Ètoiles” stands for, something like… Like, we could, make thin outlines of stars around the ring, thin lines, so it doesn’t get caught on anything. I want him to be able to wear it all the time so people know that he’s in a long term alliance with me and not anyone else.

Bad had zoned out, not even noticing Dapper watching him from around the table. He only noticed when he felt a small tug on his cloak.

Oh! Good morning Dapper!

Good morning dad, what were you thinking about?

Oh, nothing important

Well, important or not I wanna know

Well, ok then. I’m going to a wedding in about 5 hours

What? Who’s getting married?

Me?

WHAT!?

What?

YOUR GETTING MARRIED DAD?!

Yeah?

TO WHO?! I’LL KILL THEM

Please don’t, and it’s not a ‘marriage’ per say, more of a long term alliance

Your getting married

I guess you could say it like that, if you really wanted to

To who though? Who do you find good enough to marry you. I’ll kill them, nobody is good enough for my dad

That’s sweet Dapper, but please don’t kill Ètoiles…

Ètoiles?! Two of the people most known for not wanting to be tied down are getting married, what a sight to see

Not married Dapper, just an alliance

Yeah Yeah whatever. What about this ‘alliance’ were you thinking about

Well, I was thinking about just making him something

A ring?

How did you know? But yeah, I wanted something better that the stupid store bought ones, those ones stink

I agree, what design were you thinking of doing?

Well… I’ll draw it out for you, but be nice, I’m not an artist Dapper

…

…

…

It’s so pretty dad!

Thanks  Dapper… But like I said I’m not an artist…

Just give yourself the credit you deserve, but I would like to make a small sudjestion

What is it?

Make the jewel thingy on the top red

You sure?

Yep

Well If you say so Dapper, I’m gonna get to work

Ok, I’ll help!

…

…

…

What do you think Dapper?

It’e perfect!

That’s good to hear…

Are you ok?

Yeah…

Nervous…?

Kind of I guess…

It’s normal to be nervous dad

I know…

You’ll be great, and I’ll be there, right by your side cheering you on

Thanks Dapper

Bad choked out, not expecting to be crying. He brought Dapper into a hug, holding him tight. Crying into the top of his head, Dapper gladly accepted the hug. He felt bad, but proud. It was nice to see Bad getting this rush of emotion, felling so deeply about this, trusting someone enough to, finally, have a bigger bond that just a really close friendship.

You’ll do great dad…

All Dapper got in return was sobs, soft and quiet, but still audible.

Dapper looked slightly to the side, hearing the warp stone go off. He saw a small figure peeking out from the door. He signaled Pomme to come in, trying to not disturb Bad, who seemed to not hear the swoosh sound of the warp stone

Are you ok dad?

I-‘m ok Pomme

What happened…?

Pre-wedding jitters…

W-

Pomme paused, not wanting to make her dad more upset or nervous, but still having questions, having not heard about this until just now

You’ll do great dad… I’m sure the person your marrying will be  so happy to be with you

Yeah! 

Dapper replied, patting his dad’s shoulder softly

Calming Bad’s sobs down into small hiccups

T-thank you kids…

No problem Dad… How much time before you’ve got to go?

Li-ke 2 hours…

Why don’t we get you dressed then

Pomme snickered, a wide grin sprawled onto her face 

Ok Pomme

Bad replied with a chuckle

…

…

…

You look so pretty dad!

Pomme said, ecstatically 

You think so?

We know so

Dapper replied proudly

You guys want to go get ready? I made sure I got you something you would like to wear, as a surprise from me to each of you specifically.

Ooooh yayyyy!

Pomme and Dapper ran into their bedrooms to get changed

…

…

…

Let’s get going…

Your gonna do awesome dad..

Thanks Dapper… Ok… let’s go…

…

…

…

Woahhhhh, this place looks amazing

Pomme said looking around, mouth agape in awe

Thanks Pomme…

Bad replied with a small smile spreading across his face

You did this dad?

Dapper looked up to Bad in shock

Yeah…

Woah…

Dapper had the same reaction as Pomme, mouth agape

I know it’s kinda crappy-

It’s amazing!

Well… I’m gonna go to, whatever that place is

Ok, see you later dad!

Bye Pomme, bye Dapper

…

…

...

[Dappers POV]

There were a lot of people there, guess word really spread fast, people were crying in joy? Pride? I don’t really know, but still, a ton of people. It would probably make dad freak out a bit.

Dapper kinda was wondering who would walk Bad down the aisle, kind of having a sneaking suspicion of who would. Not wanting to assume anything though.

Dapper saw Ètoiles walk out first

He looks… Fine… I guess… Nothing compared to my dad though.

Following he saw Sunny, Pomme, Empanada, Tallulah, and Leo. Pomme leading the group proudly, even though she had just figured out she was a flower girl. 

[End of POV]

Pomme, and all the other little huevitos in their little flower petered dresses, perfectly matching the color theme of the beautiful setting around them. Matching Almost all the things Ètoiles had told in secrecy to Bad, matching the things that he loves. All the colors, down to matching all the tones perfectly, the music, the setting, the time of night, all the stars visible through the glass roof. It was perfect.

Ètoiles saw Bad standing at the entrance, and my god did he look stunning. He felt his face get red, how could he not. He also saw Foolish? Walking him down the aisle, shocked that Foolish would agree. It also looked like he was crying? Again, shocking. But it was cute, they really do care about each other.

Once they had gotten all the way up to where Ètoiles was, Foolish went to stand to the side, behind Bad wiping the tears from his face. Ètoiles took in all the little details of the masterpiece that was in front of him, the luminous glow of Bad’s eyes to every little barely noticeable scar that covered his face, and even the barely visible freckles that were splattered perfectly on his face. He truly was just the definition of beautiful.

The outfit he had on just solidified it even more in Ètoiles’s mind, Bad was wearing a white suit, tailored to a perfect fit. He had on matching white shoes, guessing Pomme had helped him with the outfit, cute. But his suit, my god his suit. It was perfect, almost dress like, but not fully there. It was flowy and moved softly in the wind, like water. That’s what gave it away that Pomme and the other kids helped Bad with the outfit, always making Bad wear these kinds of things, Ètoiles wasn’t upset by it though, better for him. Bad can just find a way to make any outfit look good.

…

Bad inspected Ètoiles just as closely, seeing the way his hair effortlessly falls perfectly on his face, despite the wind blowing in the opposite direction, looking at his eyes, the light green blush spread across his face, the mask that usually hid the details of his face now gone. Ètoiles was so handsome, unbelievably and upsettingly so, how can he just so effortlessly look this good. And the black suit he was wearing suite him perfectly.

Both thoughts were quickly stoped when Dapper and Pepito came with the rings, holding them carefully.

Bad picked it up and put in onto Ètoiles’s finger, as Ètoiles stared in awe, at the intricate work of the ring, ‘Ètoiles’ inscribes into it, with a small red ruby on top, seeing how well put together this was, Ètoiles was ashamed of how sloppy his would look compared to Bad’s.

Ètoiles picked up the second ring and slipped it gently onto Bad’s finger, Bad was shocked that the islands greatest fighter was able to pull something so intricate off, the ring looked almost spiraled, The word ‘Halo’ inscribed on the inner walls of the ring, a small emerald embedded on the top.

…

…

…

Blah Blah Blah, after all the other boring wedding stuff

Vows

Recession

Procesional

Readings

The officiant

Etc

Let’s skip to the good part

[The Kiss]

Bad had gotten Max to officiate the wedding, seeing that he’s done it time and time again for the islanders.

…

Do you, Ètoiles, take BadBoyHalo, as your lawfully wedded husband

I do

Ètoiles stated, with no hesitation whatsoever

And do you, BadBoyHalo, take Ètoiles, as your lawfully wedded husband

I do

Bad said, with somehow less hesitation than Ètoiles

Then, by the power invested in me, I pronounce you husbands. You may kiss the Groom

Ètoiles grabbed Bad and immediately kissed him, dipping him. 

Bad didn’t fight back, gladly accepting everything that Ètoiles did. 

They stayed like that for a bit longer, before standing up straight again. Only looking at each other, only letting a quick glance out to the crowd. Seeing the Huevos still covering their eyes in disgust from the kiss made them laugh. They looked back to each other, love visible in their eyes. Ètoiles took Bad’s hands in his, noticing that they were way smaller than his. How they fit perfectly into his, how soft they were.

Ètoiles saw how happy Bad looked, he had never seen him so exited or happy before. It felt nice to see.

Bad looked lovingly into Ètoiles’s eyes, seeing him look back with just as much love. He had almost never felt so happy, first being when he got Dapper. Oh! Dapper! Where was Dapper? Bad looked around for him, quickly seeing him sitting with Richarlyson, Pomme, and Cheyenne by the kitchen. He smiled at Dapper, before looking back at Ètoiles

…

…

…

You did so good dad!

Dapper stated proudly

Y-Yeah

Pomme said, sobbing

Calm down Pomme

Bad said with a small chuckle

I-I-I Can’t! My- my dad-s j-ju-st got m-married!

Pomme said, still sobbing

Bad brought Pomme into a tight hug, gently patting her hair. Dapper squeezed his way into the hug, not wanting to be left out.

[Ètoiles’s POV]

Ètoiles was talking to Baghera, who was probably crying just as much as Pomme. But… Not out of happiness for him, more out of anger for not asking her for permission to marry her younger-brother-figure… Nice… But it’s not even like I knew, or even hoped the question! I only figured out I was getting married like, 15 hours ago! It was sudden, but still the best “Long Term Alliance” proposal I could of asked for.

Look Baghera, how could I have asked for your permission when, first, I wasn’t the one who proposed. And two, I didn’t even know I was getting married until 15 hours ago… sooo, how could I have asked for your permission?

Wait… 15 HOURS?!

Yeah…?

HOW!?

Isn’t that how it’s done?

NO?!

Oh

“OH”?!

Well either way, shut up about me not asking for your permission, be mad at Bad for not asking. I’m going to talk with Bad now, bye!

[End of POV]

Ètoiles walked over to Bad, hugging him from behind. Resting his head on Bad’s shoulder.

Oh, hi Ètoiles

Hi…

Are you ok?

Yeah

You sure?

Mhm

Ok

Hi dad!

Pomme said, running up to Ètoiles, hugging his leg

Hi Pomme, hi Dapper

Hi Ètoiles

Are you feeling ok dad?

Yeah, why?

You just seem a bit sad is all

Pomme said, moving back to look Ètoiles in the eyes

I’m alright, just tired I guess

You can go chill somewhere quieter if you want, I can keep everyone else entertained

Bad said softly, turning his head to look towards Ètoiles.

It’s ok

When you need to rest you need to rest, it’s nothing to be ashamed of love. It was a busy day

I know, I’m just waiting for you to be able to go with me

Ètoiles whispered the last part, placing a gentle kiss on Bad’s cheek

[splatteredfandoms523]

Ghost of the Manor (Ch. 5)

Jamesy taught me some sign now! We've been together for a couple months now! I never knew I could be this happy. I'll do anything for him to show him I love him.

He says I'm like a clumsy kid when I sign, but he loves that I'm trying. Of course I'd try to learn! I want to understand him better!

While he's teaching me, he does project his voice in my mind for now though. It makes things easier, but I am trying my best! We had a whole conversation in sign yesterday! He had to help me a bit, but I still figured it out.

But, we have been going on some downright lovely dates lately.

He showed me this adorable bakery with the cutest cupcakes you've ever seen! I bought so many, I think I bought all of the ones they had. I had to get enough to share with everyone, that way everyone could see how great this bakery was too!

Jamie seems to think I'm just a dope that loves sweets, but I'm his dope that loves sweets, so there! Dark and I do talk a bit now, but I think that he's happy being my friend and watching me be happy too. He told me as such.

Jamie took his chance on an absolutely horrendous night to try to cheer me up when I didn't know I could be cheered up. Then, he started teaching me sign, and I think he's also teaching me how to be a better person overall. He's just so kind and sweet to everyone, and I've been trying to do that too. Everyone seems happier now.

But, before ya know it, it's been 3 months since that awful night. Now, I'm happier than ever! I never knew that anyone could make me feel this loved until Jamie. I shower him in gifts and love and sweets to try to tell him all the time that I love him. He's also trying to expand my wardrobe as well as my heart and mind too. A little turquoise looks great on me.

Jamie even took me to this quaint little hat shop where he finds his bowler hats! He convinced me to try a fedora, and I have to say, Jamie hasn't been wrong yet! He said it would make me look dapper and handsome, and I definitely agree! Now, when we go out, I wear it with him so we can both wear hats together! We get all sorts of compliments! Even the Septiceyes, who I thought would tear me apart, said they liked the hat and how I make Jamie happy. I did get the threat of bodily harm if I ever hurt him, but if I ever hurt Jamie, I would definitely deserve it. I won't make the mistake of hurting him.

Tags: @southerndragontamer @iamvegorott

[pxppetafterdark2]

Oh so he's STRONG strong!

[uptoolateart]

All the Missing Pieces - Ch 23

Chapter Preview:

Adrien had it all planned to the last detail.

First, he tracked down the owners of the building where he’d set up the candles on the rooftop as a teenager. There was a restaurant on the ground floor, with the upper floors leased out as offices, all managed by one owner who was easily persuaded, with a little money, to hire out the roof for a night’s use.

‘Very romantic,’ the man said. ‘But don’t tell too many people, or you’ll shame the rest of us.’ He gave a little wink, and Adrien suppressed a laugh.

Then he talked to Sabine, who readily agreed to take all three children for the full weekend. ‘It’s important to have time to yourselves and remember who you are together without the children,’ she said. ‘Especially on your anniversary. Tom and I always made a point of going out without Marinette on our anniversary.’

These were reassuring words, because Tom and Sabine had been together about a thousand years and were his ultimate ‘ship’.

Next, he had a formal invitation drawn up on creamy card, with gold leaf lettering, hand-delivered to Marinette at her office, while he waited in agony for her response.

At last, his phone beeped.

Marinette: An invitation?? I don’t recognise the address I’m supposed to meet you at.

Adrien: Just be there.

He grinned. Of course she wouldn’t recognise it. Who paid attention to addresses when travelling by stick and yo-yo? But she would remember it when she was up there. The rooftops had once been their own private landscape.

Finally, he ordered roses – from a florist rather than plundered from his mother’s memorial – and candles, with his own money rather than the credit card Gabriel had granted him in lieu of love. Even after all these years, this simple act felt like one of the most adult things he’d ever done.

In the rare moments when he managed to capture some of Marinette’s attention at home, she pressed him for details. ‘I wonder what you’re up to,’ she said.

‘Hmm, me too!’ he replied.

And sometimes there were texts from her.

Marinette: What are you up to, Mr Agreste?

Adrien: I’m eager to find out – aren’t you??

By the time the weekend arrived, he was jumping out of his skin with anticipation. He’d done his thing of imagining everything in vivid detail, and now had to talk himself down so he wouldn’t be disappointed if it didn’t all go exactly as he’d planned.

‘Stay in the moment,’ he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Then he gave himself a smile of encouragement, took a deep breath, and went to the living room, where Hugo had gathered the twins and their overnight bags.

‘Very dapper,’ Hugo said.

‘Thank you.’ He’d put on one of his best suits, something he hadn’t worn since his modelling days. To his great relief, it still fit. He might have broken down on the floor if it had been too snug.

He dropped off the kids with their grandparents, then headed over to the building to set things up. The manager offered to help, but he wanted to do it himself, like he’d done all those years before.

‘But there are so many candles!’ the manager said.

‘I’m good,’ said Adrien.

He tucked away her anniversary gift in a safe spot, then headed downstairs, to the meeting point outside the stairwell entrance. He was early, so he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through social media posts until he’d exhausted the supply. Then he started up a word game. Between games, he looked around, checking for Marinette, but she wasn’t there yet.

After he’d got through five rounds of the game, he checked the time and….

Okay, no big deal. So she was fifteen minutes late. That wasn’t too bad…was it? It wasn’t like an hour.

Keep reading at Ao3

[heartlessfujoshi]

flufftober day 24 - aziracrow 'old friends'

Chapter: 5 of 6 Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: AziraCrow (Aziraphale x Crowley) Rating: Teen (Tooth-Rotting Fluff - Timeline what Timeline - Old Married Couple without being married - Minor Angst - First Kisses) WordCount: ~2,050 Prompt: Melting Emoji (🫠)

Read: Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

---

The farmer’s market was bustling, all stalls at maximum capacity, which made for a rather good morning at the market. There were quite a few people, almost shoulder to shoulder, as they got their items fresh from the farmers themselves. Aziraphale loved when the market was this busy, as it meant that there would be plenty of quality produce, and he could get any bargain he could for delicious fresh fruits and vegetables. 

After collecting everything he needed, which truthfully wasn’t that much, but he did enjoy shopping nonetheless, he headed to his favorite food stall that served delicious crepes. He was a sucker for the French treat, and with the stall owner, a former native of France, it was like being back in Paris. Today, however, he noticed something new on the tip jar. Tilting his head, he examined it, trying to understand its meaning, and was a little too embarrassed to ask about it, as it seemed it made people laugh and leave a bit of a larger tip. He filed it away in his head, and would ask Crowley about it later. 

Crowley. 

Oh, Crowley. 

The night the lights went out, things had subtly changed between the two of them. Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned it for fear that the demon would disappear again, and so he kept silent on the subject. However, Crowley had become a rather permanent fixture at his shop - more so now than ever before - and would lay down with him until he fell asleep. Sometimes they would kiss. Sometimes they would talk in hushed voices, reminiscing about old times. He would wake up and find himself alone, but there had been a few times when he would wake up, and Crowley was still curled around him, holding him in a possessive hug that he quite adored. 

He paid for his crepe, and made sure to leave a larger tip into the jar with the questionable item on it, and then headed back to his shop. He ate his entire crepe before getting home, tossing the rubbish into the bin on the corner before unlocking his shop’s front door. 

“Hello, Angel.” 

Startled, he turned to his left and saw the being he’d been thinking of. “Crowley!” He admonished him. “Don’t do that! Not when I have a bag full of delicate objects in my hand!” He twisted the key, and opened the door, keeping the groceries tucked against his side. 

“Let me help you with that, then.” Before he could say no, Crowley was taking the bag in his hand and walked into his shop, as if he owned the place. “Sorry to come by so early.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow up. Early? Crowley had left his shop only a few hours ago. So, they were going to pretend that hadn’t been a thing, then? Fine. Whatever the demon wanted, he would oblige by it. “It’s all right.” He shut the door behind him, and followed Crowley up the flight of stairs to where his kitchen was. “Thank you for the assistance, dear.” 

“It’s always my pleasure, Angel.” Crowley set the items down on the counter, then approached him. He shuffled his feet, and then felt a warm kiss graze the side of his cheek. “You look rather dapper this morning.” 

“Do I?” He put his hand to his chest, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. The kiss. The compliment. All of it was the perfect storm to get his brain buzzing with delighted feelings. “Thank you. It’s a new vest.” He smoothed it down, smiling at his stomach as he basked in the compliment Crowley had given to him. “Do you like it?” 

“I think I rather do.” Crowley nodded, then leaned against the counter. “Do you have any plans today?” 

“I do not.” Aziraphale shook his head. “Why? Is something brewing? Has Hell contacted you for an assignment?” 

The snort that left Crowley’s mouth made Aziraphale feel a little better, as he was a bit worried that that might have been the case. “Not bloody likely. They’ve got their hands tied up with some mess. I don’t know - I try and stay out of it.” 

“Smart.” Aziraphale put the groceries away, then grabbed a pad of paper. “Crowley, dear - I have a question for you.” 

“Oh? What is it?” Crowley asked. 

“Give me a moment, please.” 

“....Okay.” 

He picked up the pencil that was next to the notepad, and began to sketch what he’d seen at the stall. After giving it a few tweaks, he was satisfied that it looked good enough to show him. Holding up the pad, he turned to Crowley. “Do you know what this symbol means?” 

“Where’d you see that?” Crowley reached for the paper, and held it up to the light. “Your drawing skills have always astounded me, Angel.” 

“Thank you, but that’s not why I did it.” He pointed to the piece of paper. On it was what one could say was a smiley face, the same one that had become popular decades ago, but was now used in a form of communication. This smiley face, however, wasn’t the standard smiley face. No, it was a bit tilted on its side, and it looked like it was…

“Melting.” Crowley commented. “It’s melting.” 

A deep sigh left his mouth. “Yes, I am aware it’s melting. But what does it mean?” 

“I’m not sure. Why do you think I’d know?” His friend shrugged his shoulders. “Do you think it has to mean something important?” 

“Don’t all of these….what are they called again?” 

“Emojis.” 

“Right. Emojis.” Aziraphale hated that technology moved so much quicker now, more so than ever before in history. It was difficult keeping up with the new gadgets, never mind learning a whole new way to communicate. It was like the Egyptian hieroglyphics all over again, but through a handheld device. It was one of the main reasons why he’d refused to get a cell phone. He saw no need to get one, as he’d never needed one before in the past six thousand years. “Why is this one melting?” 

“Because it looks cool?” Crowley was still shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, Angel. Why didn’t you ask someone about it?” 

“I couldn’t do that!” He gasped, tutting under his breath. “I already feel foolish enough when I hear young folks talking.” Youth today was, again, quite different . “I don’t want to be taken for an idiot.” 

“You are not an idiot for asking about something, Aziraphale.” Crowley took off his sunglasses, and gave him a look. He tucked his chin down, feeling rather foolish. “You don’t honestly believe they’d care if you asked.” 

“Well, what do you think it means?” He asked, as he pointed to the picture. “And why do they have to come up with these new emotes.” 

“Emojis.” 

“Crowley!” 

The demon picked up the piece of paper, and gave it a good thorough look. “I mean, if I were to see this, I would think that they were done with this world, and they were dealing with it. Like, shit’s pretty bad, but hey - I still have a smile on my face. That’s gotta count.” 

“Fascinating.” He took the drawing from Crowley. “You can see all of that, by looking at something that looks like it’s melting? Maybe they’re extremely hot.” 

“Oh, that can’t be that. They have an emoji for that already.” 

Both of his eyebrows rose up. “How do you know that??” 

“I know a lot of things, Angel.” Crowley took the drawing from his hand, and set it on the counter. “Does it matter?” 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He sighed. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Where did you see it, anyway?”

“It was on a tip jar.” 

“Ah.” Crowley gave a nod of his head. “Yeah, I can see that. Like, please tip because if you don’t I’m gonna die, and it will be a thing.” 

“How do you get all of that from this?” Aziraphale pointed to the picture, shaking his head. “You’re remarkable, Crowley.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” He felt Crowley come up behind him, and was soon graced by his arms wrapping themselves around his torso, pulling his back to be against the demon’s chest. He rather liked being smothered like this by him, as it made him feel very special. “Did they have a lot in their tip jar?” 

“They did!” 

“These kids today.” Crowley nuzzled the tip of his nose against Aziraphale’s neck, making his cheeks become rather warm. “What do you say, you and I go for a little drive?” 

“Will you be driving?” 

“I’ll let you drive.” 

He turned around quickly and looked at his friend. “Really??” 

“Yes.” Yellow eyes stared at him, pulling him closer to Crowley’s face. He closed his eyes, and felt his lips touch his with a simple kiss. Simple, hah. Nothing was ever simple with Crowley. No, this kiss had feeling to it. As he opened his mouth, he let out a deep groan, loving the way it felt to have Crowley’s tongue touching his again. Now he understood why humans liked kissing each other so much. It felt really, really good. 

“I promise to take good care of her!” He pulled away, and grabbed his coat from his hallway closet. “Where are we driving to?” 

“Anywhere you’d like, Angel.” Crowley leaned against the doorjamb, looking stunning as the sun lit him from behind, making his hair look like fire. “Surprise me.” 

“I think I can handle that.” 

Crowley’s Bentley was more than happy to let him drive, as he chose a station to listen to that wasn’t Queen. Not that he didn’t like Queen - it would always remind him of Crowley - but he wanted to listen to something else today. 

They drove out to the coast, leaving the city behind for a few hours as Aziraphale and Crowley walked along the beachfront together. They stood on the shore as the sun set, Crowley’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist, holding him against his side as they watched the sky change from a beautiful blue, to a gorgeous orange, and then a fiery red that faded to a beautiful pink. Purple soon began to dominate the sky, twilight now upon them. 

“Will you sleep over tonight?” Aziraphale asked, hoping that it wouldn’t push Crowley into thinking that this wasn’t a good idea. 

“Thought I might.” Crowley nodded, keeping him tucked up against him. To any passerbys, they would look like a couple. That thought made Aziraphale happy in a way he wasn’t expecting. “That's okay with you, Angel?” 

“It’s very okay, dear.” 

With that settled, they returned to the Bentley, Aziraphale returning to the driver seat to take them back to London. Back at his shop, he poured them some hot tea, and the two of them got settled in the front of the shop, both reading books that they favored. Aziraphale had made sure to leave a pile of books next to Crowley’s chair that he knew the demon would enjoy, and when he finished a book, he’d replace it with another. In the background, his recording of Rachmaninoff’s third piano concerto played, filling the otherwise quiet space with symphonic beauty, followed by a recording of Stravinisky’s Firebird. 

“Shall we head to bed, Angel?” Crowley asked, after the record came to an end. 

“I think that is a splendid idea.” 

They retired up to his bedroom, where they both got changed into a pair of pajamas - he’d bought some for Crowley to keep at his place, as he knew the demon probably would feel better wearing softer clothes than his standard button up shirt and trousers. He laid down on his side of the bed, and felt Crowley cuddle up against him. 

“Good night, Angel. Thanks for taking me to the beach today.” 

Smiling, he held onto Crowley’s hand. “Thank you for always having the knowledge that I’m too afraid to ask.” 

“It’s why I’m the demon, and you’re the angel.” Crowley nuzzled his neck. 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He smiled, and closed his eyes. 

Another day came to an end, and he was exactly where he wanted to be. In his bed, with his most favorite being in the world curled up beside him. It had been a very good day, indeed. 

---

Cross-posted to AO3

[sparksnevadas]

Hihihihi sparks, I'm catching up on gihasm (ch 17)

Is that jealousy??? From our lovely Scar and Mumbo???? (Reason #1659297582 of why they should just kiss already /lh)

Such a tender moment while they were shaving so sweet

Grian looks so pretty in the mental image i have, 100% get why scar and mumbo panic a bit

B-Dubs is so funny, i love him :)))

Lovely lovely lovely chapter, Sparks, as always!!!! (Looking forward to reading 18 and whatever you plan next :))) )

hi alex! hehe, good eye. yes, scar was feeling *a little* jealous of grian and docs dance... and now that youve read chapter 18, i need you to knw when i saw this ask i literally went 👀 emoji in my head. my gosh. yeah. yeah they really do.

they are all dapper pretty boys, please imagine them looking very handsome <3

the shaving scene is secretly my fav part of ch17,,,

anyways, ty alex! i appreciate the ask! <3 gonna answer your other one in a sec

[brookston]

Holidays 7.18

Holidays

Anti-Bigot Day

Billy Joel Day (New York)

Boxer 718 Day

Chrysanthemum Day

Constitution Day (Uruguay)

Global Lifting Awareness Day

Hug a Fat Bald Person Day

Insurance Nerd Day

International Day of the Vaquita Marina

International Laquita Marina Day

Jane Austen Day (Indiana)

Lollapalooza Day

Make A List of the People You Love Day

National Hamiltons Day

National Black Men’s Mental Health Day

National Dapper Your Data Day

National Emma Day

National Hamiltons Day

National Monica Day

National Mortgage Brokers Day

National Peyton Day

Nelson Mandela International Day (a.k.a. Mandela Day; UN)

Perfect Family Day

Perfect 10 Day

President’s Day (Botswana)

Pyramids Day

718 Day (New York)

Shawm Day (French Republic)

Tony the Tiger Day

Weinermobile Day

World Listening Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Brewers Day

National Caviar Day

National Sour Candy Day

National Tropical Fruit Day

St. Anou, Bishop of Metz's Day (patron saint of brewers; a.k.a. St. Arnulf, Arnould, St. Arnold)

Independence & Related Days

Constitution Day (Uruguay; 1830)

Prsänëa (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Vietnam (Becomes U.N. member; 1977)

3rd Thursday in July

Get To Know Your Customers Day [3rd Thursday of each Quarter]

Latitude Festival (Suffolk, UK) [3rd Thursday thru Sunday]

National Dole Whip Day [3rd Thursday]

Protect Swimmers Day [3rd Thursday]

Throwback Thursday [Every Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning July 18 (3rd Week of July)

Restless Leg Syndrome Education & Awareness Week (thru 7.28)

Festivals Beginning July 18, 2024

Chincoteague Island Blueberry Festival (Chincoteague Island, Virginia) [thru 7.20]

Cookin' on Kampeska (Watertown, South Dakota) [thru 7.20]

Delaware State Fair (Harrington, Delaware) [thru 7.27]

Durban International Film Festival (Durban, South Africa) [thru 7.28]

Fantasia International Film Festival (Montreal, Canada) [thru 8.4]

Jazz in Marciac (Marciac, France) [thru 8.4]

Jerusalem Film Festival (Jerusalem, Israel) [thru 7.27]

Johnson County Peach Festival (Clarksville, Arkansas) [thru 7.20]

Lexington Restaurant Week (Lexington, Kentucky) [thru 7.28]

Miami Valley Steam Threshers Show (Plain City, Ohio) [thru 7.21]

N.C. Peach Festival [Candor, North Carolina) [thru 7.20]

New Horizons International Film Festival (Wrocław, Poland) [thru 7.28]

Picklesburgh (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) [thru 7.21]

Porter Peach Festival (Porter, Oklahoma) [thru 7.20]

Port Fish Days (Port Washington, Wisconsin) [thru 7.20]

Riverfront Food Truck Festival (Hartford, Connecticut) [thru 7.20]

Taste of Galesburg (Galesburg, Illinois)

Taste of Park Ridge (Park Ridge, Illinois) [thru 7.20]

Venice International Festival of Contemporary Dance [Biennale Danza] (Venice, Italy) [thru 8.3]

Verbier Festival (Verbier, Switzerland) [thru 8.4]

Feast Days

Arnulf of Metz (a.k.a. Arnoldus; Christian; Saint) [Belgium; brewers] *

Bernd Fasching (Artology)

Bobby Henderson Day (Pastafarian)

Bruno of Segni (Christian; Saint)

Camillus de Lellis (optional memorial, U.S. only)

Day of Arstat and Copper Woman (Everyday Wicca)

Eadburh (a.k.a. Edburga) of Bicester (Christian; Saint)

Eid-e-Ghadir (Iran)

Elizabeth Ferard (Church of England)

Feast of Saint Arnoldus (Belgium)

Feast of Teneu

Fionn Mac Cumhail (Celtic Book of Days)

Frederick of Utrecht (Christian; Saint)

Giacomo Balla (Artology)

Hunter S. Thompson (Writerism)

Hyacinthe Rigaud (Artology)

Jabotinsky Day (Israel) [29 Tammuz]

Leroy (Muppetism)

The Lunch of the Forward Goblins (Surprisingly Fairies Only; Shamanism)

Marina of Aguas Santas (Christian; Saint)

Maternus of Milan (Christian; Saint)

Nebet-Het (Birthday of Nephthys, Egyptian Goddess of Beer)

Nephthy’s Day (Egyptian Goddess of Death; Pagan)

Odulph (Christian; Saint)

Pambo (Christian; Saint)

Philastrius (Christian; Saint)

Rabelais (Positivist; Saint)

Symphorosa and her Seven Sons (Christian; Martyrs)

Theneva (Christian; Saint)

Theodosia of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Thomas Morton Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Vitulatio (Feast to Vitulatio, Ancient Roman Goddess of Exultation, joy & life)

Water Pistol Day (Pastafarian)

William Makepeace Thackery (Writerism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Day of Bad Omens (Ancient Rome) [1 of 2]

Prime Number Day: 199 [46 of 72]

Shakku (赤口 Japan) [Bad luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [41 of 57]

Premieres

Aliens (Film; 1986)

Arachnophobia (Film; 1990)

Bad Boys II (Film; 2003)

The Betty Boop Limited (Betty Boop Cartoon; 1933)

Bosko’s Holiday (WB LT Cartoon; 1931)

The Bowling Ally-Cat (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1942)

City Kitty (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1952)

A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess (Novel; 1962)

Closer, by Joy Division (Album; 1980)

Consider the Oyster, by M.F.K. Fisher (Food Essays; 1941)

Copy Cat (Animated Antics Cartoon; 1941)

The Dark Knight (Film; 2008)

Davy Crockett and the River Pirates (Film; 1956)

Day Nurse (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1932)

Don’t Bother to Knock (Film; 1952)

Entourage (TV Series; 2004)

Eureka (TV Series; 2006)

Friends with Benefits (Film; 2011)

George of the Jungle (Film; 1997)

God Only Knows, by The Beach Boys (Song; 1966)

I Love to Sings (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

Johnny English (Film; 2003)

Jurassic Park III (Film; 2001)

The Mahagonny Songspiel, by Bertolt Brecht & Kurt Weill (Song; 1927)

Mamma Mia! (Film; 2008)

The Minute and a 1/2 Man (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1959)

Mrs. Brown (Film; 1997)

The Nun’s Story (Film; 1959)

Pink Blue Plate (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1971)

Planes: Fire & Rescue (Animated Film; 2014)

Porco Rosso (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 1992)

RWBY (Anime Series; 2013)

Sex Tape (Film; 2014)

Sketches of Spain, by Miles Davis (Album; 1960)

The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, by Thomas S. Kuhn (Science book; 1962)

Symphony No. 8 in D Minor, by Ralph Vaughan Williams (Symphony; 1956)

Tweet and Lovely (WB MM Cartoon; 1959)

UHF, by Weird Al Yankpvic (Soundtrack Album; 1989)

Used Cars (Film; 1980)

Wouldn’t It Be Nice, by The Beach Boys (Song; 1966)

Today’s Name Days

Answer, Arnold, Arnulf, Friedrich, Ulf (Austria)

Emil, Emilian (Bulgaria)

Bruno, Emilija, Frederik, Ljuba (Croatia)

Drahomíra (Czech Republic)

Arnolphus (Denmark)

Eerika, Erika (Estonia)

Riikka (Finland)

Frédéric (France)

Arnulf, Friedrich, Ulf (Germany)

Aimilianos, Emilianos (Greece)

Frigyes (Hungary)

Calogero, Giusta (Italy)

Rozālija, Roze, Rozīte (Latvia)

Eimantė, Ervinas, Kamilis, Tautvilas (Lithuania)

Arnulf, Ørnulf (Norway)

Arnold, Arnolf, Erwin, Erwina, Kamil, Karolina, Robert, Roberta, Szymon, Unisław, Wespazjan (Poland)

Anna (Russia)

Kamila (Slovakia)

Federico, Marina (Spain)

Fredrik, Fritz (Sweden)

Alfie, Alfred, Avery, Federica, Federico, Fred, Freda, Freddie, Freddy, Fréddy , Freed, Frederic, Frédéric, Frederich, Federik, Frederick, Frédérick, Frederico, Fredrick, Fredy (Universal)

Fred, Freda, Freddie, Freddy, Frederica, Frederick, Frederico, Fredrick, Fredy (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 200 of 2024; 166 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of Week 29 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 12 of 28]

Chinese: Month 6 (Xin-Wei), Day 13 (Guy-Wei)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 12 Tammuz 5784

Islamic: 11 Muharram 1446

J Cal: 20 Red; Sixday [20 of 30]

Julian: 5 July 2024

Moon: 90%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 3 Dante (8th Month) [Rabelais]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 10 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 29 of 94)

Week: 3rd Week of July

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 28 of 31)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 7.18

Holidays

Anti-Bigot Day

Billy Joel Day (New York)

Boxer 718 Day

Chrysanthemum Day

Constitution Day (Uruguay)

Global Lifting Awareness Day

Hug a Fat Bald Person Day

Insurance Nerd Day

International Day of the Vaquita Marina

International Laquita Marina Day

Jane Austen Day (Indiana)

Lollapalooza Day

Make A List of the People You Love Day

National Hamiltons Day

National Black Men’s Mental Health Day

National Dapper Your Data Day

National Emma Day

National Hamiltons Day

National Monica Day

National Mortgage Brokers Day

National Peyton Day

Nelson Mandela International Day (a.k.a. Mandela Day; UN)

Perfect Family Day

Perfect 10 Day

President’s Day (Botswana)

Pyramids Day

718 Day (New York)

Shawm Day (French Republic)

Tony the Tiger Day

Weinermobile Day

World Listening Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

International Brewers Day

National Caviar Day

National Sour Candy Day

National Tropical Fruit Day

St. Anou, Bishop of Metz's Day (patron saint of brewers; a.k.a. St. Arnulf, Arnould, St. Arnold)

Independence & Related Days

Constitution Day (Uruguay; 1830)

Prsänëa (Declared; 2012) [unrecognized]

Vietnam (Becomes U.N. member; 1977)

3rd Thursday in July

Get To Know Your Customers Day [3rd Thursday of each Quarter]

Latitude Festival (Suffolk, UK) [3rd Thursday thru Sunday]

National Dole Whip Day [3rd Thursday]

Protect Swimmers Day [3rd Thursday]

Throwback Thursday [Every Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning July 18 (3rd Week of July)

Restless Leg Syndrome Education & Awareness Week (thru 7.28)

Festivals Beginning July 18, 2024

Chincoteague Island Blueberry Festival (Chincoteague Island, Virginia) [thru 7.20]

Cookin' on Kampeska (Watertown, South Dakota) [thru 7.20]

Delaware State Fair (Harrington, Delaware) [thru 7.27]

Durban International Film Festival (Durban, South Africa) [thru 7.28]

Fantasia International Film Festival (Montreal, Canada) [thru 8.4]

Jazz in Marciac (Marciac, France) [thru 8.4]

Jerusalem Film Festival (Jerusalem, Israel) [thru 7.27]

Johnson County Peach Festival (Clarksville, Arkansas) [thru 7.20]

Lexington Restaurant Week (Lexington, Kentucky) [thru 7.28]

Miami Valley Steam Threshers Show (Plain City, Ohio) [thru 7.21]

N.C. Peach Festival [Candor, North Carolina) [thru 7.20]

New Horizons International Film Festival (Wrocław, Poland) [thru 7.28]

Picklesburgh (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) [thru 7.21]

Porter Peach Festival (Porter, Oklahoma) [thru 7.20]

Port Fish Days (Port Washington, Wisconsin) [thru 7.20]

Riverfront Food Truck Festival (Hartford, Connecticut) [thru 7.20]

Taste of Galesburg (Galesburg, Illinois)

Taste of Park Ridge (Park Ridge, Illinois) [thru 7.20]

Venice International Festival of Contemporary Dance [Biennale Danza] (Venice, Italy) [thru 8.3]

Verbier Festival (Verbier, Switzerland) [thru 8.4]

Feast Days

Arnulf of Metz (a.k.a. Arnoldus; Christian; Saint) [Belgium; brewers] *

Bernd Fasching (Artology)

Bobby Henderson Day (Pastafarian)

Bruno of Segni (Christian; Saint)

Camillus de Lellis (optional memorial, U.S. only)

Day of Arstat and Copper Woman (Everyday Wicca)

Eadburh (a.k.a. Edburga) of Bicester (Christian; Saint)

Eid-e-Ghadir (Iran)

Elizabeth Ferard (Church of England)

Feast of Saint Arnoldus (Belgium)

Feast of Teneu

Fionn Mac Cumhail (Celtic Book of Days)

Frederick of Utrecht (Christian; Saint)

Giacomo Balla (Artology)

Hunter S. Thompson (Writerism)

Hyacinthe Rigaud (Artology)

Jabotinsky Day (Israel) [29 Tammuz]

Leroy (Muppetism)

The Lunch of the Forward Goblins (Surprisingly Fairies Only; Shamanism)

Marina of Aguas Santas (Christian; Saint)

Maternus of Milan (Christian; Saint)

Nebet-Het (Birthday of Nephthys, Egyptian Goddess of Beer)

Nephthy’s Day (Egyptian Goddess of Death; Pagan)

Odulph (Christian; Saint)

Pambo (Christian; Saint)

Philastrius (Christian; Saint)

Rabelais (Positivist; Saint)

Symphorosa and her Seven Sons (Christian; Martyrs)

Theneva (Christian; Saint)

Theodosia of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Thomas Morton Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Vitulatio (Feast to Vitulatio, Ancient Roman Goddess of Exultation, joy & life)

Water Pistol Day (Pastafarian)

William Makepeace Thackery (Writerism)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Day of Bad Omens (Ancient Rome) [1 of 2]

Prime Number Day: 199 [46 of 72]

Shakku (赤口 Japan) [Bad luck all day, except at noon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [41 of 57]

Premieres

Aliens (Film; 1986)

Arachnophobia (Film; 1990)

Bad Boys II (Film; 2003)

The Betty Boop Limited (Betty Boop Cartoon; 1933)

Bosko’s Holiday (WB LT Cartoon; 1931)

The Bowling Ally-Cat (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1942)

City Kitty (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1952)

A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess (Novel; 1962)

Closer, by Joy Division (Album; 1980)

Consider the Oyster, by M.F.K. Fisher (Food Essays; 1941)

Copy Cat (Animated Antics Cartoon; 1941)

The Dark Knight (Film; 2008)

Davy Crockett and the River Pirates (Film; 1956)

Day Nurse (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1932)

Don’t Bother to Knock (Film; 1952)

Entourage (TV Series; 2004)

Eureka (TV Series; 2006)

Friends with Benefits (Film; 2011)

George of the Jungle (Film; 1997)

God Only Knows, by The Beach Boys (Song; 1966)

I Love to Sings (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

Johnny English (Film; 2003)

Jurassic Park III (Film; 2001)

The Mahagonny Songspiel, by Bertolt Brecht & Kurt Weill (Song; 1927)

Mamma Mia! (Film; 2008)

The Minute and a 1/2 Man (Hector Heathcote Cartoon; 1959)

Mrs. Brown (Film; 1997)

The Nun’s Story (Film; 1959)

Pink Blue Plate (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1971)

Planes: Fire & Rescue (Animated Film; 2014)

Porco Rosso (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 1992)

RWBY (Anime Series; 2013)

Sex Tape (Film; 2014)

Sketches of Spain, by Miles Davis (Album; 1960)

The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, by Thomas S. Kuhn (Science book; 1962)

Symphony No. 8 in D Minor, by Ralph Vaughan Williams (Symphony; 1956)

Tweet and Lovely (WB MM Cartoon; 1959)

UHF, by Weird Al Yankpvic (Soundtrack Album; 1989)

Used Cars (Film; 1980)

Wouldn’t It Be Nice, by The Beach Boys (Song; 1966)

Today’s Name Days

Answer, Arnold, Arnulf, Friedrich, Ulf (Austria)

Emil, Emilian (Bulgaria)

Bruno, Emilija, Frederik, Ljuba (Croatia)

Drahomíra (Czech Republic)

Arnolphus (Denmark)

Eerika, Erika (Estonia)

Riikka (Finland)

Frédéric (France)

Arnulf, Friedrich, Ulf (Germany)

Aimilianos, Emilianos (Greece)

Frigyes (Hungary)

Calogero, Giusta (Italy)

Rozālija, Roze, Rozīte (Latvia)

Eimantė, Ervinas, Kamilis, Tautvilas (Lithuania)

Arnulf, Ørnulf (Norway)

Arnold, Arnolf, Erwin, Erwina, Kamil, Karolina, Robert, Roberta, Szymon, Unisław, Wespazjan (Poland)

Anna (Russia)

Kamila (Slovakia)

Federico, Marina (Spain)

Fredrik, Fritz (Sweden)

Alfie, Alfred, Avery, Federica, Federico, Fred, Freda, Freddie, Freddy, Fréddy , Freed, Frederic, Frédéric, Frederich, Federik, Frederick, Frédérick, Frederico, Fredrick, Fredy (Universal)

Fred, Freda, Freddie, Freddy, Frederica, Frederick, Frederico, Fredrick, Fredy (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 200 of 2024; 166 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of Week 29 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 12 of 28]

Chinese: Month 6 (Xin-Wei), Day 13 (Guy-Wei)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 12 Tammuz 5784

Islamic: 11 Muharram 1446

J Cal: 20 Red; Sixday [20 of 30]

Julian: 5 July 2024

Moon: 90%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 3 Dante (8th Month) [Rabelais]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 10 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 29 of 94)

Week: 3rd Week of July

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 28 of 31)