#done rambling now 💜

[lovelyisadora]

don’t mind me just posting my once every year or so obligatory marcia 💜

[crystallizsch]

this was kalim's idea

[quietlyblooms]

oh i’m gonna riot 💜

[dewitty1]

Saturday Six (Stuff)

Cats woke me up too dang early. It was mostly Reggie, of course, so I chucked him out (don't @ me about it - he's and indoor/outdoor Boi) because that's what he wanted anyway. I didn't realize it was that cold until later, when I actually got up, thanks to Leeloo. So, I went out and called Reggie several times, with no luck. He decided to wait to come back after three + hours of being outside (not too unusual, but random enough) and I give him the Molly Weasley "Where *HAVE* you been?!" he just looks at me and gives a "maow" like "Whassup mom? Wassall the hubbub?" Crazy damn cat. Gotta love em. (^・ω・^ )

I'm really getting upset about the business situation. Idk what to do. It's bad, bad. And I've looked at jobs. Nothing much but nursing really. Ugh.(;*´Д`)ﾉ

I find it funny that I identify as aromantic, but I love reading romance novels (not as much as I used to, but I have some old faves), Drarry fic of course, and I love RomComs, and shows like Love is Blind and Indian Matchmaking lolololololol. I guess I just don't feel it for myself. Idk, it's weird, to me anyway.（*´▽｀*）

I really hate asking people for help. It really feels like failing to me. I guess I have my parents to thank for that one. But I've been asking people to share my business posts. Mostly on Fb because that's where the old people with money are. I don't love it, but this is the world we live in.(o;TωT)o

As if things weren't bad enough, I also got a jury duty summons in the mail for my birth month. But at least it wasn't for my actual birthday.

Anyway, I'm just trying breathe. And I keep hoping that something will come through. I'm still swimming, even though life is trying to drown me. p(*＾-＾*)q

BONUS - Mom tested positive for covid! So life keeps giving! (•̀o•́)ง

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Sobbing. I recently bought some coin tubes because I have a TON of leftover quarters built up over the years, so I've been spending the past few days and today counting them to put into the tubes

And I realized I'm like. Totally having a Scrooge moment 💀💀💀

[tvrningout-a]

depicted: my muses while i go frolicking around faerun and try to decide who to romance

[vasattope]

I made a post about maybe shipping two actors and I received a comment from someone I don't know saying "please don't ship IRL people..."

I blocked that person and deleted that comment but I think I need to vent so let's talk about this...

Ok, first of all, I don't know you and you don't know me. You don't even follow me and this sure as hell is the first time I see your url so... what makes you think you're entitled to say what I should or shouldn't do? Wtf?

They're not gonna see this post but seriously, what's up with that?

If a mutual wanted to call me out on something that'd be ok. I'm not perfect and everyone has different opinions so sharing different perspectives and constructive criticism on whatever topic we're discussing are always welcomed on my end... But not an order and not from someone I don't know.

And second of all, do you know the difference between reality and fiction? Because I do. And for me shipping is pure fiction.

And, well, even if it wasn't (which isn't the case but let's pretend for a second), I'm in my little corner of the internet minding my business and sharing with people who might be interested. I'm not screaming at their faces or sharing fandom content with the people I ship, so I'm not hurting anyone.

Also, as I said, it's my blog, if you don't like what you see in a post like that you can either ignore it or block me, but don't tell me what to do if you don't even know me, wtf?

[brunettemarionette]

Idiots Together

💜 pairing. Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

🔮 summary. Eddie's been acting weird and you confront him but when he blames his attitude on being '"tired" you don't believe him.

🌙 tw/ none. just fluffy goodness.

✨ wc. 1.5k

You've noticed it for a while now—Eddie's been acting strange. Since the two of you started hanging out more outside your usual group alone, there's been this weird tension in the air.

It's not the usual kind of weird, either. It's not like the typical Eddie Munson weird, where he rambles about Dungeons & Dragons or talks about the latest Metallica album with that wild look in his eyes.

No, this was different.

Right now, you're sitting on the worn couch in Eddie's trailer, your legs pulled up underneath you as you watch him pace back and forth across the living room.

He's restless, his fingers fidgeting with the rings on his hands, and you can't help but feel like there's something he's not telling you. He hasn't cracked a single joke in the last twenty minutes, which is unheard of.

You lean back into the cushions, crossing your arms. "Alright, spill it. What's going on with you?"

Eddie freezes mid-step, his back turned to you. He's been avoiding eye contact for most of the night, and now he just stands there, staring at the ground.

For a second, you think maybe he didn't hear you, but then you see his shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.

"I don't know what you mean," he mutters, but there's something in his voice—nervousness, maybe? You've never heard Eddie sound nervous before, not like this.

"You've been acting weird," you say, cutting to the point. "Like, really weird. You're not joking around, can't sit still, and won't even look at me. So, what's up? Did I do something wrong?"

That last part hangs in the air, and you instantly regret saying it. Of course, this couldn't be your fault, but still… part of you wonders if Eddie's mad at you. Maybe you've said or done something without realizing it.

Eddie finally turns to face you, and the look in his eyes catches you off guard. There's something raw in them, something vulnerable like he's been holding back a dam of emotions, and it's on the verge of breaking. "You didn't do anything wrong," he says quickly. "It's me."

That's not the answer you expected, and you raise an eyebrow, trying to make sense of what he's saying. "What do you mean it's you?"

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. "I haven't been sleeping much, okay? I'm, like, sleep-deprived out of my mind right now."

You tilt your head, not convinced. Sure, Eddie always looks a little rough around the edges, but he doesn't seem like he's about to collapse from lack of sleep.

There's something more, and you can tell he's avoiding it. "Eddie," you say softly, "I know you. This isn't just about not getting enough sleep. Come on, talk to me."

There's a long pause where Eddie stares at you like he's debating whether to say whatever he's been holding back. Then, suddenly, the dam breaks.

"I always had the biggest crush on you," he blurts out, and your heart skips a beat. "I've had this stupid, massive crush on you for, like, forever. And I don't know how to act normal around you right now because I'm freaking out, okay? That's why I'm being weird. It's not you, it's me. I just… I don't know how to do this."

You stare at him, your mind racing to catch up with what he just said. Eddie Munson—your best friend, the guy who's always been the dorky, playful one who's never taken anything seriously—has a crush on you?

"Eddie…" you start with a slight whisper, but he interrupts you before you can say anything.

"I know it's crazy," he says, clearly frustrated with himself, running both hands through his hair. "I shouldn't have said anything. I don't want to make things weird between us. But I'm tired, and I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore. You're my best friend and deserve to know the truth."

You're still trying to process it all, but the one thing that stands out to you is the look in Eddie's eyes. He's scared—…scared of how you will react, scared of losing you, or whatever this could mean for your friendship.

And in that moment, you realize something: maybe you've always felt something for him, too, but you never let yourself acknowledge it. You get up from the couch and take a step towards him. Eddie watches you carefully, his heart in his throat, waiting for whatever comes next.

"Eddie," you say softly, "you don't have to be weird around me. It's okay." You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it gently. The relief that washes over his face is immediate, and he finally smiles for the first time all night.

Maybe things will be a little different now, but you have a feeling it will be okay. After all, Eddie's always been there for you, and now it's your turn to be there for him—no matter where this might lead.

Eddie stares down at your intertwined hands, his fingers curling instinctively around yours like he's afraid to let go. You can see the tension start to melt from his shoulders, but his eyes still hold that uncertainty—the kind that makes your heart ache just a little.

"You really mean that?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper as if he's still trying to make sense of what just happened.

You nod, offering him a smile. "Yeah, I do. I mean… you're my best friend, Eddie. And maybe…" You hesitate for a moment, feeling the warmth spread through your chest, "maybe I've been feeling the same way. I just didn't realize it until now."

The words hang between you, and Eddie is completely still for the first time tonight. His dark eyes widen, searching your face for any hint of doubt. But there isn't any. The more you say it, the more certain you are—it's like all the pieces are finally clicking into place.

He breathes, almost like he's been holding it in for hours. "Wait—really? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?" His puppy dog eyes stare at you as if begging you not to break his heart.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "No, Eddie. I'm not just saying it. I've been thinking about it, and I think maybe I've always felt something for you, too. I just… I guess I was scared of messing things up."

His expression softens, and that familiar mischievous glint returns to his eyes, a hint of the Eddie you know and love. "So, what you're saying is, we've both been idiots this whole time?"

"Basically," you say, grinning. "but I like to think we've always been a couple of idiots." Eddie chuckles, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Well, then, I guess we're both idiots together."

You step closer, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. There's no awkwardness now, no tension, just the two of you standing in his tiny living room. Like this has always been where you were meant to be.

And then, without warning, Eddie gently cups your cheek with his free hand, his rings cool against your skin. His eyes meet yours, and there's no hesitation this time. Slowly, carefully, he leans in.

The kiss is soft and tentative, as if he's still afraid this might all be a dream. But the moment your lips meet, it feels like the most natural thing in the world—like you've been waiting for this without even realizing it.

When you pull away, Eddie's grinning like a kid, his eyes brighter than you've ever seen them. "Well," he says, his voice low, "I wasn't expecting today to end like this."

You laugh, feeling light, like a weight you didn't know you were carrying has been lifted. "Neither was I, but… I think I'm okay with it." he grins, kissing you again as you sigh contently. "More than okay with it…"

Eddie's smile widens, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. It's a perfect, quiet moment, just you and him, surrounded by the familiarity of his trailer. The world outside doesn't matter, not right now.

"Hey," he murmurs into your hair, "I know we might not have everything figured out yet, but… I'm really glad I told you."

You look up at him, heart swelling with affection, something that's not new to you. You've always held a level of affection for the wild-haired dungeon master. "Me too, Eddie."

And in that moment, you know you'll figure it out together, whatever comes next. Because you've always been there for each other, and now, as more than just friends, nothing could feel more right.

As Eddie presses another soft kiss to your forehead, you can't help but smile. Maybe things have changed, but it's definitely in the best way possible.

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Claire Debella x fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 10.7K

Warnings: slight smut warning so as always MDNI

A/N: so this is very quickly becoming a series I’m on around 4 parts now…. Whoops? If anyone would like to be added to a tag list for this please comment on this post xo🪻💜

By the time Claire had done with you your legs felt like jelly.

You laid there for a while after, stretched out against the cool sheets, skin still flushed and sensitive as Claire ran her hands over your body like she owned it. And she did, at least in moments like this- where it was just you and her, no one else, no outside noise.

But reality hit quickly as soon as you heard the second overhead announcement for brunch. With them. Your stomach twisted at the thought. You had no idea what to expect after last night’s disaster.

"You’re nervous," Claire murmured, tracing her fingers down your arm.

You exhaled slowly. "Yeah."

Claire pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "It’ll be fine."

You didn’t answer, just rolled onto your side, forcing yourself to get up. You had no choice but to face them.

~

The black bikini was dangerous.

You knew it. Claire knew it. But that didn’t stop you from wearing it anyway, pairing it with a sheer black cover-up that barely covered anything, sunglasses perched on your nose, your lips still kiss-swollen from Claire’s very thorough apology.

Claire was practically drooling. She didn’t even try to hide it, either- her eyes raking over your body shamelessly, fingers trailing along your waist as the two of you made your way to the outdoor dining area where everyone was gathered.

"You’re killing me, baby," she murmured low in your ear.

You smirked. "Good."

The second you stepped onto the deck, all conversation seemed to pause- just for a second, just enough to make you feel it.

“Hey! There you are!" Before you even had a chance to react, Whisky was on you, throwing her arms around you, her long hair smelling like coconuts and salt water.

"You survived," she smiled, squeezing you tight. "Come on, let’s get some food before Duke eats everything."

Claire barely had time to react before Whisky was dragging you toward the buffet table, her toned arm looped through yours, her body pressed against your side. The jealousy that flared in Claire’s chest was immediate, burning, but before she could do anything about it-

"Claire!" Birdie’s loud, excited voice cut through the moment as she and Duke appeared, effectively cornering Claire before she could storm after you.

"Good morning future senator!" Birdie beamed, sipping something that was definitely not coffee. "Last night was crazy, huh?"

Duke let out a gruff laugh. "Shit was wild."

Claire forced a strained smile, her eyes darting toward you across the deck. "Yeah, totally."

She barely heard whatever Birdie was rambling about. Because across the deck, Whisky was leaning in too close, laughing at something you said, her hand lingering on your arm. She should be paying attention to Lionel talking about developments at work but instead, she was watching you, across the deck, sipping something out of a tall glass while Whisky kept talking to you, her body angled toward yours in a way that made Claire’s jaw tighten.

"You’re staring." Lionel’s voice snapped her out of it. Claire turned her head sharply, only to find him raising an eyebrow at her over his coffee.

She rolled her shoulders, forcing herself to look away from you. "No, I’m not."

Lionel hummed with a knowing smile, unconvinced, but said nothing else. Birdie, oblivious as ever, was positioning herself on a sun lounger as if she was shooting for a magazine. “Peg can you get me another one of these please?” She handed her empty drink to her bone tired assistant.

"So what do we think this trip is about?" Claire looked around at her oldest friends.

"I don’t know but I wouldn’t get too comfortable," Lionel muttered.

"Well I already sold my soul, so bring it on," Duke added through a mouthful of bacon.

Birdie scoffed. "Ugh, you guys are so cynical." She took a sip of Claire’s drink, "I mean, sure, last time he did tell us we had to cut Andi off, but like, that was different. It was a really bad time for us all. And he was just, you know, protect himself."

Claire shot her a look. "Jesus, Bird."

Birdie frowned. "What?"

"He wanted us to pick a side- his side.” Claire sighed “He wanted to make sure we knew who was in charge now.”

Lionel nodded, rubbing his temple. "And we let him."

The silence that followed was heavy.

Because they had let him.

They’d all been sitting in that same goddamn living room the night Miles told them so casually that Andi was out, that he had social network-ed her and if they wanted to keep their connections, their financial backing, their entire lives, they’d need to fall in line.

And they had.

Claire exhaled sharply, taking a sip of her kombucha despite the early hour. "So the question is- what’s he trying to pull this time?"

Lionel ran a hand down his face. "Nothing good."

"Ooh, maybe he’s finally gonna branch out into social media and wants us to promote it!" Birdie clapped her hands together. "I mean that’s like the only thing he hasn’t bought into yet right?"

Duke snorted. "If that was the case, I’d know about it."

Lionel side-eyed him. "Would you, though?" He doubted if that was the case, Duke would be the best candidate after he’d recently settled out of court for profiting off selling illegal boner pills to teenage boys on his twitch streams.

Before Duke could answer, a loud, self-satisfied voice rang out from the entrance of the deck.

"Good morning, my friends!"

Miles.

The man himself strolled toward them, exuding that same smug, self-appointed guru energy that made your skin crawl.

"Let’s eat!"

The table was long, stretching down the deck, draped in crisp white linens. The Mediterranean sun cast warm golden light over the scene, reflecting off crystal-clear glasses and plates of extravagant fresh fruit, smoked salmon, eggs, pastries- whatever Miles deemed luxurious enough for his closest friends.

Claire sat with Lionel, Birdie, and Duke, all of them picking at their plates while waiting- for what, they didn’t know yet. Claire watched as Miles took his seat at the head of the table, looking over the group like he owned them. And, in a way, he did.

She felt you before she saw you. You had followed the group to the massive dining table on the deck, but rather than taking the empty seat beside Claire, you let Whisky tug you toward the far end of the table, sliding into a seat beside her, still caught up in your conversation.

Claire’s grip on her glass tightened. She wasn’t sure what irritated her more- the fact that Whisky was treating you like her new best friend, or the fact that you were letting her.

Miles took his seat at the head of the table, clapping his hands together. "So!" He leaned forward, scanning the group. "Let’s get to it. Tell me- how are we feeling? What’s the vibe? Are we inspired? Are we challenged?"

Birdie beamed. "I feel amazing."

Duke grunted. "Hungover."

"Like I need more coffee." Lionel pinched the bridge of his nose.

Claire just hummed in agreement with Lionel as she took a sip of coffee.

Miles laughed, shaking his head. "Love this. I love you guys"

Then his eyes landed on you. "And you." His grin widened. "The new addition to our group. Tell us how you capture the heart of our dear Claire?"

The table went silent, all eyes falling on you. You blinked, caught mid-sip of your orange juice.

You lowered your glass slowly. "I don’t know, Miles." You tilted your head, voice light but pointed. "You’re the one who does background checks on all your guests. You tell me."

Claire smirked. Lionel made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Even Duke looked mildly impressed.

Miles just chuckled, swirling the green juice in his glass. "Ahh, I like you." He shot Claire a knowing look. "She’s quick, Claire."

Claire smiled over at you, resting her hand on the table closer to your side, even though you weren’t sitting next to her. "Yeah," she said, voice tight. "I know."

Miles just leaned back, contemplative, as Birdie launched into a whole monologue about her recent escapades in New York. And Claire- well, Claire was going to kill you for making her so goddamn obsessed with you.

Miles grinned, swirling his ridiculous green juice again. "Oh, don’t be like that," he said, all charm and calculated warmth. "I’m just making sure my inner circle is taken care of."

You barely stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. Miles acted like this was some generous act, some noble offering, rather than what it really was- a reminder that he knew everything about the people in his orbit, including you.

Before you could snap back, Birdie- who had been watching you this entire time, eyes flitting over your body with a jealousy glare. Birdie wasn’t used to someone younger and hotter than her getting the attention she craved.

"Well," Birdie said, tilting her head. "I don’t know how you two even met. Tell me, Claire."

Before Claire began she patted her lap. And you- already halfway through your second mimosa, warm and still buzzing from the way she had made love to you that morning- smiled, playing along as you got up from your chair and sank down onto her lap. Claire felt your warmth against her thighs, felt the way you curled into her so easily. She smirked, letting her fingers slide through your hair, nails grazing your scalp as she tucked a strand behind your ear.

Miles’ lips parted, her jealousy barely hidden behind an impressed expression.

"Mmm," Claire hummed, fingers tangling in your hair. "You wanna tell them, baby? Or should I?"

You gave her a soft, knowing smile. "You tell it better," you murmured.

Claire’s hand slid down, resting against your bare thigh under the table. "Well," Claire said, exhaling with a little laugh as she looked at you, softening at the memory. "It was-"

~ Flashback ~

Claire’s husband sighed, exasperated. "Baby, come to bed."

She barely heard him.

She was curled up on the couch, knees tucked beneath her, a half-empty glass of wine on the table beside her, and your book clutched in her hands. Her eyes raced over the pages, devouring each word. It was past midnight, she had an early campaign meeting that morning. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, her body begged for rest- but she just couldn’t stop. The story had wrapped itself around her, dark and sharp, pulling her in like an unstoppable tide.

"Claire." He ran his hands down the couch to her shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

She flicked a hand at him, not looking up. "Don’t you dare touch me right now, I’m reading."

Her husband let out a frustrated breath before giving up and going to bed alone. Claire didn’t care, she had spent years feeling suffocated. Years playing the role of the perfect wife, the ambitious yet composed woman beside her husband. Always supporting, always agreeing, always being who he needed her to be. But lately, she had been slipping away.

At first, it was little things- staying out later at the office, taking long walks just to be alone. Then, she found the library. This gorgeous, old-world library, tucked into a quiet street near their house. A safe haven. And then, she found your books. At first, she had picked up the first one on a whim. By the time she finished it, she was already rushing back to the library to get the next one.

Even at work, her mind wandered. Sitting in a meeting, nodding along as a colleague droned on, she found herself itching to go home, to pour a glass of wine and curl up on the couch, to lose herself in your world again. It had been so long since something had made her feel this alive.

By the third book, it was an addiction. She practically sprinted to the library that afternoon, heels clicking against the floor as she made her way to the familiar shelf, reaching for the next installment. But to her horror the space was empty. No book. Claire froze, her stomach plummeted. She turned, scanning the shelves as if it had been misplaced. Nothing.

Finally, she rushed over to the front desk, fingers drumming against the wood as she waited for the librarian to look up.

"Hey," Claire said, trying not to sound as frantic as she felt. "I’m looking for the next book in that series- you know, the one by Y/N Y/L/N?"

The librarian smiled knowingly. "Ohh, yeah. It’s not out yet."

Claire blinked. "What?"

"The third book won’t be out for another few months."

Claire’s stomach sank. "No. No, no, no…" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re telling me I have to just wait?"

The librarian laughed. "Why don’t you just ask her what happens?"

Claire frowned. "What?"

The librarian gestured toward the far side of the room. "She’s writing it over there right now."

Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she turned round and caught sight of you. Sitting at a corner table, laptop open, fingers moving across the keys, brows furrowed in concentration.

Claire stilled. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Her heart skipped. Her mind went blank. For weeks, she had been consumed by your words, your mind, your world. And now, you were right there. Sitting in the same room as her. A living, breathing obsession. She swallowed, pulse hammering.

And for the first time in a long time, Claire Debella felt completely, utterly out of control.

~ End of Flashback ~

Claire’s fingers traced lazy circles against your thigh as she smiled into her glass, still lost in the memory.

"Well," she finally said, dragging out the word, "it was a library, actually."

Duke frowned. "A library?”

Birdie snorted, taking a sip of her mimosa. "People still go to libraries? Claire, since when did you go to libraries?”

Claire shot her a look. "Since I found something worth reading.”

You felt her grip on your waist tighten, just slightly.

Birdie tilted her head, intrigued. "So what, you just bumped into each other between the shelves?"

Claire smiled, shaking her head. "Not exactly." She glanced at you. "I read her books first."

Lionel hummed, clearly amused. "So you were a fan first."

"A big one," you teased, nudging Claire’s jaw with your nose.

Her fingers dug into your thigh, and you knew that if you weren’t in front of everyone, she’d shut you up with a hard, claiming kiss.

Instead, she let out a low chuckle, pressing her lips against your temple. "Careful, baby."

Birdie sighed, sipping dramatically from her drink. "Ugh, I hate couples."

Duke gave an easy grin, ignoring the jab. "So Claire finds a book, gets obsessed, and just has to meet the woman behind the words? Sounds like a movie."

You bit back a smile.

Claire had deliberately left out the part where she had devoured your books like a woman starved. How she had dreamed about you before she even knew your name. How she had fantasized about you, your voice, your mind. How meeting you had felt like a collision course she had never seen coming. How within months she’d divorced her husband for many years and moved you into her home.

"Sounds romantic," Whisky said, voice sweet, eyes warm as she looked at you.

Claire tensed. You felt it instantly- the way her body stiffened, the subtle tightening of her grip on you. Possessive. Jealous. Whisky had barely said anything, and yet Claire was already bristling.

And Miles- of course Miles noticed. He leaned back in his chair, smirking, before turning to you. "So tell me, Y/N," he mused. "You swept our dear Claire off her feet- but what made you want her?"

And just like that, the whole table was looking at you. The whole table was waiting. Miles, with that smug, knowing grin. Birdie, sipping her mimosa with wide, expectant eyes. Lionel, barely paying attention, already tired of the conversation. Duke, lounging in his seat like this was some kind of show. Whisky, watching with a soft kind of curiosity. You swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of Claire’s hand on your bare thigh, the way her fingers curled slightly, as if reminding you that you belonged to her.

Her eyes were flicking between you and Miles like she was waiting for him to twist this into something ugly. But he couldn’t. Because you wouldn’t let him. So you turned, shifting on Claire’s lap, meeting her gaze with a small smile before leaning in, pressing a kiss to her lips. Soft. Sure. A statement. Claire melted against you, her grip easing, her lips parting slightly in surprise. And then you pulled back, just enough to see the flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes before you spoke.

"Because Claire Debella is the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met."

"Her drive, her ambition-” you continued, voice steady, heart pounding. "She has dedicated her entire life to making the world better. Fighting for people who don’t have a voice. She stands in rooms full of men who have never taken a woman seriously a day in their lives, and she makes them listen." Your hand found hers, lacing your fingers together.

"She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." You smiled at her.

Claire sucked in a quiet breath.

"And I love her more than anything." You breathed.

A beat. The sound of the waves against the yacht. The warmth of her body against yours. Then Claire grabbed you, fingers tangling in your hair as she kissed you fiercely, swallowing the breath from your lungs.

Nothing delicate, nothing soft, just her- unapologetic, consuming, yours. When she finally pulled away, her forehead pressed against yours, her breathing a little uneven, you swore you could feel how hard her heart was pounding. There was nothing left to say. It was just you and her.

"Damn," Duke muttered, cutting through it like a dull knife. He leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily, as if he wasn’t about to let something dangerous slip out. "Bet your ex-husband Devon took the news real well- wife leaves him, becomes a lesbian-”

Claire froze. You felt the shift before you saw it. The way her body tensed beneath you, fingers twitching where they rested against your hip, the way her breath hitched- not in that breathless way she got when she kissed you, when she needed you. But like someone had just sucker-punched her. Like someone had just ripped something from her hands.

"Oh my god," Birdie gasped, eyes going wide, her mimosa sloshing over the rim of her glass as she clutched at Duke’s arm like she’d just made the discovery of the century. "Claire, you dark horse!”

You felt sick. Because Birdie knew. Not everything, but enough. Enough to put together the one thing Claire had worked so hard to bury. That Claire Debella- rising political star, defender of the people- had been unfaithful. And you had been the reason. Claire barely moved. Her expression- carefully neutral, but her grip on you was like a vice, nails digging into your bare thigh. Like she was bracing. You could see it- the way her mind was already working, already calculating. She wasn’t just embarrassed. She wasn’t just caught off guard. She was scared. And that terrified you.

"Wait so," Birdie was still talking, leaning forward now, one manicured finger pointing accusingly in Claire’s direction. "Are you telling me that you cheated? Claire Debella, cheated? Oh, wow, I love this. I feel so much better about myself now."

"I-" Claire finally opened her mouth, voice unusually stiff, but before she could say anything…

“Birdie, for fuck’s sake," Lionel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Can you not?" He asked, clearly aware of how this conversation was affecting his friend.

"What?" she blinked, genuinely confused. "I’m celebrating! Claire’s always been so moral- ‘Oh, Birdie, think before you speak! Oh, Birdie, you can’t tweet that! Birdie, child labor laws exist for a reason!’- but this? This is messy!"

"Jesus Christ Bird," Claire muttered under her breath, looking away, nostrils flaring slightly like she was fighting the urge to snap.

"But that is interesting," Miles finally spoke up, slow and smooth, leaning his elbows onto the table as he studied Claire like she was something he’d just uncovered. Something he could use. Your stomach sank.

"I mean," he continued, all faux-curiosity, "I know you two have been keeping things private, but... well, Claire, if I’d known you had a thing for pretty young creatives, I could’ve introduced you to some screenwriters in LA."

Her fingers curled tighter around your thigh.

"It wasn’t-" she started, then stopped. She was stuck. Because what could she say?

"So what?" you finally said, voice sharper than you intended, drawing their attention back to you. You kept your expression cool, gaze steady. "She fell in love with me. What does it matter how it started?"

Birdie snorted. "Because it’s juicy."

"Because," Miles cut in smoothly, "Claire’s whole thing is integrity. The hardworking, ethical politician. The moral compass. The people’s champion." He tilted his head. "And this doesn’t quite fit that image, does it?"

Claire’s jaw clenched.

She was furious but she didn’t say a word. Because she couldn’t. And Miles knew it. He had dirt on her now. Claire Debella was indebted to him. Financially. Politically. And now- Personally.

"Oh, relax," he said, waving a hand. "Your secrets are safe with me."

You felt Claire’s pulse pounding in her wrist as she wrapped her arm around you. "We’re done here," she muttered, standing abruptly, guiding you up with her, her grip on your waist unyielding.

Birdie giggled into her drink. Miles just smiled. And as Claire pulled you away from the table, heart pounding, teeth gritted, you both knew this wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

The wind was softer down on the lower deck, the salt air warmer, the distant sound of water lapping against the yacht almost enough to drown out the tangled thoughts in Claire’s head. Almost. She barely reacted when you pulled her into a kiss- deep, grounding, your hands framing her face like you were reminding her, like you were centering her in something real. And maybe she needed that, because she melted into you, her grip tight where it rested against your waist, like she was starving for something steady. It wasn’t desperate, not yet, but it was needy. Like a tether. Like if she held you tight enough, maybe the world wouldn’t collapse beneath her feet.

She pulled away just enough to exhale, her forehead pressing against yours, breath warm, body tense.

“Are you okay?" you murmured.

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "No."

Your fingers traced the nape of her neck, soothing. "Talk to me."

Claire sighed, shifting so she could lean against the railing, arms crossed, head tilted toward the ocean. "This isn’t good," she muttered. "They know. Miles knows."

You frowned, stepping closer. "Claire, it’s not like you killed someone. We’re together. That’s the big secret?"

Her jaw clenched. "You don’t understand."

"Then help me understand."

Silence. Her fingers tapped idly against her bicep, a nervous tick.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Claire, would it really be so bad if people knew about us?"

She turned to you sharply, something flashing in her eyes, but before she could protest, you pushed forward "I mean it." Your voice was quieter now, tinged with something fragile. "I get that we had to be careful at first, that you were still… figuring things out, that you then were going through a divorce, that politics is a whole... thing. But it’s been two years."

Her throat tightened.

"I pay rent for an apartment I never go to," you continued, voice wavering. "Just to keep up appearances. We live together, Claire. I wake up in your bed, cook in your kitchen, walk your dog, exist in your space. And I love it, but-" You swallowed. "How long do I have to be your secret?"

Her expression faltered, something wounded flickering across it. "It’s not like that," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what is it like?”

Silence. She turned back to the railing, hands gripping it, gaze fixed on the water like it had the answer she was looking for.

"It’s not just about me," she said finally. "You think it’d be good for me? Maybe. But it’s not just me. You have no idea what people will say about you."

Your arms crossed. "I don’t care-"

"Well, I do!" She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before turning back to you. "They’d tear you apart. They’d call you a gold digger. They’d say I manipulated you. That you seduced me for influence. That you’re too young-"

"I don’t care what a bunch of rich assholes think."

"It’s not just them," she said, voice strained. "It’s the media. It’s everyone. You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life picked apart like carrion. You think you can handle it, but you don’t know."

You hesitated. She was scared. Not just for herself, for you. "Claire…"

"And what if this ruins me?" she asked suddenly, voice sharp, but her eyes… her eyes were uncertain. "I’m still a woman in politics. It doesn’t take much for the tide to turn. If people think I’m untrustworthy-"

"You were untrustworthy when you were married to a man and cheating with me," you snapped before you could stop yourself.

She stiffened. A muscle feathered in her jaw.

"That’s not fair," she bit out.

Your stomach twisted. "Claire I-”

"I know what I did. I know what that looks like. But this- this is different."

"Is it?" You sighed, rubbing your temples, feeling the remnants of your hangover creep in. "Look, I get it," you said, softer this time. "I get why you’re scared. But I’m scared too, Claire. I’m scared that I’m always going to be something you hide."

She flinched, just a little.

"I just... I love you," you whispered. "And I don’t want to feel like I have to prove that."

"You don’t," she murmured. And when she kissed you this time, it wasn’t out of desperation. It wasn’t trying to distract or silence or mask. It was gentle. Steady. Like a promise.

But when she pulled away, you still saw the fear in her eyes. The hesitation. The choice she still hadn’t made. And that? That told you everything.

You saw Lionel approaching before Claire did. The tense line of his shoulders, the focused pinch in his brow- it wasn’t unusual. Lionel always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world, and in some ways, he was.

“Hey Claire.” He smiled sympathetically

Claire sighed, already exhausted, running a hand through her hair. She barely looked at you before stepping toward him. Like this is more important.

Maybe it was.

But after that conversation- after seeing the hesitation in her eyes- you weren’t sure where that left you. So you stepped away. Your fingers ran absently along the yacht’s sleek railing as you put distance between yourself and Claire, a familiar ache settling in your chest. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that you needed space.

“Hey,” a voice called.

You looked up to see Whisky striding toward you, already sipping on something in a ridiculous crystal glass. She was wearing a tiny yellow bikini that left very little to the imagination, and you could feel Claire’s lingering possessiveness like a ghost at the back of your neck.

“Want one?” she asked, holding up a second glass. “Miles gave it to me, but it tastes like grass.”

“What is it?” You inspected the glass with her name engraved on it.

She wrinkled her nose. “Jared Leto’s hard kombucha.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Of course Miles drinks Jared Leto’s kombucha.”

“Want it?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “Sure.” You took it, taking a cautious sip. It was disgusting.

She grinned, like she knew.

“C’mon,” she said, nodding toward the pool. “Let’s go in.”

You exhaled slowly, glancing back toward Claire. She was deep in conversation with Lionel, brows furrowed, arms crossed. You nodded. Whisky beamed, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the pool’s edge.

You flinched when a gunshot cracked through the air. Duke laughed loudly before tucking his gun away and launching himself into the pool with a massive cannonball, drenching everything in his radius.

You blinked, completely thrown.

Whisky just sighed, shaking her head as she waded into the water. You followed, still watching as Duke resurfaced, shaking the water from himself like a dog and grinning like an idiot.

You glanced at Whisky, lowering your sunglasses. “Okay,” you said. “I have to ask- what do you see in him?”

She snorted, running her fingers through her wet hair. “Like, really?”

You nodded.

She tilted her head, watching Duke fondly as he wrestled Birdie off of a floatie, the two of them laughing like idiots. She sighed, shrugging. “I don’t know. He’s... good to me.”

You raised a brow. “Good?”

Whisky rolled her eyes, waving a hand. “I know, I know. But he is. You only see the ‘MEN’S RIGHTS, FREE SPEECH, GUNS’ version of him.” She mimicked his deep, obnoxious voice, making you snicker. “But he’s also just- dumb and loyal and... weirdly sweet. He makes me feel safe.”

You took another sip of your drink, considering. “Is that enough?”

She hesitated, expression flickering. Then she smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It is for now.”

That answer didn’t sit right with you. But maybe you weren’t one to talk. Because as much as you loved Claire… you weren’t sure if you were enough for her.

The yacht pulled smoothly into port, the golden Sicilian sun casting long, shimmering reflections across the deep blue water. The coastal town ahead was breathtaking- old stone buildings stacked up along the cliffs, narrow streets winding like veins through the historic architecture, the scent of citrus and sea salt heavy in the warm air.

You stepped out of the pool, still feeling slightly unsteady from the events of the morning. Claire was behind you, wrapping a towel round your shoulders, her hand grazing the small of your back in a silent reassurance.

Then, with his signature obnoxious flair, Miles stepped forward, spreading his arms wide. “Ahhh, Sicilia!” he declared, like he personally owned the place. “I thought we could all use a change of pace- something different, you know?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. The others murmured in vague agreement, some more enthusiastic than others- Birdie gasped dramatically, pulling out her phone before Peg immediately snatched it back with a warning look.

Miles grinned. “So! Before we return to the yacht for a very special banquet, personally curated by my Michelin-starred chef-” of course he had to remind you all of that “-I thought I’d make things a little more fun.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black credit card. Or rather six of them. One for each of you.

“This is unlimited,” he said smoothly, tossing one to Lionel, then Claire, Birdie, Duke, and Whisky. Then, finally he handed one to you.

Your fingers closed around it uncertainly, feeling the cool weight of it in your palm.

“This,” Miles continued, “is a gift. A token of our friendship. Because that’s what this group is all about- loyalty, trust, taking care of each other.” His eyes gleamed knowingly, like there was a second meaning beneath his words.

You saw Claire’s jaw tighten.

“So,” Miles clapped his hands together, breaking the tension, “go all out! The card works for 4 hours so hurry to get what you need to get dressed to the nines tonight. The theme is opulence- expensive, extravagant, no limits.”

Birdie practically screamed. “Oh my God, Miles, you angel, you saint! Peg, let’s go!” She grabbed Peg’s wrist and practically dragged her off to get ready for an intense few hours of shopping before Peg could protest.

Duke whistled, flipping the black card between his fingers. “Hell yeah, brother.” He threw an arm around Whisky. “C’mon, baby, let’s find you something real nice.”

Whisky shot you a quick look before letting Duke pull her along.

Lionel sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “Yeah, sure, why not? It’s not like this trip could get any more ridiculous.”

That left just you and Claire. You glanced at her, still holding the black card between your fingers. She wasn’t looking at you, she was looking at Miles. She wasn’t thrilled about any of this. You exhaled softly, reaching for her hand. Her gaze flicked to you, then to the black card you held. Finally, she sighed.

“Well,” she said, voice lighter than her expression. “If we’re going to play this game, we might as well win it.”

You sighed, intertwining your fingers with hers. “Let’s go be opulent.”

The door to your suite clicked shut behind you, sealing you and Claire into the cool, air-conditioned haven of your shared room. You stepped away immediately, running a hand through your hair, still gripping the sleek black credit card between your fingers.

Claire watched you closely, her arms folding across her chest. “You’re quiet,” she noted.

You shrugged, moving toward the suitcase you had barely touched since arriving. “I’m just getting changed.”

You felt her move before you saw her- the deliberate steps of her sandals against the hardwood, the subtle shift in the air as she neared you. Then, suddenly her hands slid around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against her. You inhaled sharply, feeling the familiar warmth of her body press into yours, the silk of her outfit cool against your bare skin.

“Baby,” Claire murmured, her lips grazing the side of your neck. “Don’t do that.”

You swallowed hard. “Do what?”

“Pull away from me.” Her hands wandered, palms sliding up your stomach, fingers brushing the undersides of your breasts as she kissed just beneath your jaw. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“I know you’re upset,” she whispered, pressing her body against yours. “But we do have time…” She kissed the shell of your ear. “For me to make you feel good.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers gripping the edge of the dresser. God, she was good at this. At unraveling you. At making the world outside her touch seem irrelevant. At making you hers. You turned in her arms, pressing a hand to her chest to keep some semblance of distance.

“Claire…”

Her lips were parted, her pupils blown wide with desire as she searched your face, desperate for a crack in your resolve.

You exhaled, smoothing your hands over her waist. “We better hurry,” you said softly. “Everyone’s waiting at the dock.”

Claire’s expression darkened for a split second- frustration flashing across her face before she masked it with a tight smile.

She hummed, straightening her spine. “Of course.”

Then, before you could step away she grabbed your chin, tilting your face up, and kissed you hard. It wasn’t just a kiss- it was a warning. A reminder. That you belonged to her. That no matter how distant you tried to be, no matter how much you tried to pull away, she wouldn’t let you.

When she pulled back, her thumb brushed over your swollen bottom lip. “Put on something pretty,” she murmured. “I want to show you off.”

And with that, she turned on her heel, heading toward the bathroom to fix her hair, leaving you standing there, heart hammering, lips tingling, and stomach twisting with an emotion you weren’t sure you could name. You swallowed hard, shaking your head, and went to change.

~

The moment you all stepped off the yacht and onto the sun-drenched port, Birdie let out a delighted gasp.

“Oh my god,” she practically moaned, spinning in place to take in the picturesque streets of the Sicilian town before you. The cobblestone streets were lined with boutique shops, cafés spilling out onto the walkways with tiny iron tables and chairs, their tabletops adorned with vases of fresh flowers. Brightly colored awnings shaded windows filled with designer pieces, handmade jewelry, and intricate ceramics.

Birdie turned to Claire, eyes sparkling. “Okay, we have to find you something in a colour other than beige.”

Claire exhaled, giving her a flat look. “I wear colors.”

Birdie snorted. “You’ll look so cuuuute.”

Peg, who was already holding three of Birdie’s bags despite them just having left the yacht, sighed. “Can we focus?”

Miles clapped his hands together, the picture of a gracious host. “Alright, my beautiful disruptors- go crazy.”

“Fuck yeah man,” Duke beamed, rubbing the card between his fingers. “This is why you’re the goat.”

“Nothing but the best for my inner circle. Now go and have fun.”

“This’ll be so good” Whisky beamed.

“Try not to bankrupt me, kid,” he teased.

Lionel, however, was watching Miles carefully, brows furrowing. “So, you’re not coming?” he asked, arms crossing.

Miles flashed a casual smile, waving a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’ve got some business to sort out. You know how it is, the tiring responsibilities of being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire.”

Lionel’s frown deepened. “Right.”

Whisky, who had been adjusting the straps of her tiny sundress, turned toward Miles with a pout. “Well, I’ll miss you.”

Before anyone could react, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

Miles chuckled, his hands resting low on her back, lingering just a second too long.

Your eyebrows shot up. Claire, who had already been watching you like a hawk around Whisky, saw the whole thing and immediately rolled her eyes.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath.

Miles finally pulled back, brushing a strand of hair behind Whisky’s ear. “Don’t miss me too much,” he murmured.

You and Claire exchanged a look. Yeah. Suspicious as hell. Claire sighed, then grabbed your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours as she turned away from the yacht.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go spend Miles Bron’s money.”

As you walked off into town, the laughter and chatter of the group surrounding you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something about this trip, about Miles, was more than just a luxurious getaway. Something was off.

The town square was alive with movement, locals and tourists alike weaving through the stone-paved streets, the scent of espresso and fresh pastries lingering in the warm air. Birdie had immediately taken off, dragging Peg behind her toward a boutique with a window display that practically screamed exorbitantly overpriced.

Duke, meanwhile, had positioned himself in the middle of the square, holding court like he was on one of his live streams. He had one foot propped up on a fountain ledge, aviators pushed onto his forehead, a self-assured grin on his face as he talked to Lionel about how the woke mob was ruining masculinity and how he was in some kind of on-going Twitter beef with Jimmy Kimmel.

Whisky stood at his side, silent and poised, her usual charming smile plastered on as Duke kept her tucked under his thick arm like some kind of trophy.

You barely had time to process any of it before Claire grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a quieter street, away from the group.

“We’re leaving them?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

Claire didn’t break stride. “I cannot spend another second with Whisky.”

You frowned. “Wow. You really don’t like her, huh?”

The distaste was evident in the way Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, “Can you blame me?” she said, voice dry. “She’s so…” Claire made a vague, frustrated gesture. “ I mean her names Whisky.”

You snorted. “That explains nothing.”

Claire stopped in front of a store, glancing at the designer dresses in the window, but it was obvious she wasn’t really looking at them.

“She’s young,” Claire muttered. “And… naive. And uses it to her advantage.”

You crossed your arms. “So do a lot of people”

“Yes, but she… ” Claire exhaled, looking away, jaw tight.

You suddenly understood. “Oh my God,” you said slowly, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “You’re jealous of Whisky.”

Claire scoffed, turning back toward the window. “That is not- ” She cut herself off, arms crossed. “She weaponizes it. That whole innocent wide-eyed act? It’s bullshit. And you-” Her eyes flicked back to you, sharp. “She likes you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Claire’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And I don’t like that.”

Your smirk widened. “Aw. Is someone feeling territorial?”

Claire rolled her eyes, but you could see the way her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab you, to pull you into her and remind you exactly whose arms you belonged in. Instead, she exhaled and turned on her heel, heading for the store entrance.

“Come on,” she said, her voice still brimming with annoyance. “If we have to suffer through this trip, we’re at least going to look fucking stunning for it.”

You chuckled as you followed her inside.

The boutique smelled of expensive perfume and fresh leather, the lighting soft and flattering, making everything inside seem even more indulgent. Mannequins draped in shimmering gowns stood on pedestals, and elegant displays showcased delicate, lacy lingerie sets. The kind designed to be taken off slowly.

Claire hated it. Not because she didn’t appreciate nice clothes- she did. She just never really had the time to think about them. Her wardrobe had always been a careful balancing act. In politics, every outfit was a statement, and if you cared too much, if you looked too put-together, if you wore one thing that could be considered too expensive or too trendy, the press would eat you alive. There was a reason she let her campaign team handle her wardrobe for public appearances. And when she dressed for you- for date nights, for lazy mornings, for stolen moments in hotel rooms on the campaign trail it was either whatever she thought worked with the items provided… or whatever you picked out for her.

She watched as you trailed your fingers along racks of silks and satins, your sharp eye scanning through dresses, your mouth quirking as you lifted a hanger to inspect the dress. You knew what you liked. You owned it. And fuck, you looked good doing it. Her mouth watered as her gaze drifted lower, past the curve of your back, the line of your thighs.

Then you turned toward one of the displays of lingerie- delicate lace bralettes, garter sets, whisper-thin slips designed purely to be sinful. You reached out, picking up a set in a shade of deep red, and turned back to her with a playful smirk.

“What would you like to see me in?” you asked, wrapping your arms around her waist.

Claire exhaled, her hands settling on your hips as she met your gaze. “I think you know the answer to that,” she murmured, voice lower now.

Your smirk widened. “Do I?”

She glanced down at the set in your hand, then back at you, her eyes darkening. “You could wear any of these,” she said, fingers brushing along your lower back, “and I’d just want to tear it off you.”

Your grip on her tightened just slightly, and Claire smirked. “But this one…” Her hand skimmed the lace between your fingers. “This one would look obscene on you.”

You shivered, pressing closer. “Yeah?”

She hummed, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. “Get it.”

You grinned, tugging her into a slow, teasing kiss before slipping away to grab your size. Claire exhaled, running a hand through her hair, her pulse pounding. Yeah. She was completely fucked.

You began looking through the racks of dresses, holding them up against your body to check the fit. Smiling over at her and doing a little twirl. Claire had never been that kind of woman. The kind who enjoyed this. The kind who walked into a place like this and knew exactly what she wanted and didn’t feel fucking ridiculous about it.

She glanced down at the dress in her hands- plain, serviceable, easy. But before she could slip away to pay for it, you turned, catching sight of her choice. You frowned, stopping in your tracks.

"Baby, come on," you said, walking over to her. "You barely even looked at that."

Claire exhaled, rubbing her temple. "This is fine."

You gave her an unimpressed look. "Fine isn’t the point."

She shifted under your gaze, feeling exposed in a way she wasn’t used to. It was so fucking stupid, really. She’d stood her ground against senators and oil lobbyists. She’d stared down reporters who wanted nothing more than to rip her apart. She’d survived Miles fucking Bron. And yet- standing here, under the soft boutique lighting, with you looking at her like that- she felt out of her depth.

You must’ve seen it, must’ve felt her hesitation, because instead of pushing, you softened. You stepped closer, cupping her face in your hands, thumbs grazing her cheekbones.

“Hey,” you murmured, grounding, steady.

She let out a breath. "Hey."

You smiled softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. Claire sighed into it, letting her shoulders relax, letting herself breathe.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s find something you really like, yeah?”

She swallowed.

“We have time.” And something about the way you said it, the patience in it, the warmth, made her chest ache. Claire wasn’t used to someone giving her that kind of time.

She exhaled, nodding. “Okay.”

You grinned, taking her hand, tugging her toward the more extravagant gowns. Claire exhales, nodding, trusting you to guide her through this. And then there it is. A dress that catches your eye immediately. A stunning black sequined gown, structured yet dramatic, with that signature crisp white collar and cuffs. It’s bold, powerful, and effortlessly elegant, just like her.

You pluck it from the rack and hold it up between you. “This,” you murmur, watching her expression carefully. She hesitates, her lips pressing together like she wants to argue, but you see the flicker of something in her eyes. Interest.

“It’s-” she starts, shaking her head, but you don’t let her finish.

“It’s perfect,” you counter. “And you’re trying it on.”

A few minutes later, she steps out of the fitting room, smoothing the fabric over her hips. The way the sequins catch the light, the way the structure of the dress commands attention—it’s everything. You stare, unabashed, taking her in, and when your eyes meet hers, there’s a rare flicker of uncertainty on her face.

“Well?” she asks, a little hesitant.

You walk up to her, slow and deliberate, taking her hand and pulling her in just enough for your lips to ghost over her ear. “Baby,” you murmur, voice low and full of promise, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you tonight.”

Claire huffs a soft laugh, but you don’t miss the way her breath catches, the way her fingers tighten around yours. “You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, but you catch the small, satisfied smile she tries to hide as she turns back toward the mirror.

Yeah. This was the one.

Now it was your turn. You step out of the dressing room, the deep red fabric clinging to you in all the right places, shimmering under the boutique’s golden lighting. The delicate floral embroidery catches the light, giving the illusion of cherry blossoms blooming along your curves.

The moment she sees you, Claire freezes. Her mouth parts slightly, eyes darkening as they rake over you from head to toe. You watch her chest rise and fall with a sharp inhale, and before you can even get a word out she’s crossing the room in three quick strides, hands firmly on your waist as she practically shoves you back into the dressing room.

“Claire- ” You barely have time to squeak before your back hits the mirror, her lips already on your neck, hands roaming over the fabric of your dress like she can’t decide where to touch first.

“Oh, my pretty baby,” she murmurs against your skin, voice thick with adoration. “Look at you. Jesus Christ, you’re so-” She cuts herself off with a reverent kiss, pressing her body flush against yours.

Her fingers trace the neckline, dipping teasingly along the fabric. “Gonna lose my mind over you,” she whispers, pressing kisses along your collarbone. “How the hell am I supposed to let you leave wearing this when all I wanna do is keep you right here and kiss you everywhere?”

Heat pools in your stomach, your hands gripping her shoulders as she presses another dizzying kiss to your lips. “Claire,” you mumble between breaths, barely able to think straight, “we’re in a store.”

“Mm,” she hums, completely unbothered. “And?”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back as her lips trail lower. “And we have places to be.”

She groans dramatically, but when she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her expression is soft and completely smitten. “Fine,” she relents, though her hands linger on your waist. “But, baby?”

“Yeah?”

She leans in, brushing her lips over your ear. “You’re so wearing this for me again later.”

You smirk, stepping closer and turning slightly to show off the gown. “You like?”

Claire swallows hard. “Understatement of the century.”

~

The sun is starting to set, casting a golden glow over the town square, the soft hum of conversation and distant music making everything feel warm and easy. You’re curled up in Claire’s arms on a bench, your ice cream slowly melting as you lazily watch the world go by.

It’s nice, just existing, just being. No glances over your shoulders, no hushed, careful distance. Just two people sharing ice cream, wrapped up in each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You sigh contentedly, shifting against her. “This is nice,” you murmur, licking your ice cream. “Not having to hide. Just being… another couple having ice cream.”

Claire hums, thoughtful. You can feel her hand tighten slightly around your waist. “Yeah,” she says softly, almost to herself. She’s considering something, you can tell. And for a brief second, a part of you wonders if she’s thinking about what it would be like to do this all the time. Out in the open, no secrets, no careful maneuvering. But you don’t push. You won’t. You know better than to hold onto something that might not happen.

So instead, you nudge her. “Lemme try yours.”

Claire turns her head slowly, unimpressed. “I knew you were gonna steal mine.”

You pout dramatically. “You can have some of mine?”

She scoffs. “I don’t want yours. I want mine.”

“Tough shit,” you say, swiping a bit of her ice cream onto your spoon.

She glares at you, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. And before she can protest again, you boop the tip of her nose with the cold ice cream, watching her jerk back with a startled laugh.

“You little-”

You don’t let her finish, leaning in and kissing the laughter right off her lips. She tastes like vanilla and caramel, her hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as she kisses you slow, deep, like she’s savoring every second.

When you finally pull away, breathless and grinning, Claire shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” you tease.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she wipes her nose with the back of her hand, eyes still crinkled in amusement.

And just like that, the world keeps turning around you. But for now, it’s just the two of you, here, in this tiny corner of the world, stealing ice cream and kisses like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You’re still tucked against Claire, savoring the last of your ice cream when you hear a familiar voice carrying across the square.

“Peg, come on, you’re moving like a sloth in a coma.”

You turn just in time to see Birdie strutting towards you, her signature oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, while Peg- poor, suffering Peg- is trailing behind her, arms overloaded with shopping bags. She’s carrying so much you genuinely think she might topple over at any second.

Claire lets out an amused snort, her chest shaking against your back. “Jesus, Bird. Got enough?”

Birdie waves her off dramatically. “Oh, please.” She gestures to one singular, tiny bag at the very top of the pile. “That one’s for Peg, so it’s not all mine.”

Claire side-eyes her. “Uh-huh. How generous of you.”

“Thank you Claire” she beams.

You shake your head, laughing, before pushing yourself up from the bench. “Here, Peg, let me help before you get buried under.”

Peg gives you a grateful look as you take a few bags off her hands, her arms finally free enough to stretch. “You’re a lifesaver,” she mutters.

Before you can respond, Lionel appears at your side, taking a few more bags without a word. You exchange a quick glance, sharing an unspoken understanding of what it’s like to be pulled into Birdie’s orbit.

Birdie, meanwhile, is entirely unbothered, already fussing with the strap of her bag. “Okay, now that that’s settled, who wants to go for drinks? I’m exhausted.”

Claire chuckles, sliding an arm around your waist as she stands. “Lead the way.” And with that, you fall into step with Claire’s little makeshift family, the easy warmth of the moment wrapping around you like the summer air.

The bar was dimly lit, the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses filling the space as you sat with Claire, Lionel, and Birdie. But after the first twenty minutes, you quickly realized you weren’t really in the conversation- just there. Lionel and Claire were deep in some debate, while Birdie was rambling about a designer she’d just met, not really listening to either of them. You had tried to chime in a few times, but it was like trying to jump into a double-dutch rope that never slowed down. Eventually, you just gave up, sipping your drink and zoning out. That’s when Duke and Whisky walked in.

The moment you spotted Whisky, relief flooded through you. You weren’t sure if she felt the same until her eyes landed on you, and her whole face lit up. She wasted no time making a beeline toward you.

“Oh, thank God,” she muttered as she reached you before nodding toward the bar. “Come with me?”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. “Absolutely.”

As the two of you slid up to the bar, you turned to her. “You and Duke have been together for a while right? How many of these things have you been to?”

She sighed, waving a hand at the bartender before giving you a knowing look. “Three.”

Your eyes widened. “Three?”

She laughed at your reaction, shaking her head. “Yeah. And trust me, they’re all like this.”

You groaned, letting your head drop against the bar as you pictured going through another 3 of these trips. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Whisky said dryly, taking a sip of her drink. “When they’re together, they’re kind of the worst.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Tell me about it.”

Whisky tilted her head, watching you for a moment before saying, “You know, I never did ask. Why’re you with Claire?”

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on,” Whisky said, grinning now. “You asked me about Duke, so I think it’s only fair that I ask you about Claire.”

You huffed a small laugh, swirling the ice in your glass. “What, you think she’s that bad?”

Whisky gave you a look. “Yes?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s the worst one of them- at least to me. I mean, Duke’s friends always see me as just some hot girl with no brain, but Claire?” She let out a dry laugh. “Claire hates me.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “She’s… not your biggest fan, yeah.”

Whisky scoffed. “No kidding.” She took another sip of her drink. “She acts like I personally ran over her dog or something. Like, I was actually excited to meet her for the first time. I mean, she’s Claire Debella, right? She’s a powerful woman in politics. That’s kinda inspiring.”

You frowned, surprised. “You were excited to meet her?”

Whisky nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I eventually want to get into politics myself- not at Claire’s level, obviously, but still. I wanted to talk to her about it, maybe even get some advice.” She rolled her eyes. “But it took, like, two seconds to realize that was never gonna happen. She made it very clear that we wouldn’t be friends anytime soon.”

You exhaled, guilt tugging at your chest. “I’m sorry,” you said, meaning it.

Whisky shrugged, then leaned forward on the bar. “So, back to my question- why Claire?”

You paused, thinking. “I know she can seem like the classic stressed-out politician, all hard-faced bitch sometimes. But that’s just…” You hesitated, then shook your head. “That’s just how she has to be for her job.”

Whisky raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue.

You smiled softly to yourself. “But she loves me.”

Whisky didn’t say anything, just watched you as you went on.

“You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you thought about all the little things she did that made you fall in love with her, over and over again.

“She loves me,” you said again, but softer this time. More to yourself than to Whisky. Then, after a beat, you looked up, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

“She takes me on bookshop dates,” you began, your voice laced with fondness. “She never rushes me, even though I know she gets impatient. I can spend hours just wandering between shelves, reading the backs of books I won’t even buy, and she doesn’t complain. She just follows me around, letting me talk at her about why I love certain authors or why this particular edition of a book is superior. And she listens… like, really listens. She even started keeping a list of books I mention offhand, so she can surprise me with them later.”

Whisky’s expression softened a fraction, but she stayed quiet, letting you continue.

“She washes my hair for me in the shower,” you said, smiling a little at the thought. “Not just, like, quickly scrubbing and rinsing. She takes her time. She massages my scalp, runs her fingers through my hair so gently it makes me melt right there against her. And she does it every single time, like it’s just our thing. Like she wants to take care of me.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “She tells me she loves me every night before bed, no matter where she is. Even if she’s on the other side of the country, campaigning or working some insane hours, she always finds time to call me. And if I fall asleep before she can? I wake up to a voice note.” Your heart squeezed at the thought. “It’s never just good night, love you, either. It’s detailed. Like I saw something today that reminded me of you or I wish you were here because you would’ve loved this weird café I found. She makes time for me. Even when she’s exhausted.”

You paused, swallowing down the emotion creeping up your throat.

“She gives me confidence in my writing,” you went on, voice a little steadier. “When my publishers are being assholes, when I start doubting myself, she never lets me sink too far into it. She sits me down, makes me talk about what I’m writing, reminds me why I love it. She tells me I’m brilliant. That my words matter.” You smiled wryly. “And trust me, when Claire tells you you’re brilliant, you believe it.”

Whisky gave a small huff of amusement at that, but her eyes were still focused, still listening.

“Yes she’s older than me,” you said, a small, private smile tugging at your lips, “but she’s never made me feel small. She talks to me like an equal. Like what I have to say matters.” You let out a slow breath, shaking your head slightly. “She’s so smart, but she never makes me feel stupid. She’s opinionated, but she never makes me feel like mine don’t count. She challenges me, but she listens to me. She doesn’t just love me- she respects me.”

Whisky’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated.

You inhaled, looking down at your hands for a second before you met her gaze again. “She left her husband for me,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “That’s not something I take lightly. I know it’s messy, and it’s not something she’s proud of, but… she chose me. And she’s never once made me feel like I wasn’t worth that choice.”

You met Whisky’s gaze, feeling the weight of your own words settle in your chest.

“She’s a good partner,” you finished, voice thick with conviction. “A really good one.”

Whisky studied you for a moment, then nodded slightly, like she understood.

Then, after a beat, she tilted her head. “So why does she hide your relationship?”

The warmth in your chest chilled instantly. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t answer. Because that… that was the one question you tried not to ask yourself too often. Because it hurt.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, the condensation slick against your skin. You don't answer right away, because the truth of it is so heavy, so dense in your chest that it feels like it'll crush your ribs if you let it out too fast. Instead, you focus on the ice swirling in the glass, your stomach twisting as you try to find the right words.

"Because she can’t right now," you finally say, your voice quieter than before, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it worse. "She’s planning to run for Senate. You know what people are like. If they found out about us, the homophobic assholes wouldn’t vote for her. It’s why she’s still using Devon’s last name. If people think she’s still that picture-perfect congresswoman with a husband and a kid, they’ll back her. She needs that support to even have a shot."

Whisky leans against the bar, looking at you with something softer than before- less curiosity, more pity. Her fingers trace circles against the rim of her glass.

"So..." she hesitates, watching the way your jaw tenses, the way your gaze stays locked on the drink in your hand. Then, quieter, almost like she doesn’t want to say it: "She’ll never come out then?"

And just like that, it feels like something inside you caves in.

Your throat goes tight, that burning feeling rising up, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe that’s the part that keeps you awake at night, staring at the ceiling of an apartment you don’t even live in, wondering if she’ll ever really choose you, really claim you. Not just in private, in whispered I-love-yous before bed, in the way she pulls you into her arms when no one else is looking- but in public, where it actually matters.

You swallow hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. "I don’t know," you admit, barely above a whisper. "I really don’t."

And that’s the worst part.

Because you love Claire with everything you have. And you know she loves you. But love isn’t always enough. And what if this- this thing between you, no matter how deep, how real- never leaves the shadows?

What if you’re always the secret? The thought makes your chest ache, like something sharp twisting inside of you.

Whisky doesn’t say anything right away. She just watches you, her expression unreadable, before finally sighing and looking away. "That’s rough," she says eventually, her voice softer than you expected. "You deserve better than that."

And maybe she’s right. Maybe she’s completely right. But it doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want better. You want Claire.

[sky-high-standards]

Delusional yandere x reader

Delusional yandere~Whos been desperately in love with his beloved best friend since childhood and has done everything no matter how drastic to earn their attention but the feelings where never reciprocated.

Delusional yandere~ Who puts on a fake smile clenching his jaw when their beloved talks about some random loser who caught their eye. Why not him what does he have that they don't!?

Delusional yandere~ Who finally breaks when their beloved claims their in love with this new random and absolutely loses his shit.

Delusional yandere~ Who finally decides to find out who this is to finally take out the competition.

Delusional yandere~ Who knew it was you the moment he saw you it turns out his beloved wasn't dramatic about how gorgeous you were

Delusional yandere~ Who spends time with you to slowly becoming your friend to get close and destroy you when the times right but why are you so kind to him you're a home wrecking witch you shouldn't be this nice…

Delusional yandere~ Who finds it cute how trusting you are you have no idea what's coming…cute? No no no he meant dumb ofc he meant dumb

Delusional yandere~ Who finally sees why his beloved liked you so much who wouldn't like you you're everything…but his main goal is his sweetheart…..right?

Delusional yandere~ Who denies how he gets butterflies when you laugh or touch him.

Delusional yandere~ Who just can't bring himself to poison your drink I mean you don't have to die now he'll kill you in a different way later much much later.

Delusional yandere~ Who soon completely forgets about his beloved cancelling hang out to be around you leaving them confused and flabbergasted.

Delusional yandere~ Who is furious to hear that his beloved plans to ask you out soon how dare they!...I mean how dare you steal them away yeah…

Delusional yandere~ Who beats his friend to it feeling a weird watch in his chest when you say yes.

Delusional yandere~ Who dresses up all fancy to impress you and even brings you flowers y'know to make you lower your guard.

Delusional yandere~ who dreamily stares at you as you cutely ramble about a topic he has no clue about completely forgetting the vile of poison in his jacket pocket that was supposed to be in your drink by now.

Delusional yandere~ Whos walks you home and kisses the crown of your head.

He'll kill you later he needs way more time to study you~

That's all my Pringles comment for part two💜🫶🏿Jesus loves you and stay hydrated.

[krirebr]

Caught Up in Your Trap

Pairing: dark!Andy Barber x f!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: You spend your first day in your new home. Part of the Trapped AU.

Warnings: Dark elements, kidnapping, human trafficking, drugging, training, punishment, isolation, injury, forced intimacy - Just trust me when I say that this is dark. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: Oh my god, you guys. Uh, happy sin day, I guess?? 🤣 Because I am apparently incapable of just leaving a one-shot alone, this is a prequel to I Don't Want a Lot for Christmas spurred by some unhinged 4 AM thots. It is definitely the darkest thing I've written so far. Whoops.

Big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who was not only the fantastic sounding board she always is, and let me ramble on about all my research into furnaces of all things but also helped me figure out the title for both this fic and the greater AU it's now a part of (🤦🏻‍♀️ Seriously, Kris, just stop!). Hat tip to Bruce Springsteen for both, as well. I'm sure he'd be thrilled. 😂

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Andy pulled up at the address he’d been given, more surprised than he should have been that it was an abandoned warehouse. Of course, this sort of deal would be completed there. He should have known from the sorts of channels he’d had to go through to set it up. Connections left over from his days in the DA’s office. Well, that wasn’t the side of the law he was on anymore. 

He walked into the large open space that made up most of the building to find a man standing in the middle of a few folding chairs. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and was wearing sharp but tight clothing. He wasn’t who caught Andy’s attention, though. No, that was you, slumped over in one of the chairs, wearing the clothes you must have been taken in. Even like this, he could tell your pictures hadn’t done you justice. You were absolutely perfect. Or you would be, once he was done.

“Barber!” the man called out, a satisfied smirk raising his mustache. “How nice of you to join us!”

“Hansen,” Andy answered evenly. He nodded at you, “She ok?”

“Oh, she’s fine. Just on enough horse tranqs to move her across the country without her realizing it. She’ll only be out for another day or so.”

Andy walked over to you. “I’m sure you don’t mind if I check for myself. With the amount of money I’m paying you.” Hansen gestured for him to go ahead, so he placed a gentle hand on the pulse in your neck, pleased to feel that it was strong and steady. He took a step back and opened the untraceable banking app on his phone. He clicked the transfer button, moving an ungodly amount of money from his numbered account in the Caymans to the account Lloyd had given him. “Alright,” he said, “the money’s in your account.”

The other man snapped his fingers and someone appeared out of the shadows, holding a tablet. “And I’m sure you don’t mind,” Hansen said as the new man tapped his screen, “if I check for myself. With the amount of work I’ve done for you.”

They all waited in tense silence for the confirmation of the transfer to come through. Andy couldn’t take his eyes off you, eager to finally get you home. After everything he’d been through, this was what he deserved. The perfect wife, the perfect family, the perfect life. And he was going to do it right this time, taking full control until he had exactly what he wanted. Nothing left to chance. It was costing him a pretty penny, but it was worth it.

The man with the tablet nodded at Hansen, who clapped his hands together. “Alright!” he said. “Let’s get this done. My men will get her settled in your car while we finish up.” Two more men came out from the edge of the room and started to put their hands on you. Andy couldn’t help the growl that came out of him. Hansen laughed. “Don’t worry, Mr. ADA, they won’t hurt your precious new wife. You have my word.” 

Andy gave a hesitant nod, as they carried you out of the warehouse, clicking the unlock button on his car fob so that they could get you settled. He didn’t take his eyes off you until you were gone.

Hansen reached down and picked up a thick folder. “Everything you’ll need is in here. Everything for her new identity, all in order, all immaculate. Marriage license. Anything from her old life you might need. Although I’d get what you need from those quickly and then burn them.” 

Andy took the folder and briefly paged through it. New birth certificate, social security card, IDs, passport. Everything he’d need to start your new life. He put the folder in his briefcase. “Thank you. Anything else?”

Hansen smirked again. “Eager to get started?” He leered in the direction you’d disappeared. “Can’t say I blame you.”

Andy cleared his throat, not appreciating the way Hansen was talking about what was his. “Yes, I would like to get us both home. Are we done here?”

“Sure sure. You have a good time now,” he smirked.

Andy gave him a curt nod and then exited in the direction Hansen’s men had taken you. There was no sign of them by his car, but you were laid out across the backseat. He opened the door and leaned in to brush a gentle finger across your cheek. He wouldn’t be able to relax until you were secured inside his home. It was so close now.

This wasn’t your room. You’d woken up some time ago (you couldn’t say how long ago exactly. There were no clocks, no windows) in the most comfortable bed you’d ever felt. You thought it might swallow you up, it was so soft. Luxurious. The whole room was that way. Beautiful. Rich. You were dressed in a satin nightgown that wasn’t at all like anything you owned. You tried very hard not to think about the fact that someone must have changed you. The door was locked from the outside, a small keypad right under the doorknob. You tried banging on the door. Yelling for someone. Nothing. A quick exploration of the room hadn’t yielded anything either – the two other doors were also locked, a dresser held only men’s clothing. So you’d spent the last who knows how long just laying in the bed, trying not to panic or cry. You weren’t very successful at either.

The most disturbing thing you’d discovered since you’d woken up here was the set of rings on your left hand. One featured a large diamond, the other was a simpler band filled with comparatively tiny diamonds. The bands were fused together like you remembered your mom’s engagement and wedding rings being. It took a long time to normalize your breathing after that discovery.

Just as you were about to drift asleep again, for want of anything else to do, you heard a few soft beeps, the lock click, and the doorknob move. You leaped up and huddled in the far corner of the room between the wall and the bed, holding a pillow in front of you. There was nothing else in the room to use to defend yourself. Even the lamps were bolted down – you’d checked. 

The door slowly opened and a man walked in. He was tall, over 6 feet, and broad. He had dark, soft-looking hair, and a well-kept beard. He wore a gray cotton tee and jeans. If your adrenaline hadn’t been spiking, you would have found him so handsome. But as it was, you pushed yourself further into the corner.

He was carrying a tray, which he set down on one of the nightstands. From your vantage point, you could see a glass of water and a bowl. You weren’t feeling inclined to take anything from this man.

Your eyes cautiously tracked him as he came around to the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice deep but gentle.

You didn’t say anything, just kept watching him. He leveled you with a stern look that sent a chill down your spine. His voice was much more rigid when he said, “I expect an answer when I ask a question, sweetheart.” 

You ignored him again, instead asking, “Who are you?”

He took a deep breath, flexing both hands. Extreme irritation passed over his face before it was replaced with a practiced calm. He sat at the foot of the bed and patted the space next to him. “Come sit,” he said. You didn’t move. “Now,” he growled. Something in his tone made it clear, not only that he would move you himself if he had to, but even more so, that you didn’t want it to come to that. You got up and sat on the far edge of the bed. He reached over and grabbed your arm hard, dragging you into his side. You cried out but he shushed you. “Alright,” he said, “I will answer your question once you answer mine. How are you feeling?”

This was the most scared you’d ever been. You had to take a few deep breaths before you were able to say. “I have a headache and I’m a little nauseous. And I’m very scared.”

He gently took your hand in his and cooed at you. “That’d be the drugs they used to knock you out. You’ll feel better when they’re completely out of your system. Eating will help. You can have some soup once we’re done talking.” He paused, for what you didn’t know. You didn’t say anything. He smiled. “You can ask your question now. Good girl waiting for permission.” 

Your head swung to look at him. That hadn’t been what you were doing. Had it? You were woozy and scared and just trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. That was most important, so you let his comment go and repeated your question. “Who are you?”

He squeezed your hand. “I’m your husband, sweetheart. My name is Andy.”

That was the answer you’d been terrified of since you’d seen the rings on your finger. He was fucking crazy. He had to be. The best you could do right now was to get as much information out of him as you could. “And where are we? Is this your house?” You were trying to keep your voice steady, but you could hear the tremor in it.

“This is our house, sweetheart. Just outside Boston.”

Your eyes widened and your heart rate picked up in panic. “Boston?? No– That’s– How did I get here?!” This was even worse than you thought. You were nowhere near home, nowhere near anything familiar.

He just looked at you for a moment with narrowed eyes. Then he nodded and said, “Ok, I’m going to be honest and explain it to you, because I think it will help you understand your place here. But in the future, you need to know that I don’t appreciate having to explain myself. Good wives don’t question their husband's actions. Now, since I’m going out of my way to make this clear for you, I expect you to sit quietly and listen. Can you do that for me?”

You clenched your hands into fists, wanting to rage at him for how he was speaking to you like a child, but you knew you needed this information. You needed everything you could get if you were going to get out of here, so you tried to control your breathing and nodded.

He looked at you like he wanted to scold you for something, but then visibly changed his mind and began. “I’ve had a hard life, the last few years especially, I’ve been through a lot. Things haven’t turned out the way they were supposed to. I wanted a family. I thought I had one, but– It wasn’t how it was supposed to be, and then I lost even that. I wanted to try again, but I couldn’t put in all that effort without a guarantee that I wouldn’t wind up with nothing again.

“I’m a lawyer. I used to work as an ADA and now I’m in defense. In both jobs, I’ve made a lot of connections with people from different walks of life. Through that, I found a man who provides a service – if you let him know what you’re looking for, he’ll find you a person who fills those needs. So I told him that I was looking for someone to build a family with, a good wife. He presented me with a few options, and I chose you. For a hefty price, his men picked you up and brought you here. They also put together all new paperwork for you, a whole new identity. The old you doesn’t exist anymore, do you understand? You’re Mrs. Barber now, property of your husband. I bought and paid for you. I own you, every part of you.”

You saw his hand start to move toward your thigh and you jumped up, quickly pressing yourself against the wall. You just stared at him for a moment and then the panic truly hit you, but this time, it was accompanied by blinding anger. “That’s human trafficking, you complete fucking psycho! The fuck is wrong with you?!” Once you’d started screaming, you couldn’t stop. “You can’t just buy a wife, you fucking cuck! I’m a person! People are going to look for me!” He stood up and came at you and you swung out with your fists, your nails, your knees, whatever you fucking could. You connected a few times, drew a grunt from him before he somehow pinned your wrists behind your back. You screamed as loud as you could, but it did nothing. 

He frog-marched you out of the room as he said, “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this so soon, but you need a timeout, honey. Some time to calm down in the quiet room, and then we can try again and go over the rules. You just need some time to think by yourself.”

You tried to pay attention as he pushed you through what looked like a little apartment: a living room, a kitchenette. He stopped at an innocuous-looking door with a keypad on it, just like the one in the bedroom. He turned you away so you couldn’t see as he entered the code, one hand still keeping your wrists in a bruising grip. Before you’d even realized he’d opened the door, he was shoving you into the room so hard you briefly left the ground. The door slammed shut behind you. You hit the floor hard and groaned. You stumbled up onto your hands and knees. You heard another beep, then the grinding of a lock. Then nothing.

The room was pitch black. You weren’t even sure where the door was now, as there wasn’t any light coming through the cracks. You crawled around, trying to get an idea of the space. It was small and empty as far as you could tell. But there was a low rumbling noise that seemed to fill the room. You couldn’t pinpoint the source just from listening, it felt like it was coming from everywhere. The floor under your hands was bare, concrete. Your hands brushed through cobwebs and other detritus you couldn’t see. You cautiously held a hand out as you continued to try to map out the room, terrified you’d smack your face right into the wall. It made contact with something hot and sharp. You pulled it back with a hiss, pain radiating through your palm. You felt the first few wet drops. Shit. You were bleeding. You’d cut yourself. Fuck. “Hey!” you called out as loud as you could. There was no answer. “Hey!” you tried again, “I’m hurt! I’m bleeding!” No response. “WHAT THE FUCK?” You were screaming now. “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! LET ME OUT!” Nothing. God, this room was already lightproof, maybe it was soundproof, too. He wouldn’t be able to hear you, wouldn’t know you were hurt. You couldn’t tell how badly you’d cut your hand so you raised it above your head, hoping that might at least slow down the bleeding. It was dirty you were sure. God, how long did it take for cuts to get infected? You hoped you wouldn’t find out. You didn’t even know what you’d cut it on. What if it was rusty? Shit, when was your last tetanus booster? You couldn’t remember exactly. Fuck. You really didn’t want to die from tetanus in some random basement in Massachusetts. A tear rolled down your cheek. He couldn’t leave you in here too long, could he? No. He would come get you soon.

You had no idea how long you’d been sitting in the dark, your knees pulled up to your chest, one arm wrapped around them, the other still held in the air. Your shoulder was so sore, but you were too worried to lower your hand. You wished you could see the cut, know exactly how bad it was. You wished you knew how much time had passed. With no frame of reference, no external indicators, you were afraid you’d lost the ability to tell the difference between hours and minutes. It’d been hours. It had to have been hours. How long was he going to leave you here? He had to come back soon. He had to. You took some perverse comfort in the fact that he’d spent a lot of money on you. That had to mean that he wouldn’t just leave you here. He’d want a return on his investment. You tried to ignore the chills that thought gave you.

You’d been crying on and off. It made you feel pathetic but what else were you supposed to do? The panic, too, ebbed and flowed. You’d been trying to keep your breathing even, trying to ignore how small the space was, how dirty, how dark. Deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. It wasn’t doing much to calm you, but at least it gave you something to focus on. 

Just as a fresh wave of tears overtook you, a blinding light came in, directly opposite you. You squinted and raised your uninjured hand in front of your eyes, but that didn’t do much to help.

���Oh sweetheart,” Andy’s voice cooed, before gently lifting you by your arms and herding you out. He half-carried you through the finished part of the basement while your eyes continued to adjust. Before you knew it, you were back in the bedroom you’d started in. He gently sat you down on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of you. You felt dazed. The room was too bright. You didn’t know how you could keep breaking the record for the most scared you’d ever been. There had to be a ceiling, a limit. You’d hit it soon, wouldn’t you? 

You still had your hand raised and cradled to your chest. Andy touched your wrist and you flinched. He raised an eyebrow in question and you whispered, “I got hurt.” He sighed and gently tugged at your wrist again. This time you let him guide your arm down, moving your hand so you both could see it. It was a little grimy and definitely red, slightly swollen maybe. There was a little dried blood, but not much. The cut was so much more shallow than you’d imagined when you were trapped in that room alone. You felt incredibly foolish. You’d thought you were going to lose your hand over a glorified paper cut. 

Andy carefully moved his thumb over a raised patch under the cut that you now realized was a minor burn. “Did you touch the furnace?” The furnace – that’s what’d been making that noise. That’s what you’d cut yourself on. That’s where he’d thrown you. What the fuck? You were lucky you hadn’t hurt yourself even worse. You looked up from your hand to see him frowning at you. “Why would you do that? Sweetheart, you have to be more careful. That was a very stupid thing to do.” He got up and walked into the ensuite, opening a cabinet under the sink.

Was he seriously scolding you for getting hurt in a dangerous room he’d locked you in?? The rage from earlier was starting to return, but it was still tempered by your fear. You did your best to keep your voice even when you replied, “It was completely dark in there. I couldn’t see anything.” A little growl came through your words, but it wasn’t anything compared to what you were actually feeling.

He came back holding a small first-aid kit. “Well then that’s a good reason to keep your hands to yourself, isn’t it?” He sat down and opened the kit, pulling out a few wipes and beginning to somewhat roughly clean your hand. “Sweetheart, I’m here to take care of you. That’s my job as your husband. But I need you to be a good girl and not put yourself in harm’s way.”

“You threw me in there!” you said, your voice starting to get louder, despite your best efforts to keep calm.

“Because you were bad and needed a time-out!” he yelled back at you. He threw the dirty wipes into the trashcan beside the bed and took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. He grabbed an ointment from the kit and began applying it to your hand. “That’s why we’re going to talk about rules now. They’re there to keep you safe and both of us happy. When you don’t follow them, something like this can happen.”

You didn’t say anything. You had to be smart if you were ever going to get out of here and antagonizing him wasn’t smart. He didn’t seem to expect a response anyway as he just silently placed a bandage on your hand and then got up and put the kit away. He came back and sat right next to you, turning so he could look into your eyes. You tried to turn your head away, but he grabbed your chin and forced eye contact. 

“Alright,” he said, his tone already so fucking patronizing. “A good thing that came out of your little tantrum is that now we know the areas we need to focus on most for improvement – manners, respect, and attitude. I did some thinking during your quiet time too, and I’ve adjusted your training schedule to focus on these things. It’ll be good for both of us.”

What the actual fucking fuck? “Training schedule?” was all you managed to get out.

Andy nodded. “I’m sure you’ve figured out that we’re in the basement right now. I have a beautiful big house upstairs that I can’t wait to show you. But you’re going to have to earn it first, prove to me that you know how to be good, that I can trust you before we can go upstairs. That’s what the training will do. I’m going to teach you exactly how to be perfect for me, everything I want, and in return I’m going to give you a perfect life, so much better than what you had before. We’re going to be so happy together, sweetheart. I promise.

“Now, it’s going to take time. I understand that. And I’m going to be patient with you. I know what your life was like before. I know that you probably never expected that you’d ever get to have this. Change can be scary. Dreams coming true, it’s scary. But I’ll be here to guide you through it all. I’m going to give you everything and all I ask of you in return is that you be good for me. That’s all.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to sob. What the hell was this? How could this man, this stranger, be so completely deranged? Be smart, you chanted to yourself. Be smart be smart be smart. And if you opened your mouth now, you knew exactly what would come out. So you kept it shut and let him continue.  

“So first, let’s talk about your tantrum. I don’t appreciate being spoken to that way. The language and the names, it’s unacceptable. So, no swearing going forward. And I think a good rule for you while we’re downstairs will be for you to address me as Sir. Once we’ve moved upstairs, you’ll be allowed to call me Andy, but whenever we’re down here, it’s Sir. Do you understand?” He looked at you expectantly. You clenched your jaw and nodded. “I expect a verbal response when I speak to you, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you gritted out. He raised an eyebrow at you and his gaze hardened. It took you a moment to realize your mistake. “Yes, sir,” you corrected yourself.

“Very good. As your husband, I expect you to give me the respect I deserve. That’s something we’ll work on. It’s very important that you don’t question me. I know what’s best for you and you need to trust that I will give you whatever information you need to have. If I haven’t told you something, it’s because you don’t need to know, ok?”

He paused again. What kind of Stepford hell was this? What had you done to deserve this? You took a deep breath. Then another. And another. Then, finally, you were able to force out a “Yes, sir.”

He smiled. “You’re so smart, sweetheart. You’ll be upstairs in no time. Now, you’ll start learning your routine tomorrow. I’ve taken some time off work for our honeymoon, so I’ll have plenty of time to get you settled and acclimated. We’ll go over wardrobe and makeup requirements in the morning too. Now,” he slapped his thighs and stood up, “your soup from earlier went cold, so how about I go get you a fresh bowl while you take a quick shower and get all that dust and grime from the Quiet Room off you?”

You held back a grimace at him calling that room that, as he walked over to one of the other doors and unlocked it. He talked to you like you were a child. All of this was so fucked up. But a shower sounded incredible. You had no idea how long it’d been since you’d had one. So you just nodded and let out a quiet, “Yes, sir.”

He beamed at you. “Everything you’ll need is in the bathroom. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

You stood and waited til he was out the door, listening to the beeps and grinding locks once he was gone. Shit. You were really fucked. You went into the bathroom and closed the door behind you. There was no lock on the inside. Of course, there wasn’t. 

You didn’t waste much time in the bathroom, desperate for a hot shower. You vaguely registered that the counter was stocked with all sorts of beauty aids – expensive lotions and serums like he’d bought out a department store beauty counter. The shower too, was equally well stocked. So much fancier than the Target sale items you usually stocked your bathroom with. But the shower felt incredible and that’s what you chose to focus on. 

When you were finished, you came out of the shower to see that the bathroom door was open. You could hear Andy moving around in the bedroom. You shuddered and quickly wrapped a plush towel around yourself. There was a fresh nightgown waiting for you, soft pink, all silk and lace. You grimaced and wondered what you’d need to do to get a pair of sleep shorts and an old T-shirt to sleep in. Probably more than you were willing to do, if it was even possible. You dried off quickly and slipped the nightgown on. 

When you exited the bathroom, he was sitting on the bed, the tray of food sitting next to him. There was a bowl of soup and a cup of water, along with a small plate with a few crackers. The dishes and utensils were all plastic. Nothing you could hurt him with. You sat down and watched him carefully as you lifted the tray onto your lap. He didn’t say anything so it must have been allowed. Your hand shook as you brought the first spoonful up to your lips. The soup was warm, not hot, certainly not scalding. Another hope dashed. Throwing it at him would only result in him getting wet. And angry. Not worth it. 

As you ate, you realized just how hungry you actually were. The nausea from whatever drugs you’d had had covered it up, but you were starving. You barely even tasted the soup, you just needed to eat. God, how long had it been since you’d had food? You wouldn’t bother asking Andy. You knew he wouldn’t give you an answer.

After he watched you eat for a few minutes, he said, “What do you say, sweetheart?”

God, he used that word like it was your name. It made you want to scream. You swallowed down all your anger and a spoonful of soup before you said, “Thank you, sir.” 

He gave you a satisfied smile. “See,” he said, “I knew you had good manners.”

You shoved the spoon into your mouth to prevent any sort of comeback. This fucking asshole. Luckily he let you eat the rest of your meal in peace. But he never took his eyes off you.

Once you were done, Andy put the tray on the dresser and then declared it bedtime. You watched him cautiously, as he went to the dresser and took out a pair of boxers and a cotton tee. He changed right in the middle of the room and you turned your head away. You caught flashes of skin, that if he’d been anyone else, in any other circumstances, would have had you drooling. It was becoming hard to breathe again. What else would he demand from you tonight?

You chanced a glance back up at him to find him changed and staring at you. You swallowed nervously. “Come here,” he said firmly, holding his hand out to you. You slowly, so slowly, made your way to him. As soon as you were in reach, he grabbed your elbow and pulled you the rest of the way in so that you were nestled into his chest. “I know,” he said, stroking one hand down your back, “that we’re both thinking about our first time together, but I’d like to wait.” He ran the fingers of his other hand down the strap of your nightgown, slipping onto your bare skin. “Give you a chance to get fully adjusted. Give us both a chance to get to know each other.” His voice slipped down an octave as his fingers traveled across your chest. Your body bowed to get away from him, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “Give us a chance to enjoy each other.” His breath hitched as his hand traveled down to your breast, the other hand on your back had stilled, holding you close, stopping you from getting away. He moved his head as close as he could to yours and whispered, “I want it to be special.” Then, before you could try to back away, he was kissing you. It was firm and demanding, giving you no option but to let it happen. He angled his growing erection into your thigh, and with the way he was holding you, you couldn’t lean away from it. His tongue forced its way into your mouth and you couldn’t help the way you whimpered. It felt like it might go on forever, when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m so happy you’re mine,” he whispered. 

And then he was out of your space, leaving you trying to breathe again, alone in the middle of the room, as he climbed into the bed. You just stood there, unsure of what to do, your lips still tingling. Once he was settled on the side of the bed closest to the door, he called your name. “Come to bed now,” he said, and there was no mistaking it for anything other than an order. You ducked your head and climbed onto the bed, terrified of what might come next, but also desperate for sleep. This day had left you exhausted and confused and scared and so angry. It was all too much.

You tried to lie down as close to the edge as you could, but he pulled you in close so that your back was flush to his front, his arm thrown over your waist. “I'm so proud of you,” he whispered into your hair, “getting through your first day without having to go to the punishment room.”

Your mouth went completely dry. A room you hadn’t been to. Somewhere worse than the quiet room. “What's–” your tongue struggled to form the words. You took a breath and tried again. “What's the punishment room?” You caught yourself at the last minute and added a quiet “Sir.”

His hand caressed your side. “You keep being my good girl and you won't have to find out.”

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @foulpersonahandsvoid

[risestarkiss]

...So, I don't know if you know this, but...

I won't be making written "Rise Ramblings" posts anymore.

That era has come to an end...

Oh, but that does NOT mean the end of "Rise Ramblings."

No way, fam. We're just getting started.

Instead of clogging up your timeline with extra super long posts and gifs out the wazoo, I'm now condensing my incessant ramblings about little green men into a convenient visual package!

....videos, they'll now be videos y'all. 😌💜

Plus, I have SO many never before seen ramblings just for this occasion!

If you liked my old Rise Rambles, you're going to love these!

Actually, I want to make SURE that you love them, so...

I have a question for you:

There are two types of Rise Ramblings - long form and short form.

An example of each is now on my channel:

○ "Petty" is a short form Rise Rambling, reimagined exactly as I’ve always envisioned it. 😌💙

○ "A Raphael Character Analysis" is a never before seen, long form Rise Rambling. It does not exist on tumblr in written form. It is a video exclusive.

SO, I'm asking for your critique/advise:

For these two videos, what do you like or dislike about them? What would you like to see done differently in future videos?

You see, I have several more RRs in the making. However, I want to be sure to apply your critiques to those videos so that I know that you will love them! 😁

SO let me know, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I can take it!

💜💜💜 THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE!!!!💜💜💜

○○○○

YOUTUBE | KOFI | 🎵 BANDCAMP 🎵

[quietlyblooms]

oh i already feel better 😮‍💨

[king-crawler]

HEY HI HELLO

Sorry for the random message here In the asks, it's ok if you don't see this or answer it since you probably got a lot already and I understand if you don't see this!/gen

But first of all, I just wanna say

I CANT BELIEVE I HAVENT WATCHED YOUR ANALYSIS VIDEO SOONER IM SO FUCKING LATE MAN

It's so well done and so fucking funny, I was literally smiling and cackling through the whole thing, it's shocking how similar our humor is

NOT TO MENTION THE END SCENE AREE YOU KIDDING HOW DID YOU MATCH THE LYRICS SO PERFECTLY TO THE FUCKING LORE ITS INCREDIBLE 😭💜/GEN, POS

It's insane how much dedication is put into it, let alone singlehandedly feeding turbo fans as myself

Genuinely thought it's so nice seeing more content for a hyperfixation I've had since 2012, and the fandom coming back along with this video Genuinely brings me so much joy as someone who's loved this movie since I was a kid

Sorry for the ramble but genuinely thank you for making that video, I can't wait to see what other stuff you do, wreck it ralph or not I WILL be tuning in/gen, pos

Okay second of all

The main reason why I'm sending this is because of sometning I noticed while rewatching a scene in the movie

Now, this might be me over analyzing as I usually do but it feels TOO. OBVIOUS.

SO

IN the kart bakery scene where vanellope and ralph go to bake a kart, they obviously make their way into the building and into the main room

You see all the Karts of course, and It pans to the one vanellope chooses

Which, at first glance you wouldn't really pay too much attention, especially when watching it for the first time, she's just picking the model she likes

..but looking back at the scene

Vanellope's kart model, how it was supposed to look, looks very

Familiar

Because the kart she chose..

...is a red and white kart

With stripes down the middle, with a very similar shape to a..certain persons kart. Now this might just be nothing, it's probably just like I said, and over analysis on my part

But the kart the chose looks WAY too similar to turbo's, not to mention the stripe is down the middle, just like turbo's car on the cabinet art of him

And vanellope could've chosen ANY kart

But it was that specific kart she chose, out of any of the karts

Not to mention in some of vanellope's concept art...

(Art made by Lorelay Bove)

..Vanellope's concept design and turbos designs strike SCARILY uncanny resemblances to each others designs

From the helmet and colors

All the way down to her GOGGLES having the SAME. YELLOW. TINT. that candy's have in the movie, which have the same effect here. There's no way that this didn't have the intent to mirror turbo purposefully

So with that in mind, the kart vanellope chose in the kart bakery scene being turbo foreshadowing, wouldn't be too out of place, nor would it be too far off

Turbo's foreshadowing was always prominent, even in the smallest details you wouldn't focus on, just like he's infecting this world as a virus, little by little, everywhere. You. Turn.

Aaaand that's basically all I have to really say

Sorry for the long ramble, I've been thinking of submitting this for awhile now, especially after I told a friend about this and they mentioned that this should be submitted to you

So I decided to go ahead and just do it, no matter how wild my comparisons might sound-

Anyways, I hope you have a good day, night, or what time it may be, and keep being awesome! I can't wait to hear back if you see this! Bye-bye! ❤️🏎🏆

P.s

I've been quoting these since I watched the video and haven't stopped

Thanks for destroying my humor even more-/pos

Okay bye bye now-

-skitters away-

NO YOU'RE SO FUCKING RIGHT OH MY GOD VANELLOPE WAS ALWAYS A TURBO PARALLEL??? CHAT IS THIS TRUE. IVE NEVER SEEN THAT CONCEPT ART OF HER TEEHEE THANKS FOR SHARING

also God. This is 99% just a coincidence with zero merit because its such a common gesture- but Ralph and Vanellope doing their thumbs up.. maybe Turbo parallels ?? and like the EXACT same poses too:

Vanellope having one hand on the steering wheel and the other doing a thumbs up while facing the camera.

Ralph hunched over doing the double thumbs up with the visor tinting his face yellow. EXCUSE ME HMMM?? WHAT THE FUCK??

NOW COULD I BE CHERRY PICKING? PERHAPS. but when Turbo has barely a minute of screentime, there's not a lot i can pick from, and things SURE ARE LINING UP... (I'm cherry picking)

SO SHHHHHH... ❤️❤️❤️❤️ LET ME HAVE MY LITTLE CONSPIRASCY

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Made my cookes for the night, keeping with my tradition of baking cookies on the day of me and Jamie's anniversary! These ended up coming out really good, probably the best I've made in a while! 💖💖💖

Now, for my second tradition, and that's to end off the night before I go to bed with a love letter to my sunshine 🥺💖💖

My dearest Jamison Fawkes,

It's been four years now. Four years ago, my life changed forever, and believe me when I say that it changed for the better. I've never known anyone as energetic, exciting, and loving as you! And even though a lot of time has passed, you can still make my heart race just like the first time we met, or first time we kissed, or the first time we slept together and I got to hear your heart beat lulling me to sleep.

I will admit, it's hard to find much new to say after so much time together. But believe me when I say it, and no matter how many times I have to repeat it, that I love you, and I will never stop loving you. You're a part of me now, sunshine, as deep in my heart and soul as any other part of me. I couldn't be happier that we've spent so much time belonging to each other. And I hope we spend many, many more years together. Laughing together, making mistakes together, maybe even occasionally arguing, as long as we're doing it together. I'll take all of it, Jamie. You make every bit of it worthwhile.

I love you, my sunshine. ❤️

[pinkiemachine]

What are some timsteph headcanons you have? And what couples or ships u like outside of dc remind u of them?

That she’s really clingy and her love language is physical touch. Like, she’s always coming to him wanting a hug, or to hold his arm, or snuggle up next to him, just burry her face in his hoodie… but she can be a bit oblivious about the fact that she can be a biiiiit… intrusive at times. If Tim is busy with something, she might not recognise it and just come on in, trying to talk to him, and then Tim gets frustrated that she’s not reading the room, and has to remind her that sometimes he has things to do and can’t get distracted. She usually makes up for it by doing something nice for him later when he has more free time.

Tim can be a bit oblivious about her emotions sometimes, so every now and then he makes an oopsie in the form of accidentally neglecting her emotional needs—usually by working on a case too long and not realising she needs time with him—and then has to go make up for it. His love language is personal time, and he just enjoys being in the same room as Steph. They don’t even have to be doing anything, just cuddling on the couch is enough. Or sitting in the Batcave on their phones. Talking late into the night.

She definitely loves the fact that her bf is loaded with cash and Tim loves to spoil her. Not in overly fancy dinners to french restaurants or Louis Vuittons, but in trips to places she’s never been before, going on hikes through the Italian countryside, bungie jumping in New Zealand, or boating on the Nile.

They both geek out, but over different things and in slightly different ways, and they happily listen to the other ramble on about the thing they’re excited about currently. For Tim it’s usually some random information rabbit hole he’s stumbled down—like the history of Roman gladiator food, or medieval cutlery. For Steph it can be literally anything. A cute dog she found that she wants to adopt, why do superheroes wear the undies on the outside of their uniforms? Damascus steel forging, a new TikTok trend, a new tv show she’s just gotten into, interior home renovation and DIY stuff, knitting… waffles…

Tim struggles with depression. It’s not surprising. A study done once showed that intelligent people are often more likely to be depressed (perhaps there’s something to being “blissfully ignorant”) but in Tim’s case, there’s also the trauma of having to go through everything he’s gone through as a vigilante. Because of his depression, it can make it difficult to find the will to want to hang out with people, or go do things outside of work. That’s where Steph comes in. She’s hurt too, but remains stubbornly optimistic. She’s able to talk with Tim about things they can’t talk about with anyone else, and she helps him get out and do things, talk to people, see the sun every once in a while. She is his sunshine. Literally. She makes him happy. And for Steph, she can sometimes have a hard time living in reality. Because of her trauma, she tends to fall into escapism to cope. She can day dream for hours if left to her own devices, and often romanticises things or doesn’t take them seriously. That’s where Tim comes in. When she’s getting too carried away or not acknowledging a situation like she should, he brings her back down to ground level and helps her through it. Facing reality is easier with him, she’s found out. ❤️💜