#miss being chronically on here and miss the mutuals

[yasminhananis]

not why i’ve been offline, but just found out my family dog died :(

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

gee i wonder if the issue could be at all related to the fact that the current treatment plan for his chronic pain consists solely of FUCKING IBUPROFEN

[chronicallycouchbound]

Intelligence Doesn't Equal Morality

Intellect is rooted in ableist systems and stupidity and intelligence are pointless social constructs that don't relate to morals or character.

I try to be a pretty good person, I fight for human rights, I regularly engage in mutual aid, and I care for my community. I try to do the right thing and support causes I care about and make positive changes in the world.

But I also am not very smart. I have several neurodevelopmental disorders, as well as cognitive disabilities. I can’t do simple, basic math, it’s hard for me to remember facts or algorithms, I rely entirely on spellcheck and speech-to-text to write, I failed many classes in high school and I barely passed with a low GPA, I had low pSAT scores and I never took the SATs. I moved around a lot all through school starting in third grade, and I missed a lot of basic fundamentals in learning (like how to do division and multiplication) so when I went to a different school they had already passed it and expected me to know. After my TBI, I could barely read AFTER I was cleared from my “concussion” symptoms because letters and words would flip around and I’d get headaches. Which still happens sometimes.

A lot of people see me as smart because I've learned a lot of academic language and can formulate thoughts into cohesive posts. But I lack a lot of necessary skills and rely on my caretakers to assist me. Things like budgeting and planning are extremely difficult for me. If I need to do simple addition or subtraction, even with a calculator, I quickly get confused and struggle. I forget basic information about myself all the time, let alone other subjects. I'm talking, has to check my ID for my birthday type confused. Doesn't know my name or address or what year it is confused. It happens daily, sometimes multiple times a day. Being able to type out posts like this often takes weeks and many adaptive tools to get there. Focusing is extremely difficult on many fronts, severe chronic pain, ADHD, dissociation, fatigue, migraines, and TBI, are just some of the contributing factors. I struggle daily with many things because of my lack of intellect.

I’m also privileged in the fact that I had some access to education as a homeless youth, that I had some supports in place to help me (towards the end of school), that I was somewhat able-bodied at the time and could walk or bike to and from school when the school system didn’t provide transportation. I was fortunate to have a chance to succeed, and I’m proud that I graduated high school because it was a difficult task for me, and others often aren’t offered that chance or get accommodations. I almost didn’t and I dropped out many times before graduation. I passed on sheer luck and what little privileges I had. 

That all being said, me being stupid (reclaiming it here) doesn't make me a bad person. I don't hurt people because I can't do math. I may mess up things or get confused but it doesn't make me want to harm others.

We often (wrongfully) equate morals with intellect. Being ‘stupid’, ‘dumb’, or an ‘idiot’ doesn’t automatically make someone a bad person. Plenty of evil, awful, and abusive people are extremely intelligent. 

I see this most notably with people advocating for IQ tests to be able to vote. Often from left-leaning people, in hopes it'll make the right (that they view as unintelligent), unable to vote. The reality is, it just hurts some of our most vulnerable members of the community while not actively doing anything to restrict some of the most dangerous members of our community-- those who know what they're doing to harm others and deliberately doing so. My voice matters, and I speak up against injustice and participate in dismantling oppressive systems. Taking away my right to vote won't make the right stop oppressing minorities (which also puts a lot of faith into the two-party voting system, which is a post for another day).

Additionally, legislative measures that discriminate against intellectually disabled people such as IQ tests for voting are also rooted in racism and classism. 

Yes, education can be a vital tool when it comes to addressing discrimination and creating safer communities. But the kind of education that is measured with an IQ test (or any test) isn't the same. Building compassion and caring for others can (and should) happen at any IQ level. We can all practice this, we can all participate.

It harms our communities and stagnates our progress when we equate intelligence with high morals.

[0310s]

gently, by your side | jaehyun

members: myung jaehyun x gender neutral reader

genre: college au, angst, comfort, best friends! to ???, more platonic stuff in this one

tags/warnings: extensive discussions of mental health and chronic/mental illness, y/n is not okay. :(

summary: jaehyun finds you after a bad week.

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this fic’s title comes from this lovely song. as someone who’s struggled with both chronic and mental illness, it really takes someone strong and amazing to keep on going, despite everything. most of the dialogue in this comes from my own musings and experiences with mental health. i wrote this for a dear mutual of mine! i hope better days will come for you soon, whenever that may be. meanwhile, i hope this gives you comfort when things are tough! sending lots of love <3 

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

5 days ago 1:28 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

(y/n) we haven’t seen each other in such a loooong time imy :(( i mean i KNOW it’s just been a couple of days since we last hung out but still!!!!!!! when are we seeing each other again !!!! tell me ur schedule QUICK !!!!

4 days ago 6:33 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeeyyyyyyyyy (with the intention to hang out) heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy reply to meeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! tell me when ur free pls i miss u :((

3 days ago 11:58 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

hey i didn’t see u at the party today i thought u said u were going last week!!!  also i asked around and people said they haven’t seen u around recently??? and they don’t know what ur up to

2 days ago 2:05 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeyyyy ?????????? did i do smth?????  or are u just really busy w school and work idk either way pls just let me know :(( i won’t bother u if ur rlllyyy busy

10:35 PM sorry if i’m being annoying btw

Yesterday  11:32 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

ok i thought about it reaaaaaallly hard and i don’t think i’ve done anything to make u mad or upset w me??? well aside from that time last last week that u got mad at me for accidentally messing w ur computer and deleting ur work files WHICH IM LIKE REALLY SORRY FOR but i fixed it!!!!! i thought we were good alrd!!! are u still mad at me 4 that ?

1:00 AM (y/n)?

1:28 AM idk  i thought i was ur best friend :(( did smth change???

2:47 AM pls pls reply :(( i know we can talk this out i don’t want us to not be ok

Today  3:00 PM 🐶 cutie puppy i’m coming over.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Sitting up from your bed, your heart thuds in anxiety as you quickly scroll through your chat history with Jaehyun. Your eyes hurt and your brain feels especially foggy, like you’re looking at the world through a particularly cloudy lens. How long did you sleep? The last thing you recall was working on your assignments last night, then choosing to sleep instead when you got overwhelmed. Even then, you slept fitfully. You remember setting an alarm at 9 AM today to continue working, but even as you sat at your desk, you couldn’t type a single sentence on your laptop. Everything felt muddled and it was as if you couldn’t understand anything at all. Even the cups of coffee you drank in desperation was of no use keeping you alert; all it did was make you palpitate.

Then you gave up, went back to bed, and you’re here now. Checking the chat timestamps, you realize you haven’t replied to Jaehyun’s messages in almost a week, which has never happened before—you talk almost everyday, even multiple times a day. Jaehyun’s last message was at 3 PM, when he said he’d come over. One look at your screen shows you it’s already 3:20. If you’ve memorized his schedule right, it takes your best friend thirty minutes to get to your dorm from his Fundamental Maths class. That means you have ten more minutes to get your shit together and clean your mess of a room. 

But right when you’ve mustered the energy to stand up, you hear a series of knocks on your door. That can’t be— “(Y/n), open up, I know you’re in there!” Jaehyun’s voice echoes from outside the door. “I asked your dormmate and she said you haven’t left your room since yesterday, so there’s no use pretending!” Shit, shit, shit! You immediately spring up and hastily fold your blankets and organize your desk, throwing away stray food wrappers and plastic cups. You open your blinds to let some air in, and the bright sunlight makes your head throb even more. 

On your way to the door, you spot yourself in the mirror. There’s no other word for it—you look like utter shit. Your eyebags are dark and prominent, your hair disheveled from tossing and turning in your sleep. You look horrendous, but Jaehyun is persistently knocking on your door, so you have no choice but to fix yourself up as fast as you can. You splash water on your face and smoothen down your hair and open the door—then there’s Jaehyun in all his glory. Your heart clenches seeing him; he looks as handsome as always, his bangs fluffy and soft and his letterman jacket fashionably oversized. He looks nothing like you in your ratty T-shirt with coffee stains and pajama shorts. His hand is halfway raised, positioned to knock at your door (he could and would probably do it all day if he had to). Upon seeing you, he blurts out: “Did I do something?”

Instead of answering him, you open your door wider as an invitation, and Jaehyun takes the hint, stepping into your dorm. Once the door is shut, Jaehyun peers at your messy room and remarks, “Wow. When was the last time you cleaned up? You’re usually not like this.”

You know he didn’t mean it like that, but his comment stings at you all the same. “Sorry, Jaehyun,” you snap, “not everyone can be at 200% energy all the time like you.” At his hurt expression, you backtrack. “Sorry, that was really rude of me.”

“It-It’s fine,” Jaehyun replies confusedly. Then he looks straight at you, eyes pleading. He’s picking at the stray thread hanging from his jacket, a habit you’ve come to known is something he does when he’s nervous. “You know what, I thought about it. For days, really, if I did anything that would make you mad and ignore me. But I couldn’t come up with anything at all. I was really worried when you didn’t reply to me for days on end, especially when we talk everyday. So if I did something, can—can you just tell me? I just want us to be okay.”

Your throat closes up and your heart pounds even faster, making you feel dizzy. You have no idea how to answer him, when all he’s ever seen of you is the perfect student who does everything right, who’s smart and good at what they do without any flaws or exceptions. How would he react if he saw you for who you really were?

The words can’t form in your mouth, and out of frustration at yourself, you tear up. Jaehyun notices this, eyes widening in worry, “(y/n), baby, no, no,” and pulls you into his arms. Almost instantly, the tears cascade down your face and sobs wrack your body. You feel pathetic crying in your best friend’s arms, but Jaehyun just soothes a hand up and down your back as you break down. His other arm is wrapped around your shoulders, and it feels like your anchor when you’re drowning in all your troubles. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says in a hushed tone, “let it all out.” You grip his jacket even tighter as you bury your face in his chest. 

When was the last time you’ve ever been hugged like this? The last time you’ve ever been truly vulnerable to anyone without that mask of perfection you often don? The last time you felt safe just being yourself? You have no idea. All you know that is in the circle of Jaehyun’s arms, you want to be small and imperfect and yourself just this once.

After your cries die down, Jaehyun clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what it is I did, but I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s not you, Jaehyun,” your voice is muffled by both your sniffles and Jaehyun’s chest. You don’t want Jaehyun to get the wrong idea that he’s hurt you in some way because of how broken he sounds thinking he’s done something to make you sad. “It’s just. Me.”

“You? What do you mean?” Jaehyun leads you into your room from the doorway. He’s holding your hand and doesn’t let go even when you both settle at the edge of your bed. His palm is warm and his grip loose enough in case you want to let go; you don’t. While you muster up the courage to speak, your best friend just sits there, waiting patiently. “It’s okay, whatever you say, I’m not going anywhere.” You don’t know that for sure, but him saying that makes you want to be truthful just this once, damn the consequences.

You take a deep breath, focusing on your intertwined fingers. You’re too scared to look at his face because you don’t want to see his reaction. “Jaehyun, what kind of person do you think people see me as?”

“Well…” He takes a moment to think about it. “Someone smart, talented, and who gets stuff done?”

In turn, you let out an resigned exhale. “Well, that’s the image I project. Of someone who’s perfect… someone who does things effortlessly. People think it comes easy to me. But it doesn’t. When people tell me that I didn’t need much effort to get to where I am now, I feel undermined. When I express I’m having a hard time, people brush it off and think I’m just overreacting. Because they think I’m perfect all the time. But honestly…? That’s the farthest thing from the truth."

Glancing up from your hands, you scan your room—your desk is a mess of papers and assignments that you have yet to get to. You can’t tell when the last time you spent time being actually productive when what you’ve been is fatigued out of your mind. When you try to sit at your desk and work, all you feel is difficulty concentrating and processing work and readings. Sleep has also proven to be elusive—no matter how long you lie in bed, you never feel well-rested. Simple actions and decisions require so much energy from you that you undeniably lack. You also constantly compare yourself to others, whom things like these come natural to them. But you’ve kept these feelings of yours secret for a long time—you’re utterly terrified that you’d be undermined for being useless and overly sensitive.   

“(Y/n)?” Jaehyun squeezes your hand, and you turn to meet his eyes. His eyes are sincere and kind. “I-I know I may not be the most empathic person, but I promise I’ll hear you out without judging you. I want to be here for you… and I hope you’ll let me. Please?” 

At this, you spill everything you’ve been feeling the past weeks—months, even—to Jaehyun. You stumble over your words and your breath gets caught in your throat, but he’s there to pat your back and to encourage you to keep going. Without you knowing, tears make their way down your face once again, and Jaehyun uses his other hand to gently brush them away. “It just gets so hard that I want to just. Give everything up. I don’t know what the use of trying so hard is when I see how other people don’t need this much effort to do even the most basic of tasks. It’s just so… unfair.”

When you’re finished with your rant, you don’t know what to expect from Jaehyun—but you’re stunned to see him crying. He’s sniffling and wiping at his eyes furiously. “Why…” You have no idea what he’s about to say, but you brace yourself for the worst. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he whispers brokenly. “I didn’t know you were having such a difficult time. I feel like such a shitty friend for not even noticing. I’m sorry, (y/n).” Jaehyun’s eyes fill with tears and he starts “I… I thought we were best friends.” The best friends tell each other everything goes unsaid, but you know exactly what he meant.

“I…” You feel awful now for making Jaehyun cry. “You’re just. You just naturally have all this limitless energy. You’re…” Normal. Not like me. “I don’t know how if you were going to take me seriously if I told you what I was going through… There were times I’d see you, and I’d be so disappointed in myself for not being like you. And I was so scared that if I did tell you, I’d be letting you down.”

Jaehyun’s expression grows more miserable at this. “I-I’m sorry, (y/n), I never meant to make you feel unheard. And I never meant for it to feel like you couldn’t tell me about these things.” 

“It-It’s not your fault, Jaehyun,” you protest, but he shakes his head, obviously disappointed in himself.

“No, (y/n), I’m supposed to be your best friend. How stupid can I be if I can’t notice when you’re having a hard time? I didn’t even stop to ask how you’ve been doing because you seemed to be doing fine. But I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken things at face value. I’m such an idiot,” Jaehyun berates himself. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

At his sincere apology, you can’t help but admit it to yourself—you desperately needed Jaehyun’s support as your best friend, but you were too scared to ask for it. And honestly? You felt immensely lonely without his words and presence to comfort you. 

“(Y/n), I hope you know that I see how hard you work. I know your sleepless nights and how much effort you put into every single thing you do. Despite everything you’re going through, you’re always trying to be better than the person you were yesterday, and it’s something I truly admire about you. But I hope you know it’s okay to be imperfect and flawed and to not be okay. I want to be here on your good and bad days. I just wish I could’ve been more vocal about this earlier… I’ve really taken you for granted, huh?” Jaehyun sighs wetly, taking your hand in both of his. He’s still crying; you both are, actually. What a silly pair the two of you make. 

“Thank you for trusting me and sharing all of this. It literally means the world to me,” Jaehyun rambles. “I promise I’ll be a better friend to you, someone you feel safe opening up to about anything, whether that be your achievements or your struggles. And (y/n), if it’s not too much to ask… Could I ask you to be more honest with me in the future?” He stares at you imploringly. “I don’t want you to think you have to go through all of this alone. I want to be here for you the same way you’ve always been there for me… Okay?”

“....Okay. Okay, I’ll try,” you respond softly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I… I’ve never told anyone about this before. But thank you so much for just listening, and not judging, and accepting me for me…” While you appreciate Jaehyun’s presence at this moment, a new wave of fatigue washes over you with all this emotional vulnerability and talking. “Jaehyun… I’m still feeling really tired, so I might go back to sleep. Sorry, I know you came all the way here to see me, but here I am being shit company,” you apologize regretfully.

“Oh! That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jaehyun stands up from your bed to leave. When your fingers slip from each other, you feel an acute loss of warmth—both in your hands and in your heart. He makes his way to the door, slipping on his shoes, and your heart sinks. There’s something you badly want to ask of Jaehyun, but you’re too much of a coward to tell him what you truly want. You don’t want to be on your own right now, but you’d probably be asking too much of him. Accepting your fate, you settle in bed, attempting to take a nap so restless you’re sure will be of no help to your exhaustion.

However, Jaehyun himself stops in the doorway. He turns back around, a distraught look on his face. “(Y/n)... I don’t want to assume, but are you sure you want to be alone right now?” he begins. “I mean, we just had this really heavy talk. Can… Can I keep you company? I promise I’m great at cuddles—that’s what all my other friends say anyway when I annoy them with my hugs.”

When you nod, that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to shuck off his shoes, strip his jacket, and climb into bed with you. With your ear against his steady heartbeat and his comforting arm around you, you’re asleep in no time. It’s the best you’ve ever slept in months.

[lovinglokilaufeyson]

Catastrophe - A.A.

Pairings: Astarion x Fem!Reader (Druid)

Warnings: BG3 Act I spoilers, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Suggestive, Angst if you squint, NOT proofread, Reader is a chronic people pleaser/SIMP/really oblivious (and a little bit of an idiot with initiative), Astarion is a bit oblivious and also a SIMP, use of Astarion’s classic pet names, as well as “kitten”

This is a similar concept to a fic I have read before, although I can’t exactly remember the name or the author. If I do find it, I will link it here.

Wordcount: 2,415

Summary: Astarion meets you as a cat, and you find it an easy way to be around him while maintaining your crush. You maintain your cover for weeks, until suddenly the team gets ambushed, and you are forced to reveal your identity.

Astarion was very intimidating to you. He had revealed himself as a vampire to you, only after he tried to drink your blood late one night. You let him, of course. You were too worried about the wellbeing of the rest of the team that you seldom worried about your own needs. So, even though you were scared of Astarion drinking your blood, you wanted to please him even more. It didn’t help that you happened to have a massive crush on the man, which always tempted you to say “yes” to him.

You learned of Astarion’s love for cats one night when you had decided you needed some cozy time. It was after a long trek back to camp, late at night where you had stripped yourself of your clothing before transforming into a simple feline, a black housecat. Your form had simple white patches along your back, neck, and face. You peeked outside the back of your tent, trotting stealthily towards a nearby stream. Suddenly, you were plucked up from the ground, and you mewled out on instinct. “Oh, kitty kitty. You – are coming with me.” Astarion held you up above his face, and you stared down at his crimson eyes. Should you reveal yourself? You wondered. You ultimately decided against it, letting your chartreuse-toned eyes hit his, and he looked up at you in – love? Admiration? What was this feeling?

That night, Astarion took you back to his tent, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your fur was so soft that he was nearly intoxicated by it. Astarion really did love cats, there were many nights outside of the bars he frequented that he attempted to get away, if only for a moment, to pet one – or a few, if he was lucky – of the cats in the alleyway. It was always the highlight of his night. When he saw you nimbly walking around, his eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas. That night, he fell asleep in his bedroll, with you curled up on his chest, purring incessantly.

When he woke up the next morning, you were gone. Thankfully for him, it was the sweetest sleep he had had in centuries. After that night,  you made it your mission to approach Astarion late at night at camp. This particular evening, you had returned from Emerald Grove, and had exhausted all possible resources. There were very few nights where Astarion missed out on cuddle time, but you wanted to make sure that he was the one to hold you tonight. You sauntered over to his tent expectantly, pawing at the curtain, meowing gently. That was his cue to open it up for you. “Hello, pet” he spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper, taking you into his arms. He placed a chitter of kisses into your cheek, then laying down once more. You climbed up on top of him, careful to be gentle with your claws on his bare chest.

“I missed you, dear.” Astarion spoke, bringing his hands to pet along your back, popping your butt up when he got too far back, to which your response was to mewl. “Sorry.” He murmured. “You know, sweet kitty. I don’t know what will happen when we leave the grove.” His words cut you like a knife. What would you do? Showing up to the team’s next camp out would certainly be – suspicious. He would have to take you with him, but that would also require you – in your human form – being missing from the group. You figured that would cause some problems.

“You should just stick around, and I’ll take you with me.” He spoke, trotting his finger along your whiskers. You purred in response. “You know, if I could just buck up and really talk to her, we wouldn’t have to be cuddle buddies.” Who was she? You hissed, pulling away from him, retreating further away from him. “You are a smart one, aren’t you? Here, kitty kitty. I didn’t mean it. You, me, and Y/N can all cuddle together, how about that?” You nearly shifted out of excitement, Astarion had not released this information to you prior, even in cat form. Astarion was fairly difficult to read. You figured that his attempts to flirt with you were all – fake? In jest?

However, perhaps he was telling the truth. That, or maybe he knew. No, no, no. No way. Astarion would have confronted you by now. Or said something. A snide remark. Anything. You still stood further away from him, timidly. “Oh, kitty kitty. Come on over. Please?” He tutted in disappointment, bringing a hand out towards you. You couldn’t resist those soft, veiny hands of his. You purred, staggering towards him once more. You pushed your whiskers against his pinky, as he fluttered his finger up and down within your mane. He clicked his tongue in approval, as you drag your frame against his arm. In the midst of your lovely purrs, you were startled by a conglomeration of shouting, and then a loud “boom” coming from outside of the tent. You cowered as Astarion peeled the curtain of his tent back, where he was greeted by an abundance of smoke. He exited quickly, careful not to let much of the cloud infiltrate his space, where you were still housed.

“We’ve been ambushed!” spoke Karlach, loud and boisterous. Fuck. Of course. Astarion thought. You were thinking similarly but didn’t know how to best approach the situation. It would be quite incriminating to exit Astarion’s tent now, out of cat form.

Astarion, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Gale stood outside, clearly shaken from the impact of what had come along. There were many goblins that had infiltrated the area. 5 at least, for each member of the party. The smoke dissipated after a while, and you were able to peer out and see the confrontation. The party was doing alright in battle until Shadowheart collapsed from an impact. “Where is Y/N when you need her?” Wyll shouted, bringing realization to the group, and to Astarion. You were nowhere to be found. Fuck, where is she? He thought. He attempted to maneuver over to your tent to find you, which is when you decided you needed to act. Now. Which, maybe you should have swallowed your pride and done so earlier. But now your companions were getting hurt, which made you want to act more defensively.

You shifted out of cat form, grabbing the nearest piece of clothing (which happened to be one of Astarion’s dress shirts) and covering yourself with it. It was long enough to cover you somewhat modestly, although team would likely see parts of you that they weren’t exactly used to. Alas, it was a do or die situation, and you had let your anxiety get the best of you for far too long.

Meanwhile, Astarion had gotten slashed several times in his attempts to reach your tent. Not only did he want confirmation that you were okay, but if you were, he wanted you to please heal the rest of the party, himself included. You dashed out of his tent as Astarion was hit again. This one was hard, a thud to the gut. His eyelids became heavy as his vision blurred. But he could see you, finally feel your presence. And you were wearing… his shirt? Something within him clicked, and he realized everything. Of course you were that damn precious feline. In a sudden moment, you had cast cure wounds on Astarion, who was clearly in the worst shape of them all from tumbling across the camp to check on you. You watched as life came back into his eyes, as he stared at you in awe. You entangled the remaining enemies, leaving them helpless to move. There was one goblin who had just struck Astarion, and you cast thorn whip to tug the creature towards you. “There she is!” Karlach grinned in excitement and admiration.

It was apparent that your release from Astarion’s tent was not pertinent at the present moment. However, you recognized that it would definitely be something that would be mentioned later once combat had subsided. The rest of the battle went considerably better than the first half, and you were able to heal Shadowheart once it was all over. “Well, we might want to reconsider camp placement” you stated to the rest of your companions. They all nodded in agreement. Suddenly, you felt a hand slither around your waist from behind, and breath on your ear. “We should reconsider the placement of your tent – next to mine” he whispered, then followed up, “or, how about you just never leave my tent. I’m good with that too, kitten.” This was proceeded with a gentle nibble on your ear. You nearly gasped but managed to cover it up by cupping your hand over your mouth in a quick motion.

You almost went to scold him, but refrained from doing so, since you were also deserving of scolding at the present moment. You spent the remainder of the night moving the camp to a more remote location. It was past midnight when you were able to reconvene at the new campsite, everyone was fairly exhausted after the events of earlier in the evening.

Astarion hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you since, and he took special care to walk behind you on the way to the new campsite, admiring your rear end. You were still fairly coherent of the fact that you and Astarion would need to have some sort of conversation regarding your previous actions. After all, you had been snuggling together every night for several weeks. To your knowledge, not so much to his. However, now that he knew, he was going to go to any length to snuggle your form in his arms tonight, that was for certain.

Astarion’s festering admiration for you had been going on for a few weeks. He hadn’t realized just how much until his feelings were revealed to be reciprocated. Clearly, you snuggling up on his chest every night was no accident, and he was grateful for that fact. He just wished he had approached you sooner in your human form.

You wondered if you had overstepped with Astarion or if he was upset with you. Instead of walking next to you towards the new camp, he walked behind. It made you feel like perhaps he didn’t feel like talking with you. Or needed to process things.

This caused you to make a beeline directly towards your tent once you were set up. The rest of the party had gone to bed shortly after, aside from Astarion, who stood, looking confused that you hadn’t approached him after camp was set up once more. His eyebrows scrunched together, indicating the thoughts that puzzled him deep within. He wondered if perhaps you were simply using him, or if you were not as fond of him as he truly believed. He looked at his bedroll, approaching it, kneeling down, and then laying on his back as he usually did to fall asleep. Except – he couldn’t. He couldn’t, for the life of him, allow his heavy lids to fall and send him into slumber. He couldn’t sleep without you. He sighed, finally surrendering, and leaving his tent in search of yours. You had put up your tent close to his, which is something that he indicated he wanted. Maybe that was a good sign? Astarion wondered.

Alas, Astarion was quite correct in his assumptions. You were absolutely wide awake. Your eyes were agape, which would be heavily attested to the “lack” of Astarion in your presence, at least until now. Your body turned towards the entrance as you felt the moonlight pour into your tent. You stared up at the shadowy figure that housed Astarion’s carmine coated irises. “Oh good, you’re awake. I didn’t want to have to be that creep that you woke up next to in the morning.” You sent a puzzled expression his way in response.

“I can’t sleep without you, darling. And I know we have lots to talk about, but I know right now we both need sleep. So please, just let me revel in your cuddles.” You nodded in response this time, opening up your bedroll and ushering him inside. You were still delicately dressed in his button up shirt, and the sight nearly drove him mad. But he had to stay relaxed. You needed to sleep. Both of you.

He began to undress himself, which was not a big deal to you at all, of course. You had seen him naked these past few weeks more time than you could count. He left his underwear on of course, and you could see that he was slightly erect underneath. It made you a little giddy that you had any kind of physical affect on him. He nearly dove into the bedroll with you, excited to hold your human form. Don’t get him wrong, the cat was lovely as well, but he definitely enjoyed your human form a bit more. Your supple legs glided along his until he allowed you to entangle your legs with his. He was cold, naturally, but he was addicted to the warmth that radiated from your body. Similarly, you felt drawn to his cool skin, how it managed to alter your temperature so that you could mold together perfectly.

You were faced towards one another, and you analyzed every perfect feature on Astarion’s face. He did the same with you, He reached his hands towards your chin, holding it with the pad of his thumb and the lower portion of his index finger. “Darling” he caught your attention, and you gazed at him, meeting his eyes where they were taking in every part of you.

“Yes?” You replied. “May I kiss you?’ He asked tenderly, and all you could do was give a gentle nod. “Please.” Astarion’s lips seemed to hit yours before you could even say the word, your lips colliding in an imperfect, exhausted exchange. However, it was the most tender, real kiss that Astarion (and yourself) had had in a long while.

That night, you both slept the best you had in years, the presence of one another seemingly protecting you from any incoming nightmares, anxieties, or fears. Astarion didn’t know what would come next for you, but he knew he wanted it to be together.

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 2

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Mentions of sick loved ones, mutual pining, personal guilt, relationship turmoil. Summary: After only knowing Marcus for a brief time, you can already feel emotions beginning to build. Will that spell trouble for the relationship you've worked so hard to build with Sam, or will something else altogether begun to sow seeds of doubt? Notes: Once again I'm afraid I have to ask forgiveness in the edit of this chapter. I went away for a few days this week and ever since my chronic illness has been utterly kicking my ass. Hopefully I didn't miss too many errors here.

Game night will probably go down in the year's history as one of the best and most fun times that Marcus has had in a long time. He had laughed until his stomach hurt, his abs aching the next week for at least three days. He's gotten an open invitation back, but he doesn't know if that was a good thing, if he's honest with himself. His attraction to you is something that he's got to get ahold of if he's going to socialize with you more. It seems like everything about you just makes the heavens sing and the sun shine. It's crazy and he hates that, considering you are very happy in a relationship.

Eastern Market is his usual haunt on the weekend, preferring it to a generic grocery store, and he’s lost in thought enough that he doesn’t notice a familiar face at the florist’s stand across the way as he’s walking through the stalls. "Some peaches will be good." Marcus decides, looking through some of the fruits that have been trucked in from warmer states. "Peach smoothies." He decides, walking towards the gorgeous plump peaches on display.

If you were any other person in the world, it would be you who bumped into him and not the Secret Service agent contractually obligated to come along on your errands. As it is, when Agent Bailey defends you from being bumped into by the familiar figure of Marcus Pike, you’re the one who apologizes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, excuse u—Marcus?”

“Oh, hi!” Marcus shakes his head, reaching out and taking your arm. “I am so sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He apologizes. “Was focused on getting some peaches and didn’t notice anything or anyone, obviously.” He flushes slightly, feeling that pull towards you and hating that he looks like a jerk, or maybe just thoughtless, in front of you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

"Not at all." The flowers in your hands and the canvas shopping bags on your arm aren't harmed either, and you find yourself smiling much more brightly than you were even a second ago. "No harm done to me or to Agent Bailey, not to worry. Is it errand day for you, too?"

“Trying to eat healthier.” Marcus admits, slightly upset by the prospect but he figures that just comes with getting older. “Figured the produce here would be better than in a grocery store. Are these for the inn?” He asks, looking at the flowers in your hands and immediately reaches for them. “Let me help.”

"I thought my apartment could use some brightening up." He's seen the organized chaos that you live in and you're not embarrassed by it by any means, but there is a small sting to buying your own flowers just a few days before Valentine's Day. Sam isn't a flowers guy and that's perfectly fine, but you're definitely a flowers girl. When Marcus scoops them up without a second thought and stays by your side, you can feel your cheeks heat up. "I, um—thank you.

“Of course.” He huffs, as if newly made acquaintances should always scoop up flowers from you. “You chose brilliantly. They are gorgeous. Have you already paid for them?”

"Yes, so don't even try." It's just a playful warning that comes with a waggle of your finger, but you really have a feeling that he would try to pay for them if you hadn't.

He grumbles at that slightly. “Well, okay.” It’s almost pathetic that he takes note of what kind of flowers you like and he smirks. “So which flower is your favorite in this?” He asks.

"These," you point out a geometrically fascinating flower with petals that seem to spiral endlessly. "They're called camellias. We called them Winter Roses when I was growing up, but I've always loved them." The intimacy of the question goes straight over your head, just excited to have something pretty to split amongst the small vases in your little space.

“Camellias.” Marcus repeats the flower, filing away the information even though he shouldn’t use it. “They are beautiful.”

"Not everyone has them, so I tend to get my flowers here just to make sure they're in the mix." Barely aware that you're standing in the middle of a bustling market with people trying to move all around you, you have to shake away the warmth settling in you that is definitely not due to any kind of attraction. Nope. Not even a little. Not at all. "You, um..." you gesture to the next stall, where he was originally headed when the collision happened. "Peaches?"

“Peaches? Oh right, peaches.” Marcus laughs at himself and shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, I’m – I forgot.” He snorts. “I was thinking about fresh peach smoothies.”

"Ooooo, that sounds incredible." All of a sudden it's the best idea you've heard all day, and you grin mischievously. "It's not exactly standard, but the next time you're craving a sweet after having Indian take out? Make a peach smoothie. It's got that same vibe as a mango lassi but it's slightly sweeter, and it's the most refreshing thing ever."

“I was actually thinking about having Indian tonight.” Marcus admits with a grin. “To reward myself for eating healthier.”

"Best reward in the world." You agree easily. "I told myself I was going to cook tonight and make sure there were leftovers for another day this week, but I am teetering dangerously close to just calling for take-out as well."

"Well..." Marcus almost doesn't offer, because of the fact that you have a boyfriend, but he is truly meaning this as a friendly offer. "If we went to have Indian together, it wouldn't be as bad as ordering it as take out, would it?" He ventures, raising his brows in offer.

You should say no, You should absolutely say no. Not because the invitation is improper in any way — after all, he's a friend. But because of the way your heart bumps and skips at the offer like you hope he means it as more. He doesn't, and that is a good thing. In fact, Marcus and Sam got along fairly well at game night. But you can't help the way your cheeks burn pleasantly. "DuPont Circle?" You ask, confirming that he means he was intending to order from the same place you were. When he nods, you do too. "That sounds really nice."

"This way..." He's immensely happy you are agreeing to come to eat with him. "We can order the samosas and pakoras and not feel any guilt what so ever." He tells you, grinning at you.

"No guilt, but definitely extra time at the gym." His smile is dangerous, but apparently your self-preservation instincts aren't nearly as good as you think they are, because the only alarm bell going off in your head is the one that says Don't Let It Become a Date! which you just brush off. Surely that won't even be a possibility. It can't, because you and Sam have a good thing going. "Although, you're not masochistic enough to have my little brother as your biweekly gym buddy, so your trips are probably far less traumatic than mine," you offer with a laugh.

"Nope." Marcus chuckles. "I just torture myself by running around the Mall during my lunchbreaks instead of spending it in museums or at the food trucks." He snorts. "I just get to smell them just off the Mall."

"Have you lived in DC for three years without doing any of the food trucks out on the Mall?" That might be the most appalling thing you've ever heard in your life, and you nearly drop the peach that you had just picked up to add to your basket.

"Oh no." He laughs at that. "First six months I was here, I fucking lived off food trucks." He admits. "I was undercover and my contact checked in with me through the food trucks."

"Oh, thank God." The both of you laugh as you wipe imaginary sweat of your forehead as though it had made you nervous. "If you had never had Julia's Empanadas, I might have had to drag you down to the Mall right now."

"Then I wouldn't have room for Indian." Marcus groans, rolling his eyes at the thought of how many empanadas he would try to fit in his stomach if you went to Julia's Empanadas. "And I'm really craving Indian."

"I am too." Although, now you're going to be thinking about empanadas for ages. Maybe you'll have to try making some. "How has your week been?" Making small talk is easy with him, as you poke through the fruit bins to find peaches, apples, and pears to snack on this week.

"It's been alright." He shrugs slightly. "Depositions for a few upcoming cases. So I've had to revisit case files and work with the district attorney's office to make sure that there aren't any surprises."

"Paperwork and meetings," you nod in understanding. "I get that. Being my own boss is a hell of a lot more paperwork and meetings than I ever thought it would be."

"Ordering supplies, creating events to drum up interest. Balancing budgets." He nods. "I can imagine that it feels like it's hard to get a free moment for yourself."

The way you nod is tired but proud. Every ounce of hard work that you put into that inn is worthwhile, and you do it with straight shoulders and as much determination as you can possibly summon. "Today is my first day off in...two or three weeks? It's...a lot. But it's so worthwhile. And it means that Syd has her place, too. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"So how did you come to have the inn?" Marcus has been curious about that. "Was it always your dream? Or something you fell into?'

"I really, really liked throwing parties when I was younger." That's the easy way to start, as you both move to the line to pay for your bundles of fruit at this particular stall. "That grew up into loving to have guests over all the time. And then dreaming about running a hotel. So I took my sociology and history double major and got a job a hotel in Philly after college, putting myself through a hospitality degree while I started learning the ropes. It was a lot of years of working my way up, but eventually I got hired as the manager for the Inn at Jones Point under the old owners. They were struggling to keep up with new technology and losing clients because of it, and then..." Your eyes flick up to Marcus, almost apologizing for telling him the whole story. "We found out the reason Anita was having so much trouble learning the new technology was early-onset dementia alongside a sizeable brain tumor. I bought the inn from them when they made the decision that a comfortable end to her life was the most important thing they could do. Michael – Anita's husband – he comes around once a week for dinner and to check up on the place now that she's gone. He likes to keep an eye on it for her."

“That’s….” Marcus softens so much at the background story. “Beautiful. You are maintaining their legacy while adapting it to the new realities of time. Weathering time.”

"That farmhouse has been standing since the 1700s. We're just part of its legacy, not the other way around." The pair of you step up to be next in line, with Agent Bailey standing mere feet away managing to look imposing and nonchalant all at once. "The best part is that it could give Sydney her restaurant, and Juan a way to find himself in all the event planning. We didn't know what a team we'd be until we got going and now it's...it's just amazing."

“That’s incredible, and the fact that the place runs so smoothly is a testament to your hard work.” Marcus praises. He’s read some of the reviews and they are all positive, even the ones that had events beyond your control.

“That’s very kind of you.” Kind is an operative word for Marcus. As are sweet, funny, intelli— Nope, stop it, you’re getting dreamy again. Even the momentary distraction of having to pay for fruit is a welcome one if it gets your mind off that track.

Ouch. Kind is such a word that lands him in the friend zone. Which is where he has to be with you, but it still hurts. No longer edgy or cool like he was when he was in his old band. “What else do you need to get?” He asks, swinging his head around at the options available.

“I’m almost done actually.” It didn’t escape you that he flinched slightly when you were trying to be grateful and at least a little complimentary, and suddenly your stomach flips in fear that he might not like spending time with you are much as it seems. Or that you’d done something wrong. “I just wanted to get some fresh bread. But…I don’t know how much more you have to do.”

“Nothing.” He promises, shooting you a grin. “The least I can do is carrying things. Since you are saving me from a night of trying to cook.”

“Never learned to cook or just never got good at it?” There is a difference, after all, and it isn’t about want. Some people find cooking to be an incredible challenge. He gives you a look when you take your parcel of fruit from the vendor and accepts it on your behalf with thanks. Like a damn gentleman, you think with a pant in your chest.

“Never really had the time or the inclination.” He admits. “It’s hard to be enthusiastic about cooking for one, you know what I mean?”

“But that’s when you get to experiment!” Maybe it’s years of being friends with Sydney, whose world revolves around her tastebuds, but cooking has always been an outlet for you. It’s one of the only things you dislike about your apartment —the teeny tiny kitchen. “You can test out new things and weird combinations, and if it’s not great then the only person who knows is you. But if it’s awesome?” You grin up at him like you’re unveiling some kind of ultimate secret. “You become a rockstar at the next office potluck.”

Marcus chuckles. “I’m a rockstar anyway.” He jokes. “I’m the one who brings in the pizza and Chinese for the late nights in the office.”

“Okay, actually, that does count for a lot.” Walking in the direction of the bakery where you get all of your sweet treats and fresh bread, you readjust your shopping bag on your arm and try to glance around the place to survey your surroundings the way Agent Bailey has been teaching you. A comprehensive knowledge of your surroundings, she calls it. “I can’t really cook for my staff much when they have Sydney’s kitchen nearby, but I leave baked goods in the break room from time to time as a thank you. They work so hard.”

“There’s nothing better than snagging a muffin or a cookie when you’re rushing around.” Marcus agrees wisely.

“Or a slice of pizza.” It sounds like he works hard to keep his team in good spirits the same way you do, and you have to commend that in someone who works in such a dour field. Even art crimes — being less violent in nature, according to what you looked up the other night out of sheer curiosity — can’t possible be all sunshine and roses.

“Exactly.” He nods. “Sometimes we have all night surveillance or going through the evidence when something is time sensitive. My teams work better when they are well fed, and know how much they are appreciated.” He shrugs slightly, “everyone could benefit from know that every now and again.”

"Sometimes the weddings we run are just...they're insane. Or last year we had an entire family reunion take over the grounds for four very long days. I can't imagine it's half as stressful as what you deal with but the days can be really long and busy in their own right." For what it's worth, at least, you do love your job. And it's obvious that Marcus feels just as passionately about what he does.

“Oof.” He winces. “I bet the staff wanted to break out a bottle of bubbly when they were checked out.” Marcus jokes, chuckling slightly. “Yeah a lot of people don’t understand that when you love your job, the long hours are worth it.”

"Yeah." A tinge of regret breaks your smile, barely twitching in the corner of your mouth, and you barely nod. He can't possibly know what kind of a nerve he's hit — hell, you barely know yourself and you're the one feeling it. It just...it stings.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks, immediately concerned when your smile seems almost sad.

"No." You reassure him much too quickly, and flinch in your own right when he looks skeptical. "It's just...not everyone thinks what I do is as worthwhile as, say, something like what you do. A—and that makes sense. Running an inn and upholding the law are—they're not the same. I'm not saying they are. It's just...that important to me. That's all."

“Whoever believes that is wrong.” Marcus insists wholeheartedly. “Running an inn is absolutely crucial. Maybe not to everyone, but to the people who need a little escape, a retreat to relax and revive themselves, your inn is a haven to them.” He is speaking passionately because he believes it. “When I’m out of town on a case, I hope that I can book a little inn. Something more personable than a Holiday Inn, so when I come back, it’s like a little slice of home.”

“I appreciate that. Really. It’s—I guess it’s a sore spot at the moment and I didn’t realize it. That’s all.” And you are absolutely not going to allow yourself to indulge in the image of Marcus coming back to the inn for you. Your place is not his ‘ little slice of home’. Even if you’re wondering what the would feel like if it was real.

“Well, you can always gripe and complain if you need to.” He promises.

“No, that’s—that’s not it.” It’s a little embarrassing, if you’re honest, but that’s only because you’re fighting being attracted to the man beside you. Otherwise you would just be chatting to a friend. “I just…don’t get to spend as much time with Sam as he would like. That’s all. Because we both have busy jobs.”

Marcus winces. “With the job he has, it would be hard unless you didn’t work.” He murmurs quietly. “But what counts is that you make the time you do have together special.”

“That’s what I said. Making the most of our time it’s what is most important.” The topic had come up again in conversation when you and Sam had talked about next steps — through the odd avenue of discussing your commute. His house to the inn isn’t a prohibitive drive, but it will warrant either having a lot of work done on your car or getting an upgrade. Right now you have no commute whatsoever, so you’re barely using your car outside of town.

“My favorite thing to do with my ex-wife was to curl up and watch a movie.” He admits. “Or work on a crossword together.”

“Those…” You laugh quietly, almost self-consciously, and shrug with the air of someone who is just about to give up. “Are the things I do with my good friend Agent Bailey, here. Though she kicks my ass at the Times Sunday crossword every single week.”

He rolls his eyes at himself. “I know it’s an old person’s activity, but I was normally exhausted from the academy.”

“Don’t you dare besmirch the Times Crossword.” A waggles finger and disapproving tsk seems to amuse him and it makes you smile, too. “That’s a mandatory topic of conversation at my mother’s dinner table.”

“Your mother enjoys the Times Crossword?” He asks, grinning at you. “She would get along with my parents. They have two subscriptions just so they can each do their own.”

“I’m keeping that in mind for Dad’s birthday this year.” It’s a brilliant idea. They would love to make a competition of it. It would be the highlight of their week.

“My parents got it as a wedding present and they enjoyed it so much, they kept it.” He tells you, smiling fondly at the memory of the two of them arguing playfully over their crosswords.

“That’s incredibly sweet.” There is a crowd at the bakery, as to be expected, so you and Marcus step into line to wait your turn. “I love the idea of being able to share small things with your partner. They’re every bit as important as the grand gestures, if not more.”

“Sometimes the smaller gestures are the most meaningful.” He admits with a grin. “I love cherry Danishes, and so did my ex. We would find these combo boxes of assorted and she would get the cherry one.”

“Giving up your favorite Danish flavor is not small.” An attempt at lightening the already light and sweet conversation is maybe…just trying to keep your own mind off of things. But that somehow doesn’t keep you from admitting the truth before you can stop yourself. “I have yet to meet the man I would give up my lemon poppyseed muffin for.”

“That’s only because you’ve never traded for a raspberry crumble muffin.” Marcus vows, smirking at the way you look stingy, even though he knows for a fact you aren’t.

“You’re on, Pike.” The smirk on his lips spreads to yours as effortlessly as breathing. “But lemon poppyseed is pretty impossible to unseat.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a raspberry crumble then.” He huffs, looking offended at the idea. “But I don’t think this place has them. I get them from a little bakery near the Bureau. I’ll have to bring you one.”

“I’ll get you a lemon poppyseed from the coffeeshop I go to in Old Town.” Even as its coming out of your mouth you know it sounds like flirting, but the fact is that you just feel so naturally comfortable with him. There is nothing flirtatious about muffins, you tell yourself. Nothing at all. “We can compare notes.”

“That sounds like a plan to me.” Marcus is extremely happy that you would like to make plans with him, any plans. Even if it’s just a friendly wager. “I’ll get the raspberry crumble. I say we each get two. And if you like the other one so much, you have to give up both.”

“Deal.” You put your hand out to him, willing to make a friendly bet on almost anything. That’s gotten you and your brother in trouble before, but this is harmless.

Marcus grins as he takes your hand, imagining that lightning bolts are shooting up his hand. Winking, he laughs, “just don’t be disappointed when you break that little rule of yours for me.” He boasts.

“We’ll see.” The tone of the thing really tries for teasing, but you end up so taken aback by the electricity in shaking his hand that you fluster — which is only compounded when you end up next in line and completely forget the word for ‘sourdough’ in the process.

“I, uh, I want-“ you seem completely out of it, and the bored looking boy behind the counter seems to be getting annoyed with you. “Can we have just a second?” Marcus asks, pulling you back and allowing another couple to go ahead of the two of you. “I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted.” He takes the blame, not wanting to embarrass you.

“Bread?” You manage to supply, feeling like a world class idiot for clamming up on something so routine. If being around him is going to be this big of a problem, you need to get yourself in order.

“Yeah, bread.” He nods, wrinkling his nose slightly. “What’s that type that I like?”

At this point he could mean him or he could mean you, or he could even just be speaking in theoreticals, but you have you head in straight enough again to blow out a breath and remember yourself. “Sourdough. I forgot the damn word for sourdough.”

“Thats it.” He snaps his fingers and looks back at the boy. “Could we get some sourdough bread?”

“Sure.” The kid looks at the both of you like you’ve gone insane but turns around to bag a loaf of freshly baked bread without a second thought for his strange customers.

Marcus pays for the bread, even with you huffing beside him and guides you towards the clearing. “That wasn’t that bad.”

“Only because you saved me from sputtering like an idiot.” It’s beside the point that he is also the reason you were sputtering in the first place. That doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that you couldn’t keep it together that bothers you. “Thanks for that.”

“Not at all.” He waves off your thanks. “Everyone has those moments.” He promises, smiling at you.

There is such a moment of relief when you exhale again that you have to make light of it or else you’re in danger of feeling far more grateful than is probably necessary, and that makes your chest ache in a dull and insistent kind of way. “That’s either very sweet of you or a complete placation, but either way I appreciate it.”

“No placation, I promise.” He crosses his finger over his heart and smiles at you. “Anywhere else?”

“That was the last thing for me.” Even though you have plans to have dinner with him that night you still can’t help feeling a little disappointed that the impromptu shopping trip has come to an end. “Unless you needed something else?”

“Well…” Marcus looks around, not wanting to let you leave just yet. “Maybe I could find a plant to kill?” He asks. “Something to brighten up my place?”

"Bit of a black thumb?" The excuse to not say goodbye yet is welcome, and you end up smiling more broadly than you mean to. "Let's see what we can do about that."

“More that I forget to set up someone to water my plants when I go out of town and they die miserable, thirsty deaths while I’m away.” He flashes you a guilty grin. “I’m a murderer.”

“Very rude of you to do to your plants.” The wholesome, straight-faced nod that you cry for cracks on a giggle, though, and you nod in the direction of an entirely different florist stand than the one you were at before. “What you need is a succulent.”

“That sounds a little dirty.” Marcus admits, not even realizes how flirtatious that sounds.

It does. And you didn’t mean for it to. You were just talking about the type of plant he could get. But then there’s that grin on his face and it’s so fucking puckish and * handsome* that you practically groan about how unfair the whole damn thing is. “Whoops?” You offer, obviously not apologetic in the least.

He snorts and winks at you again. “I don’t mind. Sometimes being a little dirty is a good thing.” It’s borderline inappropriate, so Marcus doesn’t say anything else.

“Sometimes it’s the fun of an otherwise boring day.” But since you’re genuinely afraid you might say too much if you go ahead with this line of thought, and since Agent Bailey is steadily avoiding your eyes like an older sister trying not to bear witness to your trouble making, you clear your throat and change the subject. “I think I snake plant would work for you. They’re really easy to care for and great for beginners or busy people.”

Marcus takes your lead and nods seriously. “I’ll take some advice. Any advice.” He shrugs slightly. “I wish I had the time for pets, but I don’t and it’s wrong to do that to them.”

“If I could have a dog, I would have a little corgi or a Yorkie in a heartbeat.” It comes with an almost wistful sigh, but you feel the same way he does. It would be cruel to the animal you’re supposed to be taking care of. “But since I have no concept of work-life balance? I have plants.”

“I’ll start with plants.” Marcus huffs. “If I can keep one alive? Maybe I’ll move on to cats? They are low maintenance.”

“Cats are fantastic. Sydney and Anna Leigh always had a couple when we were growing up and they can’t be the sweetest animals in the world.” There is a florist that specializes in succulents and potted plants further into the market and you head that way, chatting as you go. “I just always said I would want my kids to grow up with a puppy.”

“Puppy, a swing set in the yard and dinner together.” Marcus adds wistfully, having his own version of that same dream. “Every kid needs a puppy pal.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” And the knot in your stomach tells you that that isn’t a coincidence — that the future you’ve dreamt about probably lines up with the one he wants in so many different ways.

“We had my dog for nearly twenty years.” Marcus tells you. “He was my best friend and the best soul I’ve ever met.”

“I got Alex instead of a dog,” you giggle, silliness tinging the edge of his sweet nostalgia. “My little brother.”

“Isn’t a younger brother the same thing?” He asks with a grin.

“Very much so. And Alex is as much Golden Retriever as he is human.” If he were here, he’d give you so much grief for that comparison, but you stand by it. “What kind of dog did you have?”

Marcus chuckles. “A golden retriever.” He tells you without skipping a beat. “I’ve got a picture of him, wanna see?”

“Absolutely!” They say you’re either a kid person or a dog person, but you’re definitely both. Anything cute and squishy is right up your alley.

Digging out his wallet, it might be a little old fashioned to carry a physical photo of the favorite family pet, but he likes looking at it sometimes. He’s holding his dog, Hansel, in the picture. The white around the dog’s snout indicative of the older age of the golden retriever. “Here he is. Hansel.”

“What an angel!” If you could jump right through the photo and squeeze his beautiful face you would — the only problem is that you don’t know if you mean young Marcus or the dog.

“Wasn’t he?” Marcus hums happily. “He slept in my room growing up. Hated me leaving for college, although I hated being apart from him too.”

"How could you possibly leave that face? Look at him!" Yeah, it's definitely the dog that you're talking about. At least right now.

“Yeah.” He smiles down at the photo, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the canine face with happy memories flooding through him. “He was the best.”

"So would you want another Golden Retriever?" Looking between him and the photo, you think you might be able to guess the answer yourself. "Or will no other Golden ever live up to him?"

“Probably not.” Marcus shrugs. “He was from a litter of puppies at the shelter. It was just a coincidence that he was a pure Golden.” He frowns slightly. “I would want to adopt. It’s the best way to give a loving home to an animal.”

"Adopting is the only way." On that, you can firmly agree. But you point to the florist stand up ahead and touch his arm gently in an unconscious moment of casual comfort. "First, let's get you a plant to adopt."

“Yes, I would prefer adopted over nursery grown.” Marcus jokes, trying to ignore how easy it is to be with you. You can just be a friend. It’s possible and it’s possible he’s lying to himself.

"Wild, orphaned plants wandering the lonely roads with all their belongings tied up in a little bandana on a stick," you tease, conjuring the image of a cartoon orphan as best you can. To the girl behind the counter, you turn your full attention and the best conspiratorial smile you can conjure. "We're looking for something he'll have trouble killing," you confide with a chuckle. "Something like a snake plant, maybe? Or if you have a better recommendation we're all ears."

“It’s best to start them out with a plant before having pets or kids, isn’t it?” She asks with a grin, eyeing Marcus in amusement. “But he seems like the trustworthy type to me.”

"A fine, upstanding citizen if ever I saw one." The smirk you offer her is playful, and you glance up at Marcus beside you. "Plus, I'll be keeping an eye on the situation. For the good of the adoptee, of course."

“Of course.” She nods seriously, even though there is a definitely shaking to her voice, like she’s holding back laughter. “Let me show you the best options for a recovering black thumb.”

It's several minutes of back and forth with the florist who parries your playful banter well, and you end up leaving her stand with not just a lovely potted snake plant for Marcus, but an identical one for your apartment as well. "I had to!" You coo, when Marcus laughs at the little plant that you're cradling like a newborn. "It's so precious! And they're twins! I couldn't just leave it abandoned."

“Well, we have to name them.” Marcus decides. “Twin names.” He grins at you, “what do you think?”

"Luke and Leia," you joke right away, because that will always be the first pair of twins you think of in any situation. "Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? Oh, do the creepy girls from The Shining have names?"

Considering The Shining was his first foray into horror when he was younger, it was also one of his favorites. "No, they were just called Grady Daughters one and two." He tells you. "But..." He whips out his phone. "They are Lisa and Louise Burns, in real life."

“So are the plants Grady and Burns, or Lisa and Louise?” Either way they’re exceedingly silly choices, and you’re going for it.

“Either one works for me.” Marcus laughs. “It depends on if the plants are male or female.” He jokes.

“I think we probably get to pick,” you joke right back, making a show of rolling your eyes at him even though you’re laughing.

“Hmmmmm.” He pretends to take a closer look at his plant. “I’m going to surprise you.” He decides. “My plant is female.”

“Oh, that’s no surprise to me.” The smirk you shoot back at him is probably the lightest and most carefree you r felt in ages, and just for the moment you’re not going to second guess it. You’re just going to revel in the moment. “All my plants are female.”

He snickers with you and then tilts his head. “Lisa or Louise for you?” He asks, before he answers. “I bet you want the name Louise. You’ll pretend it’s for Thelma and Louise.”

“I—how—” Staring at him in utter confusion does not help matters one bit, but you still don’t have any clue as to how he could possibly have guessed that about you after only having met you two whole times. “So?” You ask after a second, realizing you’re laughing with the absurdity.

You have the most beautiful laughs Marcus has ever heard, and he loves that he caused it. There’s a flash of guilt that comes with the thought and he decides to reel it back into the scope of reality. You are becoming a friend, nothing more. “Who wouldn’t?” He asks, still chuckling. “They were the greatest female duo in modern cinema. In my opinion.”

“They line up against Idgie and Ruth from Fried Green Tomatoes.” You’ll stand by that pairing until the day you die, but the way warmth is spreading through your chest and your fingers ache dully from wanting to reach out for him is a special, damning sort of agony. “And I will die on that hill.”

“I had completely forgotten about Idgie and Ruth.” He admits, hanging his head in shame. “Forgive me.”

“Just this once.” There is still a teasing grin on your face when your phone goes off in your pocket. Sam’s name splashed across your caller ID and guilt crawls through your veins immediately. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing up at Marcus. “Just give me one second.”

Marcus catches a glimpse of the name and it’s like he’s doused with cold water. “Of course.” He murmurs politely, turning towards a little book stand to give you some privacy, beating himself up for flirting with another man’s significant other.

“Hey honey.” The second you pick up the phone with a plant in your other arm and your groceries weighing on your shoulder, that is the second you feel most self-conscious.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice comes over the line and he has a straightforward attitude, jumping into the reason for his call. “I’ve had a dinner invite tonight, some potential donors.” He tells you. “Can you make it?”

“I—” It’s not like it’s an unusual request. If he has a work event tonight then the best possible person he can have at his side is you. The idea of having dinner with Marcus had been so uplifting, and now cancelling on him makes you feel awful. But this is your boyfriend. “Yeah. Yeah, I can make it. Where and when? Is there a dress code?”

Sam rattles off the address and dress code. “Thanks honey, I knew I could count on you.” He tells you before he murmurs to someone else. “Hey, I’ve got to go, I love you.” The line clicks off immediately.

“I love you too.” It’s said to the silence, and you look down at your phone for a moment before pocketing it again. Marcus has stepped away to give you privacy, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other before walking back over to him. “I’m really sorry,” you murmur, actually looking as apologetic as you feel. “Can we postpone dinner tonight?”

“Oh….yeah, of course.” He hates the way the feels rejected, but you have priorities, ones that aren’t him. “That’s no problem at all.” He nods quickly and looks around. “Well, we should probably get your things to your car, right?”

“I—I’m really sorry.” Repeating it just makes you feel worse. But both of you feel worse, unbeknownst to you, and you walk in the direction of your car with Agent Bailey her usual two steps behind. “Something came up.”

“Not a problem at all.” Marcus promises you, plastering on a smile as you turn to him at your car. “I understand. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of things come up.”

"It was really nice to run into you today." There is no word of a lie or even exaggeration in that, and you take your flowers from Marcus's arms carefully, loading it into the backseat with your other bags and Louise the snake plant.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you. Marcus holds up his plant. “Thanks for the help.” He hums. “Hopefully I won’t kill Thelma.”

"If you do, try to make it as spectacular as possible." Offering him a half smile, you realize that you just wish you could give him a big hug, but that would be totally out of line. So instead all you can think to do is shift your weight awkwardly again before opening your car door. "I'll see you around, Marcus."

“See ya.” He nods and turns around to walk to his car. He doesn’t turn around, knowing that it would look weird if he did.

Once you’re in the car with Agent Bailey and focused on getting back home to put everything away and make a cup of coffee before you have to start getting ready for the night, you sigh softly and sit back in your seat. You can feel the curiosity of the Secret Service agent beside you and you wonder if you look as guilty as you. “That was a nice surprise.”

“Yes.” Agent Bailey hums. “Special Agent Pike was quite a surprise.”

“He’s nice,” you defend, very aware that you’re defending yourself and not him.

“He’s very nice.” She agrees. “And exactly who he says he is.” Of course a background check had been done on the agent, which she was glad of now that he had popped back up on radar. Not quite sure what to make of the interaction at the market, it’s also not her place to judge it.

"Well, that's a comfort." The drive back to Alexandria won't take long, but you twist your hands around the steering wheel a few times before pulling out into traffic. "Unfortunately, tonight will be the opposite," you tell her with a dramatic sigh that cushions the blow of having to attend an impromptu event. "Sam asked me to come to a dinner party tonight. Last minute invitation, I guess somebody had a seat they needed filled and asked him."

“I see.” Now she has to find out where you are going to be, who is on the guest least and it means overtime tonight. She doesn’t sigh, but she wants to, much preferring to go to small Indian restaurant over some political function. “I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.”

"I know you have to vet everything." The process seems exhausting, but you would never question the agent's ability to get her job done. "It's a private party at Arthur Connesby's house. The aerospace tech guy? Apparently it's a party for his wife, but everybody invited are Sam's constituents. I have a feeling they're going to spend the night trying to pitch their own interests to him, but if nothing else they might donate to his next campaign if they feel like they got to be friendly with him." It sounds like it will be a fairly boring night of overly rich old men feeling self-important, but Sam asked you to be there and that's why you're going.

“Noted.” The agent is immediately firing off a text to her support team, letting them know about the change of plans tonight.

"I know it's not what we had in mind." The night has gone from staying home and watching a movie and maybe playing cards, to dinner out, to an entire party. It's a lot of jumps in not much time. "And I appreciate you being flexible. Truly."

“It’s my job to protect you no matter what.” She reminds you softly. She enjoys you, has gotten to know you and thinks you are lovely, but you are Hummingbird to her. The First Daughter of the President of the United States and her assignment. She would guard you regardless of what you were doing because it’s her job.

"Right." You nod slightly, eyes cast back out on the road, and try not to slump even a little as you drive. It's not necessary to be everyone's best friend. You know that on a practical level. Right now your energy is better served focusing on the night ahead. "Well, I can still be grateful. So thank you. For...being professional. An very good at your job."

She knows that you are disappointed, but one of the cardinal rules of the secret service is to not be emotionally attached to your assignment. It would be too difficult to make life or death decisions. “Protecting you has been my pleasure.” She promises.

"I appreciate that." For better or for worse, the Secret Service will be a part of your life for the rest of your life. So if you can't be friends, at least you can appreciate each other. For now, though, you ought to focus. A party with your boyfriend's constituents is no place to have your mind wander.

The dinner party is exactly what you imagined it would be. Self important people, boasting about how important they are as they fawn over ‘more’ important people. Or the people who could give them access to the power they wished to have. Sam was in his element, smiling and shaking hands. Listening to ideas with a feigned interest that comes naturally to politicians.

He's charismatic enough to keep their attention but has enough of his own heart left that he does seem to care about issues being brought to him. Unfortunately for these folks, they're talking about a whole lot of things that just one man can't change on their behalf. So all he can really do is listen and express interest in whatever plight it is they have.

You have found yourself in the rather unfortunate position of being inundated by the significant others of these men, and when the party turns to mingling after dinner they somehow manage to whisk you away to the garden where you aren't sure if they're planning on trying to get you to dance with various people, or maybe join their country clubs, You really can't tell which.

“You must tell me, how is living in the White House?” One asks you, under the impression that you are still living with your mother.

“I understand it’s very comfortable.” It’s almost a relief that these women seem not to know a thing about you beside who your mother is. Your greatest fear about the whole thing was being hounded through every day of your life — so far that hasn’t been the case. But it’s been barely more than a month. There’s time. “However, I chose not to reside there.”

“Oh, what a shame.” She hums, wondering why you wouldn’t want to call the most famous house in America home. “I hear that it’s haunted.”

“That is what they say.” And according to your little sister, it’s absolutely true. But an upscale party of relatively stuffy guests like this doesn’t seem like the place to spout tales of your sister taking her homework to the Lincoln bedroom. “And it’s certainly very beautiful.”

“I would love to take a tour sometime.” She tells you, hoping that you might offer to set it up for her. An intimate tour would be amazing.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” You aren’t the sort of person who would exchange favors, so the thought that this could mean a donation for Sam’s campaign in the near future. Instead, you just know it would be something nice. “I can have something put together for you if you like?”

“That would be lovely!” She exclaimed, sending you a warm smile. “You know, you and the congressman make a beautiful couple. Possibly even presidential one day.” It’s a fishing expedition, feeling you out for your thoughts on a possible run.

"Possibly." And two weeks ago, you might have beamed at that implication. At the idea of Sam moving through his career with such gusto and motivation that he makes it all the way to the White House. But seeing what your father contends with as First Gentleman, the idea of being First Lady sounds overwhelming to you. It's even less likely that you would end up in politics yourself. "Sam takes his work very seriously, and he has high hopes for the future of our country."

“And what about you?” She asks. “You made waves, positive ones in my opinion, during your mother’s campaign about your stance on soulmates.”

"I don't have any political ambitions for myself." Of that, you can absolutely assure her. "While I'm more than happy to support the people around me, I'm very happy with my own career."

“At least until Congressman Chase makes an honest woman out of you.” She hums. “Then it’s so hard to balance your own career while supporting the ambitions of your husband.” There’s a rueful chuckle on her part. “Believe me, I know.”

"I won't be giving up my career." This is always a topic of conversation amongst significant others, you've found, and a topic that your father has contended with on multiple occasions. As your mother's career grew, he became a stay-at-home-dad and raised three kids. Because it was something he wanted to do, not because it was forced on him. And that has always been the key to you. "I own a business. So it's essentially my first child already."

“Oh?” Her brows wing up in surprise. “My apologies. I must have misunderstood.” Her eyes slide past you. “Excuse me, I must go catch Mrs. Jackson before she leaves.” She cuts off the conversation and hustles away.

It's a bit on and definitely abrupt, but the conversation wasn't very enjoyable to begin with so you smile politely and just let it roll off your back. Whatever she 'misunderstood' doesn't really concern you. Some gossip article must have speculated on the next steps of your relationship with Sam and you try not to let that kind of nonsense get to you.

“Having fun?” Sam comes up to you, his hand slipping around your waist and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You look amazing, especially since it was so last minute.”

"You always like this dress." The first time you wore it was the nominating party after the Democratic National Convention, and then again to a fundraiser in Chicago. That was the night you met Sam, and he had remarked even then that the dress was particularly beautiful. It seemed like the logical choice for tonight based on that alone. "It's a nice party." The food was predictable but tasty, and the drinks are flowing, just like the way you expected the night to go. "Do we think there will be birthday cake?" You ask conspiratorially, looking up at him beside you with a smirk. "Is that something people still do for fancy fiftieth birthdays?"

“Cake is universal.” Sam snorts and nods. “I have it on good authority the cake is a chocolate raspberry mascarpone cream cake.” He tells you, knowing it will be an idea you carry back to Sydney.

"I know exactly what Saturday's dessert special is going to be." Somehow your best friend will turn a classic cake into something elegant and thoughtful, and you know the entire restaurant will go nuts for it. They always do, when Sydney gets to show off. "Are you having a good night? I know you had high hopes for networking tonight."

“It’s going well.” He hums happily and beams at you. “How about you? Working the other side for me?” He teases playfully, aware you don’t usually like campaigning.

"Nothing that will get me in trouble with my Mom's staff." Not that he would ever ask you to do anything like that. Sam doesn't go in for most of the entitled bullshit that other politicians do. "One request for a White House tour that I'll put through the appropriate channels. Nothing too odd."

“Interesting.” Sam looks thoughtful. “Who asked for that?”

"Shelly D'Amario." The wife of District Attorney-turned-Superior Court Judge Raymond D'Amario was one of the few people you had recognized from press coverage of events supporting your mother's campaign. Her husband's politics were lined up with most moderate Democrats, and he tended to hand down verdicts with thoughtful conclusions at the end of each case. He's one of those people you wouldn't have minded at all sitting at this dinner party with, but unfortunately the Judge was not able to attend.

“Oh.” Sam nods. “I was at another dinner with her and the judge just the other night.” He tells you. “Picking his brain about Constitutional law.”

“She was very nice.” Though instinct takes over, and you chew on your bottom lip for a second before going on. “Did you guys talk…about me at all? About us, I mean? At your dinner?”

“Well, naturally you came up.” Sam admits with a slight frown, wondering if Shelly had somehow insulted you. “Not everyone is dating the daughter of the current sitting President. But I didn’t share any private details about you.” He promises. “Or your family.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that.” If he was the sort of person who went around sharing personal details with anyone and everyone, you wouldn’t have been able to trust him. Especially not under the condition you met in. Campaigns are cutthroat. “She just…said something that kind of confused me, that’s all.”

“What confused you?” He asks, trying to recall the exact details of the dinner with the judge and his wife.

Without wanting to imply that he might have said anything, you still glance around you to make sure that Agent Bailey is the only one close enough by to overhear you. “She seemed to be under the impression that I would be quitting my job if we ever have a family. And when I said that wasn’t the case, she said she must have ‘misunderstood’ something and walked away immediately.”

Understand dawns in his eyes and Sam shifts slightly. “Well, that’s not something we’ve talked about just yet.” He reminds you. “That’s a conversation we need to have.”

"Right." You couldn't agree more. "Which is why I was confused that she seemed to have heard an opinion about it somewhere before. But it was probably just some gossip article."

He hesitates and then decides to come clean, you don’t like liars. “I might have voice my hopes for our future.” He admits. “It’s not so unexpected, is it?” He asks. “I’ll be spending a lot of time at different events and I will want you by my side.”

"Sam..." There's disappointment in your voice that you don't bother to hide. Of course he's absolutely entitled to talk about hopes, as he puts it, but you can't believe that he would ever think you would give up the inn. "I own the place, honey. It's not like taking a smaller role in an office or shifting to part time somewhere."

“Yes, you own it.” Sam stresses. “But you can have someone else manage it.”

"But I don't want to have someone else manage it." It's really like you can't believe your ears. Sam has never voiced anything like this before within the dynamic of your relationship and he knows very well how proud you are of your work at the inn and how much it means to you.

By the set of your jaw and the frown on your face, Sam knows that he can’t argue the point right now. He shakes his head, smiling at you and taking your hand. “You’re right. I—I wasn’t thinking about how much you love your inn.” He admits softly. “Let’s just forget about it, hm?”

"O—okay." There he is again. Your understanding, supportive Sam smiling at you and taking the stress out of the situation. The man you started dating almost a year ago. Dependable. "Okay."

“Good.” He pats your hand gently and leans in to kiss you softly. “But I do still want to talk about moving in together.”

"After our date on Tuesday?" The Valentine's night you had settled on together is dinner at a small, family-owned restaurant in his hometown followed by a fundraiser screening of short films made by local high schoolers looking to update their school's resources with the proceeds. Community-oriented is the theme of the night.

“That sounds appropriate.” He agrees with a nod. “For now, let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening.” He looks towards your secret service agent. “Will you be allowed to come to my place tonight?”

"I think that can be arranged." The invitation means you'll be sleeping over at his place twice this week, which is definitely more than you've been able to do lately and maybe that's a good thing. Maybe you just need to refocus yourself. And stop thinking about Marcus, for fuck's sake. You slip your arm around Sam's waist and lean into his side. "I just have to let Bailey know. Her relief agent will have to be told to go to your place instead of mine."

"Of course." Even though it irritates him, he nods. Understanding that you cannot help it right now. After your mother's term, perhaps you will decline protection.

"I know it isn't perfect." He's bristled about lack of privacy before, and though you can't say that you really blame him? There's nothing you can do about it. Secret Service protect for the President's immediate family is mandatory. And hell, you have a Secret Service agent in your apartment every night. At least when you stay with Sam, your agent usually stays in the living room or their car like a stakeout. It's typically left up to them. But still, you do understand the objection. "I'm sorry. It is what it is."

"I know." He sighs softly, hating that the evening has been sidetracked from what he imagined. "I understand. I just don't like them be so close when we are alone." He admits.

"I know." The last five minutes have become increasingly uncomfortable, but you still stick close to Sam and continue smiling, aware that eyes at the party might be on you just like they are anytime you go anywhere outside of your little haven at the inn. "But better that, than someone breaking into your house."

He doesn't point out that he has a security system and his townhouse is in a gate community. There's no point and it would just further cause an discussion that is best left for the relative privacy of his bedroom - with a secret service agent parked outside in his living room. He sighs. "Shall we get more wine?" He asks, trying to change the subject.

"Sure." There are people starting to dance to the music being piped through outdoor speakers, but you're not really in a dancing mood. There's too much swirling around in your mind to be light on your feet. "Wine sounds like a good plan."

Sam leads you over to the bar, ever the gentleman and stands beside you to look at the drink selections. "They have a nice pinot grigio." He murmurs softly.

"Is that what you want too?" The bar is open, of course, but the catering company has allowed the bartender to put out a small and discreet tip jar for the reasonably large party tonight, and you have a few more bills in your purse that you're happy to add to the jar.

"I think I'm going to stick with the pinot noir." He tells you, holding up his almost empty glass.

You order both glasses without hesitation and tip the very pleasant bartender, handing Sam his glass after it's put on the bar top. Just something nice to get the night back on track. At least as far as the two of you go.

"So I think that we should drink our wine and then dance." Sam suggests. It would be a good visual and romantic as a bonus. He's not calculating, but he does understand that optics are important in politics. It's a good opportunity to romance you and look good for the discreet photographers that are roaming around.

"And at some point, eat cake." Trying to lighten the mood a little is really your go-to for diffusing tension in any situation, and the air around the two of you feels a little thick, so you offer him a big smile instead of getting serious again.

"Eating cake is always a good way to spend a night." Sam agrees, smiling back at you.

"Morning." You haul yourself into the restaurant's kitchen the next morning when you arrive bright and early for your eight-a.m. start time looking vaguely less drowsy than usual. The other member of your Secret Service detail — Agent Sisson — has music taste more in line with yours and you'd listened to Duran Duran on your way back to town this morning. That and a cup of strong coffee means that you're feeling okay but definitely in need of breakfast.

“Wellllllll,” Sydney’s grin is bright as she eyes you. “I see the walk of shame has taken on a festive air.” She teases, laughing as she moves over to pour you a cup of coffee. “I take it last night went well?”

“I have enough time to go upstairs and change before work,” you grumble, though you’re smiling and accept the cup of coffee gratefully. “Usual boring party, but I bring you home a new cake flavor combination to try, and it was nice to see Sam.”

She snorts. “Nice to see Sam.” She mimics. “It’s like you ran into him in the store.” She huffs at you. “This is your boyfriend. The man you love.”

“And that’s why it’s nice to see him more than just one measly night a week.” Given that you have a few minutes, you hop up on a stool at the counter beside her work station and groan in appreciation at the slice of sweet Italian brioche and carefully cut piece of frittata she plates up for you without hesitation. “Oh my god, thank you. All I’ve had so far is coffee. We overslept and both had to run out to get to work on time.”

“Overslept…” she rolls her eyes and rubs her stomach. “I wish I could remember what that was like.” She grumbles. “This one is giving me heartburn all the time and keeping my sleep short.”

“They just really want to make sure you remember they’re there,” you tease, picking up a forkful of frittata and not even caring what’s inside. Everything Syd makes it incredible. “Twenty-seven whole more weeks of this, Mama. Get excited!”

“I am, I promise. But the kid can let me sleep in a little, right?” She huffs playfully. “So how was the dinner? You came back from the market in a hurry so I didn’t get to talk to you. Did you forget about this or was it last minute?”

“It was last minute. He got a spontaneous invitation to a potential supporter’s wife’s birthday party.” Oh my god, spinach and artichoke frittata, so fucking good. “She got the gift of bragging rights that a Congressman and the First Daughter came to her party, and a very nice bottle of champagne.”

“Sounds like a ton of fun.” Sydney likes hobnobbing even less than you do, preferring to be on the service side of fancy events. “So you ate mildly bland catered food and drank way too much wine?”

“Exactly. Which is why this tastes even more incredible than usual.” You point at your plate even while scooping up another bite. “So did you and Juanito ever decide what you’re doing tomorrow? I know you scheduled yourself for the dinner rush, but you’ve got to do something.”

“My husband is amazing.” She promises, beaming in delight. “He actually got us reservations at St. Regis for the Valentine’s Day Afternoon Tea.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet! It’s so utterly romantic I could barf.” The momentary flash of jealousy is nothing, and you’re genuinely happy that they’ll be able to get out and do something. They work so incredibly hard and never complain for a second. “It’s perfect, Syd. I want a full report.”

“I’m excited.” She admits, biting her lip and fiddling with her practical silicone wedding band that she wears in the kitchen. “I’ve also been promised a very relaxing massage and a few orgasms.”

“All things which you deserve very much.” You raise your coffee cup in salute to her and grin.

“At the very least.” She huffs, her own grin one of pure happiness. “I am growing Badillo’s baby.” She reminds you, as if it isn’t common knowledge at this point. She’s so proud of being with her soulmate and she cock her head at you curiously. “Have you given any more thought to that tattoo?” She pries gently.

“Yes and no…” It’s much more yes than no, if you’re honest with yourself, but the fact is that it’s probably not good to think about it as much as you have. It’s like a never-ending loop in your mind and you absolutely can’t shake it. “I just don’t know what good it would do to bring it up. Or who I would even bring it up to.”

“You know who you should bring it up to.” She huffs.

“Who?” You challenge, feeling like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place without doing so much as being awake this morning. “My boyfriend of almost a year who asked me to move in with him and wants to start planning our future? Or the guy I barely know who invited me to dinner yesterday when I ran into him at Eastern Market and looked so hurt when I had to ask him to reschedule that I still feel like I kicked the world’s cutest puppy?” Clearly it’s been on your mind, and Syd is really the one person you can talk to about any of it. But admitting that you’ve been thinking about Marcus feels like cheating and you have always despised cheaters deeply. Being cheated on will do that to a person.

“You ran into Marcus?” Her eyes widen with the new information and she immediately sets down her spoon and walks around the counter to hug you. “Oh honey, talk to me. What happened?” She asks softly. While she might be pushing you to at least ask if you might be soulmates, she doesn’t want you to be upset.

“It wasn’t a big deal…we ran into each other and we finished our shopping together.” It’s such a relief to have a space to talk about it, and yet you know you’re blowing it out of proportion in your head. It was just a coincidence that you ran into him. Not fate. “We were both talking about wanting Indian for dinner so he asked if I wanted to go to the restaurant with him. We were just going to hang out. Then Sam called.”

“And of course you said yes to Sam.” Sydney doesn’t exactly approve of the way Sam seems to think that you wait for his call and will drop everything to accommodate him, but she doesn’t say anything. “How did Marcus take the change of plans?”

“He said he understood and that it was fine.” Which is, technically, what happened. So when you shift your eyes away from hers, Sydney makes a noise and you cave. “He seemed disappointed,” you admit, throwing up your hands. “But I’m probably just projecting that.”

“Anyone would be disappointed to not spend time with you.” Sydney defends immediately, always the best cheerleader for you. “Maybe text him and reschedule?” She suggests. “Friends have dinner, it’s not cheating. You aren’t going out on a date.”

“I know it’s not cheating.” Syd knows better than anyone why you hate liars and cheaters. “I texted him on my way in this morning to reschedule, but I don’t…I don’t know if he’ll respond. He was probably just being polite asking in the first place.”

“I doubt that.” Sydney had seen the covert looks that each one of them had given the other when they weren’t looking during game night. Both of them were curious and she is interested to know about that hummingbird tattoo, it’s not common, despite what you might say.

“Then it’s because I’m best friends with his friend’s soulmate,” you reason instead.

“No, it’s because Juan said that Marcus was trying to be polite but that he was interested in you.” Sydney tells you.

You feel the blood drain from your face shamefully fast, and your eyes dart up to meet your best friend’s. “He said that?”

“Yes.” She isn’t going to lie to you, Juan had told her that. “But, he also said that Marcus respects relationships and he’s not the type of man to make a move on you if you’re in a relationship.” She knows how you feel about that kind of thing and she agrees with you.

“Well…I mean…that’s good? Isn’t it? That just means he’s respectful.” Still , you find yourself sitting on the idea that Marcus likes you and being halfway between mortified and grinning. It feels ultimately childish and yet like your chest is filling full of something very much like joy.

“According to Juan, Marcus Pike is the best man, the best person that he’s ever known.” Sydney acknowledges with a nod, deciding not to comment on your giddy expression. “Even though he was busy with training at the academy, he was always helping with housework or running errands to take care of things.” She shrugs. “His ex-wife was a med student. So I guess she’s a doctor now.”

“It’s just a coincidence.” This mantra of yours is going to get old quick, but you have a partner. A long term one, even. One that until a week or so ago, you had thought you had a future with. Now that resolve is waning and you don’t really know how you started to question yourself so easily.

Sensing that you’ve dug your heels in, she backs off, giving a small shrug. “I’m sure it is.” She hums. “So what are your Valentine’s Day plans with Sam?” She asks. “Did he plan something romantic?”

“We’re going to dinner and then a community fundraiser in his district.” It doesn’t sound romantic, you will admit that, but anything too luxurious you did can be perceived in a very wrong way by the general public if it gets out. A Congressman and the First Daughter going to a spa getaway or the symphony would be seen as being out of touch with the people. “He…wants to talk about the future.”

“And you don’t sound like it’s a conversation that you are eager to have.” She sits down, her own herbal tea in front of her and she frowns slightly.

“I’m…not sure, honestly.” Without hesitation and without filter, the explanation about your conversation with Judge D’Amario’s wife and what Sam said at dinner with them comes tumbling out of your mouth and you can’t help but cringe to yourself when you get it all out in the open air. “Am I overreacting? Please tell me I’m overreacting.”

Sydney winces and gives you a small shrug. “He has known from the beginning that you aren’t the type to want to be a typical politician’s spouse and give up your career.” She reminds you. “Remember that night out in Alexandria? Where we were bar hopping? I had a very frank conversation with him about that.”

“You did?” Your forehead scrunches as you take a sip of coffee. “Then why would he think I would be willing to have someone else manage the inn?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that.” She admits quietly. “But I think he gave them his true ideal. You quitting and being by his side for all his accomplishments.”

“It’s not that I’m not proud of him.” Some would argue that that is what it signals, but you and Sydney are not those types of people. “He’s doing such good work, and I do want to have kids and a house and all that domestic stuff. I just…I don’t want to give up working. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life standing behind a podium waving politely. I’m—I want to be me, not an extension of my partner.”

“I know that.” She reaches out and takes your hand. “But does Sam? Really? I think that he can convince you that it’s what you want.” She huffs. “I know he’s a good guy, but is he the right guy?”

“Not everybody finds perfect,” you remind her quietly, knowing that that is exactly what she has with Juan. Their version of perfect is about support, respect, and unending silliness, and you’ve always craved the same. But there aren’t many men in the world like Juan. Not many at all.

“That doesn’t mean you need to settle.” She tells you, squeezing your hand gently. “If you are happy, I’m happy. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“To be honest?” Closing your eyes for a second to swallow a sigh, the best you can do is shake your head. “I didn’t think I was settling. But now I can’t help but wonder…”

“Then you owe it to yourself, and to Sam, to make sure before you commit any further.” She suggests, knowing that you would feel horrible about divorcing later on.

“How?” It’s an honest question, since the situation is tangled up in guesses and implied maybes. “Break up with Sam because Marcus might be my soulmate? What happens if I’m wrong and I regret the whole thing? Sam would never take me back and I would deserve it.”

“Ask Marcus to show you the tattoo.” She hums. “That’s not cheating. It would be no different than seeing him in swimming trunks.”

“If he ever responds to me.” Which you sort of doubt. You sort of did just drop plans with him the second your boyfriend called. But you are the kind of person who makes your relationship a priority. You always have been.

“And if he doesn’t….” She shrugs. “You just deal with that.” She frowns. “But I would be upset if you had done the same to me.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t have a right to be upset with me.” Marcus has a right to feel however he feels. He’s human, after all. “This whole thing is just so out of left field. Especially after spending all of last year talking about freedom of affection and being happy with a partner who isn’t your soulmate.”

“Except you had never potentially met your soulmate.” She pauses and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter, if you don’t want to pursue it, don’t. Juan won’t say anything and I’ll just encourage him to hang out with Marcus on a guys night.”

“I don’t know,” you admit honestly, poking at the remains of your breakfast with a frown. “First let’s see if he speaks to me again. I gotta go change my clothes for work.” A heavy blanket of tension works on you that wasn’t there when you came home, and you drag yourself off the stool with a swallowed sigh. “Thanks for breakfast, honey.”

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs, wishing for a moment that Juan hadn’t run into Marcus. Hadn’t mentioned a tattoo that was throwing you into a spin. “I’m here whenever you need.”

“Thank you.” Coming around the counter, you wrap your arms around her tightly and inhale, trying to remember your yoga and let the stress roll off your shoulders and not carry it into the work day. “And I’m always here for you. No matter what.”

“I know.” She grins into your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, bitch.” She teases. “I will go to war for you, bury bodies and not even think twice.”

"No hesitation." You link your pinkies together, the same way you have since you were little kids. "I really have to go change now. But thanks for listening to me ramble and fret."

“Anytime.” She scoffs, waving away your thanks. “You’ve listened to me plenty.” Lately it’s been about being a good mother and not completely wrecking Baby Badillo, but she understands the need to just vent. You’re there for one another, both of you, through thick and thin.

______

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

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers

My Masterlist!

[stratocumulusperlucidus]

Mind the tags and take care of yourselves 💖

(Let me know if i should add other tags, i'll probably be posting about this a bit more but i know it's a sensitive topic)

No easy way to say this so i'll just rip off the band-aid. Janet had chronic kidney disease and it got worse and she passed away on Wednesday. I'm glad we were with her at the end and I'm glad she isn't suffering anymore and I miss her so so much.

Thanks everyone who sent good vibes and kind words last week 💖💖💖 we might complain a lot about tumblr being a hellsite and sometimes it is but there's so many kind people here and i really appreciate all of you 💖

I wrote about some of my favorite things about Janet because she was a great cat and everyone should know a little bit about her.

Most nights Janet would lay down on me, on my legs or on my back, or cuddle up against me. And I was always careful not to move too much to avoid disturbing her, but if I did, she would always come back anyways. Going to bed without her is probably the hardest thing.

When I was working from home, she would often come see me in the afternoon and curl up on my lap. If i had a zoom meeting, she would walk on the couch behind me or step on my lap to ask for attention and my coworkers always enjoyed seeing her.

She was never a very active or playful cat, but she was so cuddly. She could spend hours laying down on my lap or on my chest or against me. She liked it when we scratched her neck, and she would press against our hand so we scratched harder. She liked to get forehead kisses and she liked to give head bonks (she would bonk us pretty hard sometimes, it was almost kinda painful!)

She knew where to sit on the stove to make it beep to get our attention so we would open the tap to let her drink.

She was never the most agile cat, always very prudent and careful. Like she would wait for us to move our arm from the armrest so she could step down from the back of the couch instead of jumping from it. She wouldn't jump up on something without first looking up if she could.

She liked to lay down in the sun in the morning. Stretch out and bask in the warmth, flopped down on the balcony or on the carpet.

She always knew where to find the best cozy quiet places to nap. A few times we were searching for her for a while and we were so worried, up until we found her, asleep on a pile of towels in a bathroom cabinet we left half open.

She was so soft. She smelled so good. I miss her.

Grief is weird and i never know how to comfort people going through it because it's so different for everyone so i thought i'd share what i think might help me feel better. If you'd like, here's some things i would appreciate:

Send pictures of the pets you love or the pets you lost and tell me about them

Send fluffy or smutty fic recs (i've been reading please, please have me and re-reading voice note because i guess smut is comforting? Idk, grief is really weird)

Tight hugs / cuddle pile? being crushed and smothered by mutuals sounds nice rn

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Onset - Chapter Two.

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen/JJK Pairing: Geto Suguru x Original Female Character Characters: Geto Suguru, Valerie (OC) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Established Friendship, Geto and OC are roommates, Self-Insert, Smut, Penis in Vagina Sex, Creampie, Brief mention of an inability to get pregnant, Unprotected Sex, Cunnilingus, if I tagged everything we’d be here all day, This is part of a series

Part 3 of Sundane

Previous Part: Egg Fried Rice

Previous Chapter: One

Summary:

He isn’t expecting her to throw his earlier words back at him that way, and it catches him off-guard. “Why do you always remember the dumb shit I say?”

“Was it dumb?”

“It wasn’t absolute,” he mumbles. He pauses, knowing that if he says what he wants to say next, he’ll kick himself for it.

He says it anyway. “Sometimes one slips through the cracks, you know,” he adds softly. “Sometimes, there’s one that really is special.”

Read on AO3

“I’m sorry about what I said.”

She’s started to doze off when he says it, and it takes her sluggish, sated brain a few seconds to catch up with her ears. “What?” 

Shit. He’s torn between two feelings. The first is annoyance that she hasn’t somehow magically read his mind and figured out what he’s apologizing for. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself. He wants her to know why he’s sorry, so they can move past it and forget it happened.

The second, more prominent feeling is that pang of guilt that’s resurfaced, sticking in his side and reminding him that he actually does owe her an apology for what he said earlier. He once again pushes that pang of guilt back into the abyss, but the residual feelings that linger leave him wanting to clear the air. “What I said earlier,” he sighs. “About you not being able to get pregnant. I know it’s a sore spot for you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says with a shrug. “It’s not like you to feel sympathy for something like that, and it isn’t something other people care about either.”

He lifts his head from her stomach to look up at her. She’s smiling, but he gets the feeling it’s because she thinks she should be. “You wanna talk about it?”

Her fingers pause in their movement in his hair as she considers his face. His expression is open, non-judgmental, as if meant to make her feel like she can continue talking about this if she wants to. Part of her wants to spill everything - to tell him these feelings that she’s never shared with anyone else. But part of her feels like talking about this with Suguru would be like opening a door she won’t ever be able to close again. 

She is still contemplating opening that door when she feels the soft warmth of Suguru’s lips against her skin. It’s a gentle kiss on her hip, and she thinks it feels a little like encouragement.

“Well,” she starts softly, resuming her gentle strokes through his hair. “You’re right, it’s a sore spot. The thing itself is something that I know I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life, and I can deal with it. But whenever people find out, they only ever acknowledge the thing itself. They don’t acknowledge all the complicated feelings that come with it. 

“It isn’t a choice I wanted to make,” she goes on. “And if I’d had the ability to choose otherwise, I would have. People who have gotten to choose - and who still can - don’t seem to understand that. So when they say things like ‘you’re not missing anything’ and ‘you’re lucky you still have your freedom,’ it just ends up feeling like… like they’re invalidating how I really feel and telling me how they think I should feel instead.” She pauses. “Enjoying the life that I have now and feeling like I’m missing out on that thing I can’t have aren’t mutually exclusive, you know?”

“I get it,” Suguru muses. “Kinda like somebody who insinuates you should be relieved that your chronically ill parent has finally died. Like, yeah, taking care of them and being worried all the time while they’re alive and sick is stressful and emotionally draining. But it doesn’t mean you want them to die, and it doesn’t mean you don’t miss them when they do.”

Stunned, she stares down at him. “Huh. Actually, yeah. That’s a pretty accurate comparison.”

Suguru is quiet for a long time. When he finally speaks, it isn’t to tease her or to make fun of what she’s told him. “Now that I know how you really feel about it,” he starts quietly, “I don’t think it’s something I could ever joke about. And I’m doubly sorry for making light of it before.”

She hates that there’s a lump in her throat, and so she speaks before that lump can manifest itself in tears. “Why are you being so sweet to me?”

“I told you I was giving you the princess treatment today.”

“Right,” she recalls. “It doesn’t hurt to make them feel special, even if they’re not. That’s what you said.” 

He isn’t expecting her to throw his earlier words back at him that way, and it catches him off-guard. “Why do you always remember the dumb shit I say?”

“Was it dumb?”

“It wasn’t absolute,” he mumbles. He pauses, knowing that if he says what he wants to say next, he’ll kick himself for it. 

He says it anyway. “Sometimes one slips through the cracks, you know,” he adds softly. “Sometimes, there’s one that really is special.”

His words hit her right in her chest, hard enough to make her take a deep breath. It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask - am I special? She bites the words back, unsure if she’d even want to know the answer. 

“Come on,” Suguru says, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak. He sits up, taking hold of her hands.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re gonna wait for me in the shower while I change your sheets,” he tells her, pulling her up into a sitting position. “Unless you wanna sleep in a bed full of my sweat and cum,” he adds with a smirk. “Some people have a thing for that.”

“Wait for you?” She repeats, choosing to ignore the latter part of what he’s said. She lets him pull her off of the bed, lets him maneuver his rumpled shirt over her head so she can have something to give her a bit of warmth and some semblance of decency. 

Suguru himself doesn’t seem to care about warmth or decency as he begins stripping the bed of its sheets in only his skin. “Mmhm,” he murmurs patiently, pausing to push her in the direction of the bathroom on the other side of her bedroom. “I won’t be long. Run the water, yeah? Make sure it’s warm, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Stop reading into it, she scolds herself. This is all routine for him. “Right,” she laughs. “It always takes at least ten minutes for it to get hot.”

He makes an affirming noise and turns his attention back to the bed. She stands there for a moment longer - enjoying the view, she would say if anyone asks her - before turning away. 

--

He finds her in the bathroom a few minutes later. “Is it hot?” He nods in the direction of the shower. 

“Yeah.” She’s feeling suddenly awkward, ridiculously bashful. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”

Puzzled, Suguru looks back at her. “If I wanted separate showers, I would’ve just showered in my own bathroom,” he points out. “I told you to wait for me so we could go in together,” he adds, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to co-shower. 

“I know how to bathe myself,” she retorts. “I’m not a kid.”

“Good, because I don’t fuck kids,” he snickers. “What I do do, however, is make sure the adults I fuck are well-taken care of. Both in bed and outside of it,” he adds, tilting his head and leaning close so he can look her directly in the eye. “So you can either climb into the shower yourself, or I can lift you up and put you there. Whatever you like.”

She stays where she is long enough to say, “You said doodoo.” 

His palm just misses her ass as she scurries away. 

--

Showering is a functional thing; she knows that it’s meant to serve the purpose of getting a body clean. Even though she’s taken showers with lovers before (should she think of Suguru as a lover? While it’s true that they’ve had sex, she is hesitant to bestow that title on him just yet), she has never viewed anything about the act of showering in itself as sexy.

But she would be hard-pressed to deny that there is something incredibly erotic about the way her roommate-turned-bedfellow handles her in the shower. His touch is gentle, her washcloth an extension of his hands as he bathes her. Nothing that he does is designed to arouse her, but she finds herself marveling at how the way he’s touching her feels almost more intimate than what they’ve just done in her bed.

“You’re good at this,” she tells him, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the steady stream of water coming out of both showerheads. 

“I know,” he asserts, a smug expression on his face. “Aren’t you glad you waited for me?”

She leans forward, sinking her teeth into one of his pectorals. It isn’t meant to hurt, just to shut him up, and he yelps. Satisfied, she leans back to look at the faint little bite marks left behind.

“Haven’t you marked me up enough?” He grouses.

“I could say the same about you,” she shoots back. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t planning on wearing anything low-cut to work tomorrow.” 

“Dummy,” he laughs, reaching for the washcloth he’d brought in for himself. “You work from home. Who would see you anyway?”

She shrugs. “Zooms are still a thing, you know.” She watches him pour her peony-scented body wash onto his washcloth. “You’re gonna smell like me,” she warns.

“Where am I going that anybody would care? You like it enough to have it, and you’re the only one who’s gonna smell me.”

“Good point.” She watches him lather himself up for a few minutes longer. Then, “Let me help.”

He obliges her. When she gets to his back, she pauses. The scratches weren’t enough to draw blood, but she can see that she did end up breaking the skin in a few places. She’s careful when washing those spots, trying to emulate the gentle way he’d cleaned her. 

Suguru goes quiet for the duration of the time they’re in the shower, and she wonders what he’s thinking about.

--

“I don’t need that,” he protests, keeping his elbow raised to block her approach. 

“It takes six seconds for your skin to dry out once you’ve washed your face.” She’s brandishing one of her high-end skincare products like a weapon. “You should at least moisturize it.” 

“I don’t need it,” he repeats stubbornly.

“I beg to differ,” she sighs. “You may not see the difference right now, but you will in five or ten years.” 

He rolls his eyes at her but says nothing. Nor does he lower his arm.

“Suguru,” she huffs, exasperated. “You can’t expect to pamper me and not let me do the same for you.”

He looks down at her. “Is that what this is?” He motions to the bottle of moisturizer in her hand. “Is this your version of aftercare?”

“If I say yes, will you let me put it on you?”

She thinks he’s going to say no again. To her mild shock and utter delight, he lowers his defense arm and sits obediently on the closed toilet lid. “Fine,” he assents. “But just this once.”

“That’s what they all say,” she grins. “I’ll have you hooked on Dermalogica in no time.”

She treats his skin exactly the way she’s treated her own post-cleanse: toner, moisturizer, eye cream, and serum. She applies each product carefully, her touch gentle as she uses the pads of her fingers to massage the liquids and creams into his skin. 

“You do this every night?” He asks when she’s done, watching her line the bottles back up in the organizer on her vanity.

“Yep,” she tells him, her attention focused on what she’s doing. “Morning has a slightly different routine.”

He’s still sitting on the closed toilet lid. She’s within reach, straightening the other bottles and tubes in her organizer. It would be so easy to wrap his arm around her waist and bring her nearer to him, to pull her down into his lap. To cradle her close so he can breathe in the smell of her hair and feel her soft skin against his once more. So he can register her heart beating against his chest and put one hand against her back to feel her breathing.

His hand actually twitches with the urge. Shit, he thinks, as he balls the hand into a fist. What the fuck is wrong with me?

--

Valerie finds it curious, the way they’ve picked right back up where they left off, like slipping on a pair of well-worn pants. Suguru takes out the leftover fried rice that they’d had the presence of mind to put in the fridge and dumps it into a pan for reheating while she scrolls through their shared streaming apps to find something they can watch while they eat.

She’s been sure that it would feel awkward to spend time together the way they normally do after what’s transpired between them. If it weren’t for the soreness in her legs and the burgeoning love bites on her neck and chest, she would wonder if what they did was simply a figment of her imagination. Just further proof you are not one of the special ones, her brain reminds her, unsolicited. You never are, remember?

“Shut up,” she mutters back at it.

“What was that?” Suguru calls from the kitchen. “Couldn’t hear you.”

“I was just asking what you’re in the mood to watch,” she calls back.

“Pick whatever you want. All that stuff in the community queues is stuff we both wanted to watch, so it doesn’t really matter to me.”

She finally settles on a lighthearted comedy they’ve both watched before. It’s an old favorite and one that doesn’t require their full attention to follow. He seems pleased with what she’s chosen when he finally joins her, handing her a bowl and a spoon and settling next to her with his own food. 

Halfway through the third episode, she mutters, “I usually put on my headphones, you know.” 

Suguru turns to look at her, amused. “Is this a conversation I’m invited to join, or should I leave the room and let you continue?” He asks, pausing the show.

“I was talking to you,” she sighs. “You asked me - earlier - if I was gonna pretend I’ve never heard you jerking off.” She shrugs, fiddling with the blanket in her lap. “I have, but whenever I know you are, I just put my noise cancelers on for a while.”

“Why?”

She stares at him. “Because that’s private. It’s not something I should listen to.” 

“Maybe not.” He laughs. “But are you saying you wanted to?”

“Suguru.”

“What? It’s a fair question, isn’t it?” He shifts on the sofa, turning to face her full-on. 

“Actually, it isn’t,” she huffs with a laugh. 

“Can’t be that you’re embarrassed,” he goes on. He leans forward, a teasing smirk on his face and his eyes trained on hers. “You let me put a part of my body inside yours. Actually,” he amends thoughtfully, “I’ve had several parts of my body inside yours.” 

“You get on my damn nerves.” She snatches both bowls up and gets up to carry them into the kitchen. 

Of course he follows her. “You still didn’t say yes or no,” he insists. 

Valerie turns to him, offering him her sweetest smile. “It will be a cold day in hell before I do that, Suguru.” 

“Hmm.” He leans back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, watching her load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “I think the fact that you refuse to answer me is probably an answer within itself.”

“Fuck off.”

It only makes him laugh. “Fine,” he says finally. “You don’t have to tell me. But until you say otherwise, I’m just gonna assume the answer is yes.” 

Once again there are words threatening to escape her; she wants to tell him that he’s right, that she does want to hear him jerking himself off. But more than that, she wants it to be her he’s thinking of when he wraps his hand around himself and thrusts into his fist. She wants it to be her face he’s seeing when he closes his eyes, when he’s putting himself in danger of going lightheaded because it feels so good he’s forgetting to breathe. 

She says none of those things. “Keep dreaming,” she says, flashing him another sweet smile. “Let’s go - the tv’s probably timed out on us.” 

Something unreadable passes across his face, too quick for her to identify it. After the split second that she sees it, he smiles casually back at her, and whatever was beneath the mask he now wears is lost forever. “Yeah.”

About Me | My Fics | Ask

[puppy-phum]

tag game ✨

thanks for tagging me zey @thasorns ♥ i teared up at your addition about me, that is so sweet :( i miss our dff talks too! idk what you're into these days but would love to talk about some show with you again :')

-

1. why did you choose your url?

bc am obsessed with one (1) man who belongs to another amazing guy ♥ (been thinking about an url change lately tho bc i'd like to put last twilight and the hurt it caused behind me but haven't found something else to tie myself to yet. maybe we are and phumpeem if the ending delivers?)

2. any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them.

not really. the only side blog i have is my og url vishcount saved for nostalgia purposes but there's nothing on that blog

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

started on this hellsite (affectionate) on the lord's year 2013 and it shows

4. do you have a queue tag?

i don't use the queue much so no. you will only catch me reblogging like ten posts in a row when am online/in the mood and then going back to lurking again

5. why did you start your blog in the first place? 

i was into a bunch of animes and tumblr was filled with amazing fanart. i wanted to be able to look at them in peace

6. why did you choose your icon/pfp?

to show who my url is about ♥ mork my beloved

7. why did you choose your header?

wanted it to fit the theme. also i adore the last twilight rooftop kiss, it's one of the brightest spots of the show

8. what’s your post with the most notes? 

most likely this the untamed edit from 2020. i was truly living my peak back then :'D tbh i feel like the whole of tumblr was living its peak when the untamed was airing and when we all lost it together for the longest time after

9. how many mutuals do you have?

way too many and i adore all of them, tho i probably forget or cannot recognize most of them. especially if you've changed your url/main fandom OR i have, we might not even know each other anymore haha

10. how many followers do you have?

more than i deserve and idk what all of you are even doing here but i like feeling like i'm part of some type of crowd ♥

11. how many people do you follow?

quite recently i unfollowed some inactive blogs and blogs about things i don't really care for anymore so my follow count is a nice number of 205

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

uh. i don't really know? do some posts from my finnish tumblr (suomitumppu) era count? :'D

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

am chronically online and i open this app like a fridge

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

no, not really. am not really one to share strong opinions, especially negative opinions, publicly online which i think is the cause of most arguments ppl have here. i'd rather just keep my peace and be nice

15. how do you feel about ‘you need to reblog this’ posts 

mostly i don't like doing things when am told to do them

16. do you like tag games?

yes! it always makes me happy to know that someone is thinking about me and i do find these a lot of fun to do ^^

17. do you like ask games?

also yes. i just don't often reblog those bc i don't really have a lot of interactions on this site. if i find an ask game with very interesting questions, i might forward it to kiddo @i-am-just-a-kiddo and we do it together privately to enjoy it like that ♥

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

the first one that comes to mind is hanyi @ruanbaijie who i think deserves all the recognition for her absolutely amazing giffing skills ♥ she's also the sweetest so idk what's not to follow, make her even more famous if you can!

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

nope. idk if i function like that tbh. i have some huge friend crushes tho and want to be closer with some ppl a lot! not mentioning names bc am shy haha

but i want to say that monica @stormyoceans is very important to me these days. she brightens up my days and makes my whole fandom experience so much better by simply being her enthusiastic and authentic self ♥ never change!

and also jessi @oswlld who i still cannot believe is someone i can call my friend and bestie on this site. i am so happy we've gotten to share bad buddy, vice versa, and last twilight together! also happy to hear about your life at times and to just share silly things with you ♥

third one i want to mention is shannen @icouldhyperfixatehim who always manages to stand out in a positive way. we don't interact much but i cannot help but feel very giddy about their presence on my dash. they leave the best tags and every time they reblog any of my edits with their tags, they manage to make me feel like i've made it and my edit was worth the effort :'D so thank you!

20. tags?

want to tag at least @psychic-waffles @foxofninetales @hils79 @sherrymagic @srnileforme and @thitiponqs ♥ also the ones i mentioned before are free to join and anyone else who wants to do this!

[tiniedemon]

— ♡

leave a light on

butters stotch / reader

— ♡

inspired by ‘leave a light on’ by tom walker

cw. | substance abuse, addiction, angst

butters was worried sick. his fingers were wrapped tightly around his phone, holding it to his ear. every dial tone sent a rush of anxiety through him. voicemail. again.

you were missing. he was officially calling it missing. two or three days with no contact at all wasn’t unusual for you, but five was worrying. and with your history, it was terrifying.

a darker part of his mind supplied gruesome images of you, laid in an alleyway, a needle protruding from your arm. he shook away the sickening imagery, hand clasped before his mouth to steady himself.

his hands made quick work of dialing kenny, his only known mutual ally when it came to you. the dial tones further worsened his chronic nausea, his free hand toying with a loose hem on his shirt.

“hey butters,” finally greeted kenny’s voice, raspy and quiet with exhaustion. a wave of temporary relief washed over butters, a shaky sigh passing through his lips.

“hey, ken. have you heard from y/n?” he asked, speech fast and slurred. his heart was pounding in his chest, leaving a fluttering feeling in his gut and a labored heave to his breathing.

“yeah. she’s here,” kenny responded, all of the tension leaving butters’ body as he rushed to his feet and gripped his keys. “but… butters, she’s relapsed. she doesn’t want to see you right now.”

butters halted in his movements, fingers tightening around his phone, heart falling to his stomach. tears sprung to his eyes before he could stop them, a strangled groan leaving his mouth.

“it’s okay. i’m coming,” he whispered hoarsely, and his movements carried on. he gave kenny no time to respond, ending the call and practically running out of his apartment building.

he was reckless with his driving, nearly hitting multiple pedestrians in his frantic attempt to reach you. his hands itched to hold you, to know you were alright.

“where is she?” butters cried the second he stepped through kenny’s front door. kenny was seated in the living room, head in his hands, barely glancing towards the other blonde as he pointed towards his own bedroom.

butters thanked him swiftly, then jogged towards the bedroom in the back corner of the house. his heart beat harder with each step, until he felt like he’d be sick with every second he spent away from you.

the door was open, your body curled up on kenny’s bedspread, shoulders shaking with the pitiful cries that carried to the doorway where butters stood. he choked on the sob that bubbled in his throat, falling to his knees.

the shuffle of his knees dragging against the carpet was loud in his ears, nearly overshadowing your sniffling and quiet sobs. his heart felt as though it were being crushed in his chest, pain shooting through his body with every beat.

your body trembled beneath his shaking fingertips, his form shaking as he sunk into the bed behind you. he said nothing, merely wrapped his arms around you and cried into the back of your shirt. he hated seeing you like this. it hurt him nearly as bad as he knew it hurt you.

“i’m so sorry,” you whimpered through your tears, and butters felt his heart break. he held you closer, shaking his head vigorously, bunching up your shirt in his tight fist.

“please don’t apologize,” he whispered hoarsely, pressing a soft kiss to your cold shoulder. “please never apologize for something you can’t help.”

it took hours for you to finally roll over, to finally face him. your eyes were bloodshot and your nose was running, lips quivering as your glossy eyes met his. his lungs squeezed, a wheezy sigh leaving his lips as he stared at you. it hurt, seeing you this distraught.

“i’m so sorry,” you whispered, a tear rolling across your nose and wetting the pillow beneath your head. butters smiled shakily, hand caressing the side of your face, head shaking slowly as he gazed at you.

“you don’t have to apologize, sweetheart. you didn’t chose this for yourself,” he whispered in response, forehead touching yours, a gentle kiss falling upon your lips. “i’m so glad you’re safe.”

“i love you so much,” you breathed, pulling him in for a much deeper kiss. he clutched onto you for dear life, fingers grasping you hard enough to bruise your skin, his chest aching.

“i love you,” he managed through desperate kisses. the relief swelling inside him was enough to bring him to tears again, the salty taste lingering on his tongue.

“i love you,” he whispered again, repeating like a chant, parting just long enough to gasp in enough air to kiss you again. he was so thankful to have you there in his arms, to have you breathing in his presence, that he couldn’t be bothered to care about kenny sitting rooms away.

in that moment, he was circling you. his entire universe was tangled with yours, revolving like a planet around its sun. he couldn’t release you even if he wanted to.

[lanaevyssmoved]

If I understand this right, someone used your blog as an example for needing to be available to talk 24/7 or something like that? Or like having every single info about yourself out in the open? If that is the case - A: rude as hell. B: what happened to respecting people's boundaries and privacy? I'm with you on this, I wish only my mutuals could view my info. No one is entitled to your information or your time. Love how people on here preach about keeping things private to protect yourself from freaks, but will turn around and scold you for not listing every single mental illness you have.

yeah, unfortunately they were like "you've been on tumblr every day since we met so i just assumed you were always available to talk to me." in response to them getting upset that i didn't talk to them for a day (or anyone, for that matter, it wasn't targeted, i just wasn't on discord). i also had a situation recently where someone saw me talking in a server on discord and got upset with me that i spoke there but didn't reply to their dm.

i'm someone with very low spoons on most days, i'm disabled and suffer from chronic pain, so sometimes i only have the energy to reblog a few things, make a random personal post sometimes, or make a few comments in a server (because group situations online require less spoons for me because if i leave it doesn't halt things dead). i tend to find 1:1 conversations very exhausting, so i can be really slow with it and take a few days to reply, or longer even, and sometimes i can talk a lot! but it shouldn't be expected of me (or anyone!!!).

i'm of the firm belief that the current internet age of always being online/active is pretty damaging because it leads to people feeling entitled to your time. i miss the days where if my phone wasn't topped up you're just not getting a text from me. see you in a week when i'm allowed to put £10 into my phone!!!

[starwrittenfates]

🔥 my hot take about the roleplaying community⭐️ my roleplay pet peeves🌸 the blog/s that most inspires me🍄 my favorite original character blog

MY EXPERIENCE IN THE ROLEPLAYING COMMUNITY

🔥 my hot take about the roleplaying community

I mostly stick to the fandoms I'm most comfortable with, but I find everyone I've come across so far to be most welcoming. However, I wish I could understand the whole aesthetics thing better. Everyone makes such great and fancy promos and my photoshop skills aren't there yet.

I've been around the community since 2013 and seen so much. While the community has come to be a little more accepting to OCs then they were back then, I still think it's a WIP.

At the end of the day we're all little humans popping online to escape the real world and write out our favorite characters to our hearts content and have fun. This isn't a job, it's a hobby. That's what it's all about <3

⭐️ my roleplay pet peeves

I'm usually a pretty chill person, so I actually have to think heavily on this one.

Rushing me for replies, especially in a timely manner ---In the past, I've had some people snap at me for getting to others replies, but not theirs. Sometimes you have the muse for certain characters, and then other times you don't. It could take days, weeks, or even months, who knows?! But especially since I developed my nerve problem and deal with chronic pain now, that's even more of a battle to fight. Luckily I haven't had anyone do this to me on here though. <3

Being strict about OCs, or at least saying that if you're an OC to not interact --- This is mostly referring to how things were here in the past with OCs. It made me not even want to write my own OCs before. However, there are sadly some people who still aren't so welcoming to OCs and it's sad because they are missing out on great creations ----Cue the: you can't expect OCs to have fully completed biographies post and especially how OCs need engagement in order to develop!

🌸 the blog/s that most inspires me

Okay, literally ALL MY MUTUALS!!!

But if I really gotta pick a few....

@maestrs --- Danny with their portrayal of all the Master's! *chief's kiss* Just have the crown already! 👑

@mysteriouself --- Someone I enjoy interacting with both in and ooc and inspires me with so many ideas!

Literally every other fellow Astarion roleplayer out there! --- He's a character that's grown so dear to me and seeing everyone else's different portrayal's and writing of him is unique and always so great to see. It inspires me <3 Keep at it!

🍄 my favorite original character blog(s)

Do I just have to pick ONE? Can I pick more? I'm gonna pick more.

@dulcetfanged --- I'm enjoying our interactions with Almond's original character, Meladi.

@albinoxherbalist --- Rose is a wonderful OC and I enjoy all our interactions!

[joelletwo]

sugi. collection.

bwbf theyre having a childhood best friends romance here <3 i missed this which means

I MISSED THAT THIS IS GINTOKI PUTTING HIMSELF *in* A RELATIONSHIP AGAIN. why does he do this. lol. these episodes really on top of the sealing takasugi's diseases in my mind seals that gintoki has chronic Shoulderer Of Burdens disease. guhh

<33 i love um how to say....................... gin shouyou... found family flavor peers rather than parental? parental for sure but also. gintoki takes it upon himself to be parental right back lol (see: chronic disease) and they end up just being. buddies

paper thin shouyou. gin standing in for him, again, willingly and also bc takasugi has mind diseases. exhibit 1,000 of takagin presumed the world's only peers which renders them able to and ONLY able to perpetrate unconscionable violence (they are doing this consciously and mutually and informed consentedly as therapy) (goes insane abt how cognizant they both are about kjsdf why theyre doing this. and they choose to do it still)

(^ squinting reaching back in my memory for if this is a benizakura or a bansai callback thing. the thing he protects has not changed from back then. everything is everything else is takagin in gintama) just this whole segment. look at it.

v nothing to say abt these

v something to say about this one

he LOVES to be impaled

romance.

daughter u look cool here

I DIDNT REALIZE HES USING THEEEEEEE god i know this thing has a term. khakkhara. THE NARAKU STAFF THAT IMPALED HIM. TO INFLICT REFLECTED EYE TRAUMA ON OBORO WHO INFLICTED EYE [TRAUMA] ON HIM. GUH. beautiful world

[thermitetermite]

Prompt #18 - Dessert Creation

Tldr: After an awful battle Hero goes to a rooftop to mourn the loss of their beloved Villain. Hero sobs about their mistakes and the regret they have for not confessing sooner to Villain. Villain is alive mutual confession ensues. Hurt/comfort, Dessert Creation Villain x Hero

CW: Talk of death, implied death, burns, mourning, blood, dissociation

Hero had failed. They'd failed to recognize Supervillain's master plan. They failed to help when the other heroes needed them. And perhaps worst of all, they had failed to save their Villain.

They only arrived in time to watch Villain get burnt to a sugary crisp by Supervillain. The flan shield they created around themselves was no match for the raw firepower Supervillain released. The unrelenting blaze charred any chance of Villain's survival.

Hero had only processed what had happened next when they found themselves sitting on the edge of a familiar rooftop.

Everything felt like a blur to them. The burn on their shoulder was numb. The soot on their cape unnoticed. The dried blood on their hands the only evidence confirming they ended Supervillain's reign.

Hero sat there for what felt like ages, gazing upon the city skyline until the lights smeared and scattered across their vision. Tears. Once they realized they were crying it felt like a floodgate opened. They couldn't stop. Hero pathetically wiped at their eyes with the backs of their hands.

Why Villain? Why Villain!?

Villain was one of the few villains in the city who wasn't some deranged psychotic menace to society! Villain would never think of harming anyone. They were just some goofy Villain who trapped people in toffee or put office buildings in jello or some other major inconvenience. They gave out candy when they were arrested and offered other villains lollipops in holding cells. They ate sugar cubes chronically and paid hackers to get your Pinterest account so they could spam you with dessert recipes.

Hero wished they'd told Villain how much they loved them sooner.

Hero was sure if Villain were still alive they'd make a joke about smelling like burnt cookies. The ash left behind didn't offer such comfort.

They reached a quivering hand into their pocket and pulled out a couple crushed sugar cubes. Hero cupped the cubes in both hands, closed their eyes and brought their clasped hands to their forehead. With a croaky voice they talked out loud, perhaps hoping their words would be heard.

"I miss you. God, I miss you." They sniffled and leaned into their hands, trying to steady themselves. "It shouldn't have been you. I should have gotten there sooner. I should have known what would happen. I should have reached out more."

Their voice cracked as they continued.

"It should have been me!" They openly weeped. "I was supposed to protect this city! I was supposed to protect you!"

"How am I supposed to go on knowing you aren't here! How am I supposed to patrol what's left of this shit hole of a city without you sitting on this roof beside me?

How am I supposed to patrol without you insisting we bounce instead because you want to turn the sidewalks to jello?

How am I supposed to enter your lair without you demanding I open the windows you can't reach because you paid extra for them and don't want them to go to waste?

How am I supposed to laugh when I can't hear your dumb jokes? Or see you put on a shirt backwards because you want to see if I'll notice.

I'll never hear you crunch another sugar cube like some goddamn horse ever again. I never thought I'd miss that noise but right now... Right now I'd give anything to hear that horrific crunching sound.

I'm so sorry for everything! For getting you killed! For never reaching out to know you better! For being a coward who couldn't even tell you how happy you made me! How much light you brought to everyone. How much light you brought into my boring empty life! I love you! I loved you!"

Hero collapsed into themselves, murmuring tearful confessions of love and regrets. They were completely alone now in this world. Family long gone, a job that wouldn't take too kindly to "vigilante justice", and just losing the only person in the world they cared about.

It seemed like they spent an eternity crying when a stutter step came from behind them.

They turned to find a roughed up Villain standing frozen, mouth covered by their hands and tears in their eyes.

They couldn't believe it. Their body moved on instinct as they ran to give them the tightest hug, holding Villain's head to their chest as they cried into their hair. Both parties were a mess of crying and "I thought you were dead's".

It wasn't until 20 minutes later that they calmed down enough to even begin talking, still holding onto each other for dear life.

"I thought I lost you." Villain sobbed, adding to the tear marks on Hero's suit.

"I thought so too." Hero returned. "When Supervillain sent that message I flew as fast as I could, but I only arrived to see you..." They choked on the words while Villain pet their back.

"You got there in time. I would have... you know... But your arrival distracted Supervillain enough for me to escape. The moment she took her eyes off me I dropped beneath the floor using the flan shield as a cover." Villain explained.

"But when I finally got out and back to the fight no one was there. The only thing left was a trail of blood and tons of ash. I thought she..." Villain reached up to Hero's face, firmly cradling their jaw as if to prove they were there.

"I'm here." Hero whispered, placing a hand over the one on their jaw and leaning into it. Neither were sure who leaned in first but it didn't really matter. They shared a tender and delicate kiss, neither wanting to hurt the other more than they had been today. It was clear they both felt this way about each other for a long time. To Hero, the kiss felt like home.

When they pulled away Hero was the first to speak.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Villain's immediate response made Hero's heart sing. Their next move would surprise Hero even more.

"Let's run away together."

"What?"

"You heard me. Just me and you. The world thinks we're gone, no one will ask questions, so let's just leave. We don't have to play this stupid good guy bad guy game anymore! We can just go somewhere far away from this and live a happy life together! I want this. I want us! And I don't want any of this to ever happen again. I know this is sudden but-"

"Where were you thinking?"

"Huh?"

"I'll follow you anywhere, but I'd prefer some place rural. I don't think I like cities anymore."

The smile on Villain's face set Hero's heart aglow.

Two plane tickets and one shower later the two of them stood hand in hand on a runway.

"Hero? Is this a crazy thing to do?" Villain fidgeted nervously. Two squeezes on their hand turned their attention to Hero's face.

"Yeah. But I wouldn't want it any other way Sugar Cube." Hero said with a smile.

"Kiss for good luck?"

"Kiss for good luck."

[shiftytm]

Realized I can post anything so

Junkie timeline ‼️‼️

//CW for mentioned: Drug addiction, Faked suicide and mild amounts of angst (putting here just in case)

-Junkie is a normal dude, hanging on by a thread after being fired from their job with rent due. (Fired because chronic pain made them bad at job.)

-Junkie hears about the club and the dealer from their shady coworker when packing their stuff from the break room.

-Being desperate and anxious about their overdue rent they decide to go, either they make rent or die trying.

-Dealer is neutral to Junkie at first, only really finds them amusing at their massive lack of confidence and constant awkward smiling.

-Dealer grants them leave when they suffer a gunshot wound upon loosing the second round, the non fatal shoulder one. He finds them pitiful and silly, truly someone the universe finds glee in with pulling its constant sick jokes on.

-Upon being jobless and almost homeless the junkie decides to grab a few things from their apartment and leaves a fake suicide note so nobody looks for them and they have closure so it's not the agony of them just missing. (Police investigation ruled mental illness caused them to commit, body location unknown.)

-Junkie returns to the club, hiding out in the bathroom during the days and challenging the Dealer to buckshot roulette every night so they don't get booted.

-Dealer and Junkie grow to enjoy one anothers company, occasionally playing a card game when Junkie gets badly injured enough.

-Dealer could fully be cruel and follow the rules but the prospect of someone coming back nightly and never looking at him with fear or disgust is too good to pass up.

-Eventually Junkie is missing for three nights straight, the Dealer is worried but doesn't do anything until the third night.

-Dealer searches the club and finds them in a bathroom stall all beat up and weak, he's not too happy the person who plays with him is like this but doesn't show it.

-Dealer just takes them to his hide out deep within the club and let's them rest on his bed. He gives them pain medicine (the good stuff) and continues life as normal besides checking on them every few hours.

-Junkie takes about three days to come to properly, first freaking out they're somewhere unfamiliar before seeing the Dealer and calming down. (Dealer starts crushing here,denies it)

-Junkie explains they got beat up for trying to steal some guys wallet, just so happened that it was the wrong guy that time.

-Dealer thinks they're dumb and sad, forcing them to stay here until further notice. He gives the excuse that he needs someone to watch his guns for security.

-Junkie happily accepts, happy to sleep in a bed and get consistent food for the first time in months.

-Junkie spends the days sleeping with the dealer (like literal sleep, mind out of the gutter/lh), and gets lonely at night when he's gone since they're on temporary ban until further notice.

-Snoops through his bedside drawer out of boredom one night, finds a hand mirror and sees reflection for first time in months (bathroom mirrors were too dirty and cracked, only showed blurry reflection)

-Junkie assesses themself and breaks down for the first time in months, lamenting their old life that was boring but at least normal.

-Blames themself entirely (truly it is their fault even if they were desperate and just trying to get by)

-Dealer comes back and kinda doesn't know how to deal with crying so he just tries to tell them all the things he likes about him, everyone loves flattery.

-Junkie calms down enough, first night they do anything with any level of intimacy (they're hugging and whatever, Dealer is secretly terrified if he did anything now he'd scare them away)

-The two keep growing closer, Junkie gets the temporary ban lifted and all is normal.

-Both develop mutual feelings the other doesn't know about.

-All is well until they receive the eye injury, Dealer is upset because he's afraid he's getting soft when his automatic response is panic.

-Junkie is very much intoxicated, joking about how they can't feel it and it'll be fine.

-An argument is sparked, Dealer snaps when Junkie makes a self deprecating joke about how "I'm not with much more than the gauze you're patching me up with."

-The two bicker and Junkie ends up getting upset despite what they're on. They get taken back to the hideout where they further argue and Dealer ends up pulling the "Because I love you or something okay?"

-Junkie denies it, accusing him of just saying that so he keeps them happy and the two end up ugly making out after arguing in one anothers faces.

-Both feel awkward when they wake up, Dealer tries to move on like nothing happened but Junkie is getting clingy before Dealer leaves for the night.

-Junkie wallows and gets embarrassed, scared that them being vulnerable annoyed the Dealer to the point of kicking them out.

-The entire night is torture for them, making them scared that this is their last day before sleeping in the bathroom again.

-Dealer comes back and finds them panicked and begging him to let them stay, he's confused and decides to do something for them .

-Dealer takes them to the roof of the club for fresh air, Junkie hasn't been outside in about a year so they're beyond thrilled.

-Dealer ponders briefly if he messed up with Junkie, knowing he was the technical reason they stayed here.

-The two kinda just unofficially date at this point, Dealer buys them new clothes so he can take them places (weird bars and restaurants that never seem to have humans)

-Junkie seems to get better with a semi normal life, more lively during Buckshot Roulette and in general.

-They end up relatively happy, unable to win due to the Dealer's massive unspoken insecurity they'd leave but given a few hundred with every round so they can get nice things.

-Junkie runs secret late night games, they don't really loose the Dealer just drags Junkie off and tells the player to go home.

[vigilskeep]

oh you are going to love pillars, it's fantastic. enjoy the dead people! (also what kind of character did you make?)

oh i’m glad people are interested! i have seen that a couple of da mutuals are enjoyers but i wasn’t sure how widespread the crossover is. it’s a different viddy game experience to what i’m used to because i came into dragon age already knowing the entire plot like an insane person whereas i am just blundering in here blind which is new for me and not anxiety-inducing at all. but fun!! if i keep at it i will keep you guys updated?

uh the character i have made is a monk, she is a death godlike from old vailia. backstory premise in my head being that when she was born like that (?? i dont rlly know how godlike work i just got here) she was given away to a remote local monastery full of eccentrics. i also said she was a hunter, and told calisca that she used to hunt for her village then was run out of town after she was blamed for another hunter’s accidental death. so i figure there was a lot of local mistrust and the monks encouraged her efforts to help out and change the villagers’ minds, which ended badly when accidents happened and assumptions were jumped to. she is a SWEETHEART despite all appearances and also being able to punch people to death. chronically unlucky or maybe just chronically curious and helpful which amounts to the same thing. misses her many monk parents and hates rain. looks like a demon and talks like a nun. that is my premise so far that i am making up as i go. her name is mirabella because old vailia seems vaguely italian and i wanted it to be cute. it means “wondrous beauty” and the kindest monks used to tell her that just because the growths cover her face doesn’t mean she isn’t one underneath :')

here she is. she likes to dress in simple dark clothes bc she gets a lot of stains on it travelling and she hasn’t quite clocked that it does not improve the vibe

as i say i do not know what i am doing its just me and mira against the world. i will... enjoy... the dead people...? i hope?