#hi can i have a peach smoothie?

[telemna-hyelle]

It eternally frustrates me that I love autumn but hate autumn flavors.

Caramel? Ew. Pumpkin spice? Yuck. Cinnamon? Only in moderation.

The only exception is anything apple, but it's so often always paired WITH caramel and AURGHHHGH

Cmon it's harvest time gimme more fruit flavors dangit

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 2 || Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex, oral sex), super toxic relationship.

Word Count: 6.5k

(part 1)

His favorit toy- Part 2:

Two months have passed since the last time Art and I fucked. Although it wouldn’t be fair to call it that, because I don’t fully know what it was. I only know he said he thinks he loves me. Neither of us made the minimal effort to rekindle any kind of relationship. I kept sitting with Janet and Shane, and he stayed in his place next to the friend he invented.

Occasionally, if I focused, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck, but maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I also imagined his declaration of love, maybe I lost my grip on reality for a moment. Maybe more water needs to flow under this bridge. Maybe Tashi Duncan needs to be his, like he is hers, so I can stop dreaming about him at night. How did I become so dependent on the emotions of a girl I have no desire to exchange a word with? How did I lose someone I’m not sure was ever mine? And more than anything- what made me spend so much time in this endless whining?

A few days after that party, Luke sat next to me in one of the classes we share. He looked so good that if I close my eyes, I can imagine it's Art. A remarkably pathetic thought, but it works. Except he isn’t cruel. He doesn't try to deceive me or lead me to the point he wants me to reach. He’s interested in me and my hobbies, and sometimes he walks me from class to class, but in these two months, he hasn’t made any move beyond placing his hand on my shoulder. Maybe he thinks I have lice. Maybe he thinks I won’t be good enough in bed to risk our boring conversations about the eco-intro professor.

Maggie, the girl I work with, canceled at the last minute, so I ended up alone at the smoothie station and the register. I took comfort in the fact that it's exam season and not too many Stanford students would prefer to stand in line for a smoothie instead of grabbing a spot in the library on a Sunday night. "The usual?" I heard Art’s voice and lifted my gaze from the book I was reading. I blinked at him a few times, as if trying to figure out if I was imagining his smug smile. Maybe it wasn’t smug, maybe that's just how he always smiles when he sees me. Like he knows a secret he’ll never tell me. "I..." I tried to hold onto the reality as I knew it, "I don’t remember," I smiled without showing teeth, half-forced.

"Peach—" he stopped himself in the middle of the stupid nickname. Apparently, he understood from my look that it wasn’t appropriate after two months of radio silence. "Almond milk, banana, pecan, and coconut," he mumbled. "That’s $4.50," he nodded. I wondered if he was surprised, because I’d never asked him to pay before. I’d always used the free smoothie I got during my shift on him. "How a—" he started to speak, and I turned on the blender, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was smirking and shaking his head. "Fair," he muttered. "Here’s your smoothie. Goodnight," I handed him the cup after a few seconds, with the most forced smile I could muster. He rolled his eyes in response and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"What do you think you’re doing?" I asked. "Sitting and drinking my smoothie, obviously," he spoke again as if I were two years old. Like I needed him to mediate reality for me because I couldn’t understand it on my own. "Do you see anyone else sitting here?" I asked. "Just because the tables are empty because it’s ten at night and you’re working in a cafeteria-" he began. "This isn’t a cafeteria. It’s the—" "Doesn’t mean I can’t sit at one of the tables and drink my smoothie. Or are there new rules I’m not aware of?" I rolled my eyes in response. Smug dickhead. I was definitely not going to give him a second of my time. I went back to the book I was reading for my philosophy exam, trying to ignore his presence but realizing I was reading the same sentence five times in a row.

"What are you studying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence. "Why are you doing this?" I threw the question back from behind the counter, sighing in frustration. "What am I doing?" The usual smirk was plastered on his face. "Why are you here on a Sunday night, Art?" If I could stomp my foot to express protest, I would. "Because you’re here on a Sunday night." The smirk turned into a smile. I couldn’t tell if it was sincere. I never know if he’s sincere.

"What do you want?" I rolled my eyes and sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to leave. I knew he was stubborn in an almost inspiring way (or nauseating, depending on who you ask) and that he was always at an advantage with me. He always had the last word. All I had left was to let him say it quickly and move on with life. "To ask how you're doing?" he half said, half asked. He sounded hesitant, but I knew he wasn’t. I knew he was as confident as any other day. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Amazing. Anything else?" I found myself crossing my arms under my chest and saw him, without shame, shift his gaze, well… to my chest, raising an eyebrow.

"Arthur!" I felt like I was his aunt as he shook his head, almost playfully. "I missed you, Peaches. Is that so hard to believe?" He chuckled, still completely shameless. "Well, I didn’t." That was the first thing that came to mind, and the face Art made, along with the eye roll, only emphasized how much he didn’t believe me. "Why are you so mad at me?" His voice was amused as he approached the counter with his smoothie, grabbing the book I was reading without asking. "What course is this?" "Philosophy," I snatched it from his hand, and he grabbed mine with the speed of an athlete who works too much with his hands. "Let go," I muttered, not sure if I wanted him to release my hand or release me. But I was scared he'd agree and disappear again, and that was so fucking pathetic. "Never," he replied, keeping his gaze on me and giving my hand a squeeze. "It’s not fair, Art," I hated how my voice sounded. "What’s not fair?" he asked, tracing small circles on my hand the moment he felt me relax the muscle that had been trying to pull away from his touch. "What you're doing right now," I sighed. If he weren’t in front of me, I probably would’ve started crying out of frustration. "What am I doing right now?" The smirk was once again plastered on his face. "Trying to convince me everything's okay between us," I hesitated, and he shook his head from side to side. "Nothing's okay between us, Peaches. I hate it. I actually hate it. I think about you 80% of the day. Every time I want to talk to you, you're either with your friends or with Luke." He wrinkled his nose as he said his name.

"Why do you know his name?" I asked, studying him. "Because I looked him up, and I'm telling you, Peaches, he's fucking weird—" "You're fucking weird," I shot back, and he laughed, trying to move the hair from my face with his free hand. "Well, maybe you like us weird, maybe you've got a type," he tried to joke, making me roll my eyes. "Who said I like you, Donaldson?" I tried to defend myself, and Art wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t smiling either. He just looked at me, not letting me read his expression. His hand, which had been playing with mine, tightened its grip, and his gaze locked onto me as if I was on trial for the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Let’s study for the statistics exam together tomorrow?" He changed the subject, not breaking his intense gaze. "Art—" "Study for the exam. Just that. I won't pass it if you don't help me," he flashed his most charming smile. The one he fakes in seconds. The one he uses for interviews with the Stanford magazine and in photoshoots for the tennis team posters. "Study with Dylan," I suggested, raising an eyebrow, referring to the imaginary friend he chose to sit with instead of me. "You want me to beg?" he asked, poking my shoulder with his finger, causing me to shift slightly but still not letting go of my hand. "Maybe," I teased. "I can. My ego will survive if you study with me for statistics tomorrow." He said it quicker than I expected.

"I have a philosophy exam at eight. Can you do twelve?" I asked. "I can when you can. Where’s the exam? I’ll wait for you," he said. "Meet me at the economics library. There’s a room where you’re allowed to talk if you’re working in groups," I explained my choice. "That’s ridiculous. Let’s study at your place or mine—" "We’ll study at the library, take it or leave it," I stated firmly, even though the temptation to go to his dorm was strong since he never invited me. We always went to mine. "Library it is," he agreed. "What’s your philosophy exam about?" he asked, finally letting go of my hand, which had been holding the book I was studying from. "Aristotle and eudaimonia. What he thinks about happiness," I muttered, opening my notes again. "What does he think about happiness?" Art asked, leaning on the counter. "You wouldn’t get it," I smiled at him, and saw him nod with a somewhat thoughtful look, as if his combative spirit and desire to argue had evaporated the moment I agreed to study statistics with him. "Tomorrow at twelve, Peaches. Don’t break my heart and ditch me," he threw into the air, leaving the booth with the same dramatic flair he had when he entered. . . . I walked into the economics library, which was packed with people. Art was already sitting there, messing with his phone more than with the notes in front of him on the table. He hadn’t noticed I’d entered, giving me the chance to observe him. His blonde curls fell over his eyes in a way that likely bothered him. He was wearing his red tennis outfit (the one I liked the most, I should mention) and looked carefree. He always seemed too relaxed, maybe that’s how it is when everything comes to you with an ease that’s almost disgusting.

"You need a haircut," I muttered the first thing that came to mind as I approached, seeing him look up immediately. "Hey," he said, smiling from ear to ear, "I saved a spot because I knew it’d be crowded," he added. "How long have you been sitting here?" I asked as I took the seat next to him. "Since about ten," he chuckled, probably at himself, "How was the exam?" he asked. "Long. Have you gone over any of the material?" Yesterday, I decided I’d be practical. I’d promised to help him, and honestly, I always understood the material better myself when I explained it to him. And if Art Donaldson could take advantage of my knowledge in statistics, then I could take advantage of the situation too. Not just him. "A little, I pretty much lost track in the middle of the course." Art had taken this course as an elective. I always found it funny because who takes statistics as an extra class when it’s not even required for their degree?

"What, Kevin didn’t let you copy his notes?" I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and he lightly tapped my shoulder. "You’re mean. Since when are you so mean?" he responded with a humor I couldn’t fully read, unsure if he was joking or if part of him actually thought there was some cruelty in me. Maybe it was the philosophy exam I couldn’t shake off. Obsessive thoughts about happiness and potential. "I’m going to get myself some coffee, want me to bring you something?" I asked, changing the subject. "Sit down, get settled, I’ll get it for you," he nodded toward me and stood up, not giving me a chance to refuse before he disappeared from my sight, leaving me alone.

Art Donaldson will be the end of me. I’m certain of it. "My brain is fried, Donaldson. I can’t look at any more averages," I summed up after two hours of studying. "Yeah? Already gave up?" he asked, amused. "I remind you that I had an exam today! I don’t think I’ve eaten anything other than my own brain," I tried to remember what I’d actually eaten today. "So let’s go eat something," he smiled. His eyes practically sparkled. "Art," I sighed, resting my head on my hand. "What? We can’t go have lunch?" he asked with mock innocence. Speaking to me again like I was a child. Like I didn’t understand what he’d already figured out long ago. "No, of course not," I wanted to smack him on the head as if he were the dumbest person I knew. "I can’t let you stay hungry, Peaches, my grandmother would be mad at me," he quickly replied. Where was your grandmother every time you humiliated me to the core? Every time you made me feel empty and stupid? So stupid. "Your grandmother will survive," I rolled my eyes. "She’s a very sick woman, you don’t know that. I’ll tell her I let you starve and she’ll have a stroke. You won’t be able to live with that on your conscience. You’ll drag us into lives full of guilt—" "Okay, you’re giving me a headache, God," I mumbled, standing up. Art Donaldson’s smug smile returned to his face in an instant.

That’s how I found myself sitting across from him at the fancy cafeteria for athletes, eating nuggets after the woman working there flirted with him and gave me a threatening look. "Don’t hate Rosie, she always gives me extra pie," he said after I pointed out that she looked at me like I was the reason the Beatles broke up. "Because she wants to sleep with you," I rolled my eyes. "So she has a reason to look at you like that. Makes sense," he replied with a chuckle. "Okay, what is this?" I dropped the nugget I was holding and pointed between us as I leaned back in my chair. "What?" he continued eating as if nothing unusual was happening. "What are you doing, Art?" I asked, feeling my leg start to shake out of frustration.

"I’m eating and making sure you’re eating," he replied, taking another bite of his food, as if we were having a completely normal conversation. "We’re not going to fuck again just because you invited me to eat nuggets at the cafeteria, you know that, right?" I blinked at him, trying to signal that he was delusional. "Of course not," he said, leaning back in his chair as well. "I have principles, Donaldson," I continued. "I know," he smiled. "I’m not some girl you found on the street that you can treat however you want, disappear for two months, invite her for nuggets, and she’ll take off her bra just so you can vanish again until the next time you’re horny," my voice rose a bit, despite my effort to keep it calm. I saw his jaw tighten, his expression shifting from amused to cold. "Is that what you think this is?" he asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"It’s not like you’ve given me any reason to think otherwise, Art," I looked at him and felt that if I stayed there much longer, I’d start crying. "I told you that I lo—" he began, but I stood up. "Thanks for lunch, it’s definitely nicer than the regular cafeteria," I forced a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You didn’t eat anything," he replied. If I focused, maybe I could have seen his frustration growing. But I was trying to focus on not crying. Art Donaldson’s ego didn’t deserve to see me cry over him again. "I’m really tired, I need to sleep a bit before my shift," I mumbled. "Will you come to my match tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Art—" "You don’t have to, but I’m saving you a seat, okay?" he cut off my answer, not wanting to hear a refusal, maybe not believing there was a bone in my body capable of saying no to him. . . . And it’s a little pathetic how I ended up walking onto the tennis court the next day, giving up the last shred of my self-respect. I was surprised to see how many people showed up to these things, especially at the end of exam season and right before the break. The place was packed.

‘You came’ -A- I got his message and tried to look around, searching for where he might be. ‘Down on the court’ -A- I could practically see his smirk in the words. I glanced toward him and shrugged. ‘Front row, saved you a seat next to Patrick’ -A- he added.

‘What the fuck is Patrick?’ -(Y/N)- I replied, not moving toward where he told me to go.

‘A friend. Please sit there.’ -A- He answered shortly. ‘Want to lift my head and know where you are’ -A- And when he says things like that, I almost forget how cruel he can be. So I find myself rolling my eyes and walking toward the seat he saved for me.

"Are you Patrick?" I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush from the awkward interaction with the guy sitting next to the empty seat. "Depends who’s asking," the curly-haired guy responded, flashing a mischievous half-smile. I can see why they’re friends. Fucking twelve-year-olds in the bodies of twenty-year-olds, how is that even possible?! "Don’t be a dick," we heard from down below, and I turned to see Art approaching us. "Who’s this?" the guy I didn’t know asked, as if I wasn’t standing right there—seriously, rude as hell, but whatever. "Patrick, behave," Art wasn’t joking, not even smiling, scolding him like you’d scold a misbehaving pet. "You came," Art looked me over, grinning from ear to ear. "Don’t let it go to your head, I had some free time," I muttered, sitting down. Art nodded. "Will you stay after the game?" he asked. I think it was the first time Art had to look up to talk to me. "I don’t know, I need to keep studying for statistics," I answered. "Me too," he replied. "We’ll study together," he shrugged, not giving me a chance to respond before he walked off, taking his position. Getting ready to serve.

“Interesting,” the guy next to me said. “What exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes and still not looking at him. “You, of course,” I could hear him smiling. “What’s so interesting about me?” I kept staring into the air, unsure if I should focus on Art, who still hadn’t started playing, or the phenomenon sitting next to me. Arrogant, just like the blond guy who’s been emotionally torturing me for months. “Well, first of all, I’ve never heard of you. You’re a surprise,” he said as if it was obvious. And it stung a little, even though I knew the chances of Art talking about me were slim to none. “Maybe you’re the problem, Pete,” I muttered, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall his name. “Patrick,” he corrected, laughing, making me look at him. He had a loud laugh, unapologetic. I knew his name was Patrick, and he knew I knew, but he still found it amusing.

“Maybe you’re the surprise,” I told him. “He doesn’t talk about you either.” I tried to sound unaffected, like everything was fine. The game started, and Art looked distracted. Maybe he always looks like that when he plays tennis- I’ve never watched his games before, he’s never invited me. “You’re supposed to watch the other side too,” Patrick whispered in my ear, causing me to roll my eyes. “Hey, Stats Girl,” I heard the familiar voice of Tashi Duncan just before she sat next to Patrick, cursing the day I decided to trust Art Donaldson and show up at his game. “The one and only,” I muttered with the best smile I could muster, feeling myself blush at the ridiculous nickname she gave me. “How’s he doing?” she asked Patrick. I wondered what their connection was. “He’s good, you know, as usual. Ice.” he replied, and they started talking quietly about the game, about Art, and about the opponent.

All I could think about was how good Art looked. He looked as if everything came to him effortlessly, as if he didn’t need to try for anything—everything just happened. And I knew that wasn’t true, I knew he worked hard, trained, ate properly, invested in his studies, and that he was probably a good grandson and a good friend. He was good to everyone except me. “Are you enjoying the game?” Tashi asked, pulling my gaze away from Art for a moment. “Huh?” I asked, not understanding what she wanted. “The game, are you enjoying it? He’s playing well,” she clarified. “Yeah, he’s really good,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to add to make it sound convincing. “Leave her, Tash. She doesn’t know anything about tennis, she’s his cheerleader,” Patrick answered her, snickering. I shot him a murderous look. “Patrick, don’t be rude,” Tashi said, “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t know how to behave around people,” she turned to me, as if he wasn’t there. “It’s fine,” I replied, feeling my leg start to shake from the frustration. They went back to talking about the game, and I suddenly felt how pathetic it was, showing up to watch him play. To come and see him in his element, when he wasn’t part of my life anymore. When his friend sat next to me, mocking me to my face. “I’ll be right back…” I mumbled, walking toward the exit. I had no intention of coming back. . . . Two hours later, there were chaotic knocks on my door. “You left,” Art walked in without waiting for an invitation the second I opened the door. He looked angry. “I told you I didn’t know if I’d stay, I have an exam tom-” “Bullshit. What’s your deal? Why did you come?” He practically shouted as I closed the door. “You asked me to come,” I mumbled. “I also asked you to stay, but you left in the middle, so what was the point of you coming?” He crossed his arms. I don’t think I’d ever seen him this angry. He’s always calculated and calm. “Did he say something?” he added, asking a question. “What?” I returned, not understanding what he was talking about. “Patrick, did he say something to you? Why did you leave?” He asked again, speaking to me like I was a child. “He didn’t say anything to me. I left because I didn’t understand what I was even watching. I don’t know anything about tennis, Art, and I have an exam to study for,” I tried to justify. “Enough with that exam. I heard you studying for it yesterday, you know the material, we both know you know it.” He sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come to give tennis commentary. I asked you to come because I wanted you in the crowd. I wanted to see you in the crowd,” he continued. I could hear the effort in his voice to keep it together, to not lose control.

“Tashi was in the crowd; that should be enough for you,” I muttered, lifting my gaze to him, seeing that he was already staring at me. We had never talked like this about Tashi. She had always been this figure hovering above us. He talked about her constantly, unrelated to anything. He talked about her like she was a god. He talked about how she played tennis, about her training, how she helped him. He talked about parties he only went to because Tashi wanted to go. But I never responded in a way that would let him understand that I knew. That I wasn’t completely clueless. That I knew he was completely in love with her. That he loved her the way I loved him and that nothing would change that. “Oh, so that’s the problem. You could’ve started with that. It bothered you that Tashi was in the crowd?” He chuckled. He fucking chuckled. “Why did it bother you?” He moved closer to me, and I had no choice but to avert my gaze from his piercing blue eyes, which felt like bullets at that moment. “It didn’t bother m-” “Look at me.” He was close enough to grab my head and turn it back to face him. “I asked you a question,” he added, not letting me escape. And if there’s anyone I didn’t want to talk about, it’s Tashi Duncan.

“Why did you invite me? Why did you want me in the crowd?” “Because I wanted you to see me play,” he answered without blinking, as if it was obvious. As if there wasn’t a single question I could ask him that he wouldn’t have an answer for. “You love Tashi, Art. You lo-” His lips were on mine the second I said it. Again, there was nothing calm or calculated about this kiss. He was trying to prove that he didn’t, that I was wrong. While we both knew I was right. “You can’t say things like that, Peaches. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled as he pulled away from me to catch a breath. “It’s okay that you love her. I’ve made peace with it. I just need you to let me move on, Art,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath again. “I don’t fucking love her.” He was angry; I could hear it in his voice. “What do I have to do to make you understand that you’re the only girl for me?” He kissed me again, and I could feel him getting hard from the way he pressed against me, causing me to moan into his mouth. “Yeah? Is this the only way I can get through to you? Is this the only way you believe me?” he asked, running his lips down my neck. "Art," it was half a moan, half a cry. My eyes closed, and as they did, I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, pulling me down until I was on my knees in front of him. I unbuttoned his jeans and quickly pulled down his boxers. I felt almost possessed as he sat on the edge of my bed, forcing me to crawl toward him. “There we go. Is this the only way I need to treat you for you to understand your place?” he muttered as I knelt before him again. I felt a light slap on my cheek from his cock, much more humiliating than painful. “I asked you a question,” he continued.

“N-no,” I mumbled. “Even your voice is annoying me right now,” he muttered, and without warning, I felt his cock in my mouth. He didn’t give me a moment to adjust, punishing me for leaving the match, maybe for bringing up Tashi, maybe for everything combined. You could never tell with him. I felt him hitting the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress my gag reflex with little success. Three months since he’d been in my mouth showed signs. “Shhh, you can do better than that,” he half-stroked my hair, half-held me in place by it. Then he pulled me back, leaving a trail of spit and precum. “You’re such a mess,” he chuckled, and again I felt a light slap of his cock against my cheek. I put my lips back where I knew he needed them the most, and this time, there was no gentle stroking of my hair. There was only a hand forcing me to stay in place as he used my mouth however he wanted. “Nothing to say now, huh?” he said, not very coherently, as I began to feel the warm, thick liquid spill into my throat. “Atta girl,” he patted my hair twice before letting me pull back.

I stood up slowly, trying to catch my breath. “Come here,” he mumbled, pointing to his thigh. I can’t refuse Art Donaldson, so I sat on his lap, placing my hands on his neck in an almost embrace, watching him smile. “Why is everything so hard with you?” he muttered, and his lips lazily found my neck. “I just don’t know what you want from me,” I responded, trying to focus on anything other than his lips currently on my collarbone. “I told you I love you,” he mumbled, his eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t mean that,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah?” His smirk spread across his face, and in seconds, he tossed me onto the bed as if I weighed nothing. He was above me. “For now, the one acting like a brat is you,” he said, his presence casting a shadow over me like a predator playing with its prey. “The one who left in the middle of my match is you.” His lips again left trails on my skin. I don’t even know when he took my shirt off. I felt a light bite on my nipple that made me moan. “Fuck, fa- Art,” I mumbled, unable to focus. “The one avoiding interaction with my friends is you.” His hand joined in, starting to torture my other nipple as his kisses moved further down. “I’m not,” I managed to respond, just as he easily removed my panties.

His breaths hovered over my pussy, short and hot, and if I didn’t know Art Donaldson so well, I would’ve thought he was looking up at me with almost a pleading expression. But he was in complete control. A small kiss on my lips, but not where I really needed him, made me shift my hips a little, and he chuckled- a laugh that was almost childlike. “Hey, ask nicely,” he managed to say, and I returned to the position I had before, legs around his head. “Please, Art,” I knew there was no point in arguing; he always got what he wanted in the end. “No problem, baby,” in seconds, his tongue was on my clit, starting slowly with circular motions and picking up speed with every moment. “There you go, you’re almost there,” he muttered, pulling back just before I could come. “What-” I tried to catch my breath again, craving the euphoria only he could give me at that moment. “I want to be inside you,” he answered without waiting for the full question, and in an instant, his cock filled me, making me moan. “Fuck,” I managed to mumble, feeling my eyes roll back. “Hold on a little longer, Peach,” he said, slipping his finger into my mouth like he liked to do, watching my lips close around it. “Now,” he muttered, pushing it deeper into my throat while he thrust into me, feeling me tighten around him like only an orgasm from him could make me do.

He fucked me stupid. There’s no other way to describe what I experienced, and as we both tried to catch our breath, I wondered how long it would take for him to leave this time and what his excuse would be. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” I quietly asked, trying to throw him off balance for a moment. “No, but I don’t know anything for the stats exam,” he admitted and chuckled. “Art! I taught you all the material yesterday,” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t concentrate when you’re teaching me.” “Then why did you ask for help?” It was my turn to laugh. “Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in your element,” he shrugged like it was obvious. Like hearing me talk about statistics would make him fall in love with me. Like it wasn’t what I felt two and a half hours ago when he played tennis, until I almost choked on love.

“When are you going home?” he asked, probably knowing my last exam was in statistics. “I’m not,” I replied casually, and he quickly shifted positions. “Why the hell not?” he asked, and I saw a small wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “It’s no big deal, Donaldson,” I chuckled, “I picked up extra shifts, and I have a paper to work on. Speaking of shifts, I need to get ready for mine.” I added as I checked the time. He watched me as I walked around the room, trying to decide if I smelled too much like sex to push the shower until after work. “Are you coming to the study marathon tomorrow before the exam?” he asked, starting to get dressed too. “Of course,” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t think about skipping it, Art. You need it,” I said, knowing exactly who I was dealing with. “Okay, Mom,” his voice was amused, and I rolled my eyes, looking at him for another moment. We don’t get too many moments like these. Almost domestic. Almost mine.

"Hey, we're good, right?" he suddenly asked, holding my hand and not letting me continue running around the room. "Yeah, Art, everything's fine," I smiled half-heartedly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Because I don't want another two months like these," he muttered, and I knew it was hard for him to admit. It was hard for him to say that the past two months had been strange, to say the least. Difficult, to be honest. "Me neither." I nodded at him. "When are you flying home?" I asked as we were both already outside the door, after I had locked it. "Four hours after the exam, I’m supposed to be on a flight," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, two weeks at home, excited?" I asked. "Not that much, mostly glad I get to visit my grandma. She follows my matches with her entire retirement home, it’s a big deal for her." "Ooooh, you've got fans, Donaldson?" I joked. "You know I do," he replied. "Seriously though, why aren’t you going home?" he added. "It’s not that deep, just an opportunity to make some extra money. Plus, my mom and I aren’t in the best place right now," I shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "Don’t you miss home?" he asked. "Not like most people probably do," I smiled at him. "I hate it when you smile like that," he said and suddenly stopped. "How?" I asked, looking at him as if he were crazy. "Without teeth. That’s your fake smile," he replied without blinking, as if it were strange that I was even asking. "I didn’t think you noticed," I mumbled. And I really didn’t think there was a possibility that Art Donaldson paid attention to details that, until now, I thought only I noticed about him. "I’ll see you tomorrow at the marathon?" he asked when we reached the point where I was supposed to head to the cafeteria and he to his dorm. "Don’t be late," I ordered, giving his face a small push, watching him chuckle and walk away from me. . . .

The next morning, I woke up with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. I felt my nose was blocked, and I knew for sure I had a fever, though I had no way to measure it. 'Where are you?' -A-

'Sick, I’ll come for the exam' -(Y/N)-

'What’s wrong with you?' -A- I didn’t respond to that message, preferring to sleep a bit more before waking up for the statistics exam.

I got in the shower, and when I got out, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing my flushed cheeks as a contrast to my pale face. There was no mistaking it when you looked at me- I wasn’t at my best. The auditorium was partially full when I entered, people chatting among themselves, and I looked around, seeing Art already staring at me before he approached, getting ahead of Janet, who shot me a questioning glance. "Well, you look like shit," he stated, placing his hand on my forehead. "Fuck, Peaches, you’re burning up," he muttered, looking at me with an almost angry expression. "How did you manage to start dying in the minute and a half I left you alone?" he said. "I’m talented, Donaldson. Can you not yell? My head hurts," I mumbled, sitting in the empty seat I found.

The exam went smoothly and ended faster than it began. I physically couldn’t wait for Art to finish, so I texted him, hoping he’d enjoy his time at home, and I went to sleep. Half an hour later, there was a knock at my door, chaotic like the one from the day before. "Hey," he muttered. "You’ll miss your flight," I replied, running a tired hand over my eyes. "I’m not flying," he said quickly. "What?" I asked, not understanding what he was talking about, seeing him take off his shirt and pants, left only in his boxers. "Art, I physically can’t have sex," I chuckled, not understanding what was happening. "We’re going to sleep," he declared, pulling me toward him, leaving me no choice but to get into bed next to him. "Your bed’s worse than mine. Tomorrow we’ll sleep at my dorm," he stated.

"You're going to get sick too" I rolled my eyes, "Why aren’t you going home?" I asked quietly, while his hand traced shapes on my shoulder. "It felt weird going home when you’re sick and staying here," he replied, not ashamed for a second. "Your grandma must be disappointed," I mumbled. "I told her my girlfriend is sick," he said. I wanted so badly to see his face, but I had my back to him. "She must’ve been surprised you have a girlfriend," I said the first thing that came to mind, feeling my heart race. "Not at all, I talk to her about you all the time."

. . .

So here it is. The second part I didn't plan. Hope you like it even tho I wrote half of it while being super sick and didn't check my own grammar at all, so bear with me (a reminder: English is not my first language). Let me know what you think. It's always the best part. Also, I think I'm up for some requests. Let's see what we can come up with. Love you guys

[mango-bango-bby]

Hello! I have a platonic yandere Miguel request!

So platonic yandere Miguel with reader who’s been on a strawberry kick lately. Like they will just make strawberry things(ie cakes cupcakes smoothies milkshakes extra.) and will just eat them as a snack. Reader has gotten used to being kidnapped by him and just makes food for themselves like that. He notices and is like: is this healthy? And asks Lyla if it is and stuff.

I’ve been on a strawberry kick for the past few weeks so yeah. Thank you so much! Have a good day/night/morning/evening!

♡ Strawberry ♡

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, dad!Miguel, teen!reader, mentions of possible kidnapping, Lyla messing with Miguel, I didn’t proofread this 💪

Summary: Your father is concerned for your health because you seemingly only eat strawberries (Platonic!Yan!Miguel O’Hara x GN!teen!reader)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You only ate strawberries. Every single day, all day. You had strawberries in your oatmeal for breakfast. You would have a salad with strawberries in it for lunch. You’d have strawberries with your dinner. And then you’d end the day with strawberry ice cream. It was almost all you ate and of course Miguel took notice of this.

He didn’t mind but the amount of strawberries you ate per day could not be healthy. Even if you wanted a snack, it would always be strawberries. He wants you to be healthy. And yet you’re so sarcastic with him, yet you’re teenager so he guesses that’s what happens.

“Is that even healthy?” he asked one day, watching your eyes focused on the TV in front of you. You hummed, taking a bite out of one of the strawberries you were eating as a snack.

“Hmm, strawberries are fruit. Fruit are healthy. Maybe you should try it sometime” you say, sitting in the couch, not taking your eyes off of the TV. You even had a bowl of strawberries in your lap, snacking on them. It’s like you’re being frustrating on purpose sometimes.

He let it go but he still couldn’t help but be worried for you. He wants you to be healthy, he looks after you. He is your father, even if you refuse to call him that. He’s supposed to protect you. And that also means he’s supposed to make sure you’re healthy and safe.

Miguel stands in HQ, looking over his monitors. But he can’t focus. “Lyla?” He asks, her immediately appearing in a flash of peach and pink. “What?” She asks, she can see he’s frustrated. But he’s always frustrated so it didn’t bother her much.

“Are strawberries healthy in a large amount? What the limit per day to still be healthy?” He asks, immediately hearing her start teasing him. The hologram can’t help but snicker. “Why? You eating to many?” She laughs out loud but Miguel only huffs at her. “It’s not me, now answer my question” He scowls, seeing her adjust her heart sunglasses as she realized

“Oh-” She mumbles in realization, immediately smirking at him. “It’s that kid you stole, huh? I’m right, aren’t I?” She smirks, squinting at his reaction. She chucked at him once again “You worried about them?” She coos, pouting to tease him,

Miguel rolls his eyes at her. “I didn’t steal them, I saved them. Answer my question” He practically growls, she sighs dramatically as she finally caves. She pulls up a small hologram monitor, looking over it as she reads.

“They should be fine. It should be healthy. It’s recommended only eight strawberries a day though” She says, her eyes focused as she reads the screen. Miguel murmurs something, nodding his head.

Well, you’re definitely eating more than eight. He’s going to have to cut down how many you’re allowed. Although you’re definitely not going to be happy about that. But he’s your father and it’s his job to keep you safe and happy.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

(A/N: I wrote more Miguel for you all, I’m on a Miguel kick, like I can’t stop writing him!! So I hope you guys like Miguel O’Hara because I’m writing a lot of him run 😭😭 I thought this idea was so cute, plus I liked writing Lyla, she’s so fun to write. I definitely think her and reader would be friends 🫶)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

[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!

[yandere-paramour]

How would Vivien react to a darling. Who's terrified of them. ( I mean he kipnapped them what else would he do to them ? ) Darling would refuse to eat. ( what if they put something in the food ? ) They would have actual mental breakdown crying their eye out if he is to close of them or in the same room for to long.

Vivien's gonna have to calm down and be soft this time.

He really, really doesn't want you to feel scared or hurt around him, and the best way for him to make sure of that is for him to talk to you. He'll sit on the floor across from you, criss-cross-applesauce, with his hands in full view on his knees. He'll speak to you about how he saw you when you came into his shop one day, how he fell in love at first sight, and how he can't live without you. He's really sorry for kidnapping you, but he heard you were leaving town and he couldn't take that chance. He will never force himself on you, not as long as he lives, but he hopes you will stay with him.

First, he'll start with assuaging your fears, really putting some action to his words. He's perceptive, he knows you're afraid of him, and he can tell if you're afraid of anything he gives you. So, when he brings you dinner, he'll let you choose whichever plate you want and he'll eat the other one. He'll bring you snacks and water and juice in unopened bottles and packages so you're not worried he'll poison you. When he brings you fresh fruit, he'll eat from the bowl too. If you really want, he'll let you prepare dinner if you'll allow him to help. You really don't have to worry about him poisoning you; he'll taste-test anything you want.

Next, he'll start with treats. Anytime he comes home from work, he'll bring you something. Maybe a nice mango smoothie, maybe a cookie from the new place that opened up near his work, maybe a new book from the bookshop. Every couple of days, he'll bring you a new bouquet with a note explaining every flower in his scraggly handwriting. One by one, day by day, he'll win your affections.

Even if you start out being terrified of him, you'll slowly realize that he's really not that bad. If it makes you cry to be near him, he'll get up and leave the room whenever you come in. He'll do anything to make you feel better. Maybe one day you catch him singing to his plants one day before work, maybe you catch him talking through a drink recipe or bath bomb mixture. He'll always ask you if he wants your opinion on something, and usually, you have the final say on decisions. He'll always ask before holding your hand or touching you (excluding emergencies). You learn that he's soft and gentle and kind, and slowly your hate will turn to tolerance which will turn to affection.

One night, you'll be watching a movie on opposite ends of the couch, him being careful not to touch you and overstep any boundaries. He made some of his special drinks for you two, something with peach and rosemary, and it's good. He smiled like the sun when you said you liked it, and he offered to make it for you another hundred times, or even teach you how to make it yourself. Hesitantly, he said there was a concert he'd like to go to soon, if you'd be interested. Of course, you'd have to behave, he made that clear, but he said he'd like to go to more things with you. He doesn't like the thought of you being bored and lonely in the house.

Two months ago, you would've happily agreed and ran at your first possible opening. But now, you're not so sure. It's really not bad being here, and he's a great roommate. He cooks, cleans, and always apologizes when he loudly watches anime half the night. He always says if you want to go back to work in the future, you're welcome to, but otherwise he'll support you. All you have to do is stay with him. He's attractive, hot even; you've seen the evenings when he's come out of the bathroom, basketball shorts slung low enough on his hips that you can see the muscles pointing straight to his groin before he excuses himself to his bedroom to get a shirt. You try to avert your eyes in time, but you find you can't. Those perverted thoughts keep you up at night, but you find you don't care.

You could really see yourself loving him, being with him, being intimate with him.

Tentatively, your hand starts to move away from your side, over the seat cushions, and towards him. When your hand bumps against his leg, he almost convulses. He throws himself from his seat to the floor, immediately hurling himself into apologies, saying he didn't mean to touch you and he would never take advantage of you like that and he's really really really sorry. He's almost in hysterics as he tries to convince you that he wasn't trying to be creepy or anything, and you almost don't want to interrupt the adorably panicked expression on his face.

When you say that you were trying to hold his hand, he just looks at you for a second, like he didn't quite hear you properly. You say it again, and that doesn't change his look, but he does ask a soft "Are you sure? You don't have to" like he isn't expecting you to agree.

His hands are rough and calloused, but warm. In fact, all of him seems to be warm. His eyes aren't focused on the TV anymore, the only thought you can see running through his head is the word "HAND" repeating. But his thumb idly strokes your knuckles, and it feels as nice as you thought it would. He holds your hand for the whole rest of the movie, and mock-bows and gives it a second-long kiss before bed. He thanks you for the opportunity to hold your perfect hand and heads to his own room to sleep, not asking for anything more.

In the morning he is all smiles, making homemade bacon waffles and cut-up berries. He asks if you want to take a walk with him later and five minutes in, he shyly asks if he can hold your hand again. When you agree, he has to jump up and down a few times to expel some energy before he can do it, and you walk around the lake and feed the ducks some green peas Vivien keeps in his pockets.

That night, he knocks at your door, and when you open it, he shoves a small bouquet of blue and pink hydrangeas at you before running back to his own room. The card thanks you for the lovely day and asks if he may start dating you for real and if he might, and its totally cool if you say no because he won't force you it was just a suggestion, kiss you.

Yeah. You could see yourself loving this man sometime soon.

[scorpioandthefrog]

My husband was unceremoniously let go from his managerial job at Panera Bread at the start of covid because he had the absolute audacity to advocate for the employees he was managing. I can’t exaggerate how much he bent over backwards for this company, dropped everything to go in overnight because they needed someone, etc

ANYWAY we ended up moving two states away to a much smaller town, and three years later these CORPORATE GHOULS decide to open a location here. These absolute bedbugs in human form decided to take their slimey greens and full menu devoid of even but one crumb of a spice or a flavor

And wow do I have half a mind to do a crime about it

BUT INSTEAD here’s some tips to make better sandos/ salads/ smoothies better by yourself

- The best honey mustard is literally equal parts dijon, honey, and mayo plus a little salt. Adjust to taste depending on how you like it

- The formula to make great vinaigrette is 3 parts oil to one part acid. I do 2:1 because I like it more acidic. The acid can be any kind of vinegar, citrus juice, mustard, etc. my go to that will get you compliments every time is 3tbs oil, about 1.5 tbs balsamic, and about 2tsp each of honey and dijon. Salt and pepper to taste and minced shallots if I’m trying to impress someone. You can shake them together in a jar or tupperware to emulsify, I usually whisk it together in the bottom of the bigass salad bowl so it’s one less dish

- The best smoothie in the world is frozen peaches, frozen strawberries, orange juice, and silken tofu. It’s also a very pleasant shade of tropical pink

Eat well and stick it to the fucking man ✌️

[basimdasasonst]

tos spock: logic may be a philosophical path that i have dedicated much of my life to the path of -- as far as considering and almost completing kolinahr -- but it does not make me all that i am. i am a person outside of my physicalities, with wants, needs, and other such things that i can allow myself through the cracks of my teachings

snw spock: did u know im a vulcan. only half tho ... raagaghaahhah ... (meek noises of protest against his humanity)

no. but seriously. on that ... thing of an snw s3 recap: others have divested much more time and energy into talking about vulcan philosophy vs biology (and there's a plethora of very good takes about it if you do only the most minor of searching) so i won't harp on the matter, but i want to step back and observe the writing and characterisation beyond the colossal fuck up that is -- well, their disintegration of vulcan culture/complexities.

[i'll -- try to keep this brief but no promises. i did spend 2000 words ranting about how badly they did spock so, brevity thy name is not basimdasas]

let me just. let's just pretend we can get over the fact they mixed biology with philosophy. let's just let that slide for a second. why -- and i cannot stress this enough -- the fuck do (pike, uhura, la'an, chapel -- i'll call them fake vulcans for my own sake) the fake vulcans talk the fucking same ... ? moreover -- why are they the same person -- logical. Purely Wholey Logical (trademark). if you transcribed the text of the 5 minute episode we were given and took out the dialogue tags -- they're. they're all the same person. you cannot tell who's talking, maybe through context clues. Guys. (shakes the writers really hard, enough to give an adult shaken baby syndrome) VULCANS HAVE PERSONALITIES TOO. i've felt a small undercurrent of this in the previous seasons but it feels directly amplified to me now -- spock's "humanity" is -- is his personality. They're making his personality his humanity. dude.

let me put it this way: you put two nihilists in a room. they've grown up in different ways, in different places, and were introduced to nihilism by their parents who also believed and practised in the philosophy. you let them talk. they're going to disagree, they might even get angry at the other. they'll agree. if there is something inherently correct that they can both acknowledge, they will have different viewpoints of tackling the concept -- based not just on the objective teachings, but the environment they grew up in, their communities, their parents, and their own personal traits. now let's take them out of the box. you compare the two at a distance: one likes grape smoothies, the other likes peach. one is a morning person, one is not. one is a competitive swimmer. one works in an office. they both find relative comfort from their jobs, even if in different ways. they are both nihilists. yet, inextricably, they are different in many ways.

ONLY VULCANS WHO HAVE UNDERGONE KOLINAHR WOULD LACK EMOTIONS. VULCANS STILL HAVE EMOTIONS THEY JUST TAMP THEM DOWN.

ok. calm. i'm drawing a tad on my experience as a trans man with gender here, but there are some things about us that are fundamental to our being that we are inherently drawn to for various reasons, i believe. i mean, that's what personality is, in a severe nutshell. that's why we have assholes who continue to be assholes (garner pleasure from it, usually). people who continue to let themselves get stepped over (never learned to stand up for themselves, environmental factor, or is afraid, or what have you). people who learn from their mistakes (ambition, or an intense desire for personal growth. where does this desire come from? changes per person. it's never the same). people who don't. kind people. mean people. we can change our personalities (with heavy work), but they are as much a product of emotion as they are environment, personal wants, personal needs, etc. everyone is built different (lol, but literally) -- and there really are truly some things we cannot just -- purge, by a point. example: i know in my heart that i am not a woman. i gravitate towards anger. i have never been good at history, no matter the angle i tackle it from. there will never be a day where i read the fine print of a legal document. i could become good at history, i am fixing my anger, but i will always naturally gravitate right where i want to be, and right where i need to be. i will always understand numbers better than words, because that's -- just how my brain works. my memory might always be a little wonky. this is all ok. fuck, it might not be logical that i'm so utterly useless at history, and sure i can work to change it, but i will always find myself more comfortable and more at ease in physics with the same amount of work. the logical thing from there is to just accept my weaknesses and move with my strengths. see where i'm going with this? and sure, i can definitely change most of my personality, but it's hard. sometimes that effort is good sometimes it's not. we have natural tendencies. we have different wants, different needs. and by the universe do we not all share the same body -- we will amble around in our flesh suits differently. my gait will be different than yours; it is no less of a walk.

anyway. tangent aside. short story -- we gravitate to things. that's natural. that's logical. diversity of a species is logical -- especially for society.

now, vulcans, in my heart of hearts, are definitely more subtle about these things because, you know, surak, but. if every vulcan was the same and had the same inherent -- wants, needs, interests, subdued emotions, way of headbutting logic -- then you have a society of mirrors. snw is trying to make vulcan society a society of mirrors.

pike is caring. la'an is quiet, strict, efficent. uhura, also, is caring but in a different way to pike. chapel is enthusiastic. by embracing suraks teachings and (magically, mysteriously) acting in accordance to them fully, they are effectively tamping down their greater feelings. not completely ridding of them. despite the fact that vulcan!pike would logically find no sense in compassion, he would also find no sense in cruelty. he is, to his heart, a compassionate person because he has made himself one. one philosophical revelation wouldn't remove decades of that. sure, he might tamp it down, but he'd still be more compassionate than anything else. he would not be cruel for logic's sake -- even if, yes, there's only "4.5 vulcans", logically -- he wouldn't say that. he wouldn't fucking say that because he is kind hearted and though it's true, it would feel "illogical to point out" -- he is good with people. has been for the duration of the show, and probably a good majority before that. he'd understand the emotions of others regardless, he's very perceptive. he'd see spock flinch at "a half". he'd roundabout it in that way that tos spock loved to do -- talk in half truths. "5 people to beam down" is not wrong. it is imprecise but not wrong. (bones voice) goddammit, they're not all the same damn stereotypical rude vulcan asshole. i haven't read surak's teachings but i severely doubt he said, at any point: "harp on an unnecessary fact to be a total douchebag as often as vulcanely possible".

this goes for everyone too -- la'an is more the silent efficent type. why would she feel the need to say ... much of anything to the effect? spock knows he's half vulcan. everyone does. what the fuck does it bring to the table to reiterate it? nothing.

you're doing the jj abrams special: creating conflict where they should be none, and ignoring a greater place to create conflict. seriously, even if i do believe the whole thing about genetics that chapel does (WHICH! BY THE WAY! THIS IS THE FIRST TIME IT'S BEEN MENTIONED/PLOT RELEVANT SINCE 1X01!) why is spock not, instead, helping them regulate their emotions? why are they not like pre-reform vulcans? why not use this to help us stir a bit in spock's head instead of using an out that isn't "making spock the butt of the joke". why can't he show vulcan!kindness as he's so often showing in tos. mf let me into that writers room i just want to talk i ju-

also, the dialogue was super cringy. sorry, it was. i say this as a writer who has written super cringy dialogue before and occasionally does so now. it was cringy. i've written better at the age of 12 in the margins of my maths notebook while bored out of my mind. some of these lines made me tense up. misplaced, or corny, or so severely out of character that it gave me a genuine headache by minute 2 of 5, or what have you: t'was cringy. so so so bad.

i -- selfishly, almost -- hope that it's not too late to go back and fix it, but since filming has long wrapped up -- well. it's probably a moot point, but i'm deeply annoyed. again, i really want to like snw, but everything "spock" (and, by extension, vulcan) has been butchered so badly that watching the show is rather like reading a fic you really like with one tag that just ruins the whole thing. like you'll stick it out, but begrudgingly, and not with a lot of joy in your heart because of -- i don't know, some weirdly prevalent "daddy kink".

tl;dr -- we are not just a product of the objective teachings of our beliefs, and vulcans are not only reflections of surak's teachings.

snw writers: please kick jj abrams out of your writing room. he's not doing you any favours

[prof-peach]

ADOPTABLES NOW LOOKING FOR A HOME £25 (British Pound) per mon, Paypal only, First come first serve, DM to proceed with a paypal email for the invoice should you be interested.

HOUNDOURXPOOCHYENA -------- SOLD MECH RATTATA --------------------- SOLD ODDISH (CRETA) -------------------- SOLD MAGIKARPXCARVANHA ----------- SOLD

------------------------------Bio's below-------------------------------

As you approach the adoption booth nestled beside a smoothie stand, and a small shack renting wetsuits for the ocean close by, a woman with dark hair tied back smiles in your direction. The staff member dons the token Dōtaku green shirt, whispering to the cluster of pokemon at her feet, and the one in the tank on the table behind her, all watching on, ever hopeful.

"Welcome to Dōtaku Island's adoption day, we have three sweet mons looking for their forever homes, each with unique personalities, which im sure I can shed some light on for you, if you like?"

As you move along the line, she begins to talk to you about each.

You start on the small pup, a dark furred pokemon that stares up at you with big open eyes, standing just under 2ft in height. "This one was rescued from Magma grunts, a Houndour and Poochyena cross. She was quite agressive at the start of her rehabilitation, but now has passed all saftey measures with flying colours, and enjoys a good scratch on the belly these days. The professors have worked wonders on her, she'd make an excellent companion for anyone who struggles with the cold, but probably not the best for serious battle, as she's a little shy when under direct observation by many people. Her typing is Dark currently, and we dont expect her to gain more than mild fire attacks shoudl she choose to evolve. Warm cuddles are something she specialises in, an ember no doubt may be possible with time, but a mighty flamethrower might not be in her cards. Focus her exercise on agility, she sure can run, and LOVES to chase things, so balls and frisbees are great fun!" Next in the line is a rather old looking Rattata, one hand prostetic, but seemingly dexterous and functional.

"This little fella is affectionatly known as Clank, he walks around and you can hear his little paw on the tiles in the labs, so it kind of stuck. He unfortunatly found his way into some farming equipment that got turned on, and was brought to us as a last chance about three years ago now. He survived against all odds, sadly other professors and medical experts didnt want to give him the chance her deserved due to his common species type. Clank however defeated all odds, recovered, despite losing tail and hand, he was gifted a new one by Professor Grey, and now lives a very busy little life. He loves bananas and peanuts, and has a sharp mind, so needs a lot of enrichment like complex toys and one on one time with a trainer. He's not too good with larger mons, so we advise he have his own space, or go to a home with other smaller pokemon."

The third is a rather large oddish, standing double the size of the average specimine of its kind.

"This lovley lady has been nicknamed Monroe, she's a bit of a diva now, but wasn't always so confident. Professor Peach spent a couple years one on one with her to build up her moral. She came to us with a pretty heavy viral infection that caused dieback in the leaves, and her unusual complexion, the lumps however are superficial, and cause no discomfort, issue, or long term effects other than originally causing her emotional distress. She use to feel less than pretty, we'd had a few trainers pass her up due to hew apperance, they were less than friendly about their opinions of her, as you can imagine they got chewed out pretty badly by Peach and all teh staff who were there to overhear. She felt down, so the one on one time was all about making her feel amazing again! When her leaves started to grow back in we realised she was an unusual species, resembling Aglaonema Creta, a very pretty plant. She is jolly and sweet and kind, and just wants to shine, potentially a great candidate for contests or more flamboyant battles if you were so inclined."

The last in sat in a large tank on teh stall behind her, a grumpy looking water type.

"Mr.Grumpy here isnt all that mean, dont let his expression fool you, he's been looking for a home for a while now, but he just gets passed off as intimidating or scary, so it's been a long journey for him to find that perfect partner. A Magikarp and Carvanha cross, he can be tempermental, a little rough at times, not so easy to handle, but more than capable in a fight. he likes his fin held, and the staff have taken to putting movies on a laptop for him when hes not out in the rivers and waterways. His check ups go swimmingly, pardon the pun, thanks to media distraction. He hardly bites anyone these days, unless youre rude and done ask him before handling him. He's all about polite manners, so if you do that, nothign can go wrong! We're not sure what he'll evolve into if he chooses to, though we have a sneaking suspicion he'd be a water/dark type due to his moveset."

[pray4saint]

hihi! it’s national gf day & i was wondering if you had some headcanons on how the dteam would spend it! :)) -🐼

dteam on national girlfriend day

masterlist & descrip. pg. 13+. girlfriend!reader. fluff.

a/n. this i actually i have ideas for, but it's still pretty shitty writing

dream – wakes you up early by peppering your face in kisses. ”five more minutes, clay, please..” you lazily push your hands at his face. ”no, c'mon you have to get up, we're going out today.” he intertwines one of his hands in yours while using the other to hold himself up over you.

takes you out for breakfast, something simple. he also packs extra clothes in the car because you're out all day. long beach day, in and out of the water, sunbathing (he helps you with spf tanning lotion and vice versa), and a picnic lunch.

in the evening the two of you cook together and inevitably a small food fight in the kitchen with the ingredients you were cooking with. post-dinner it's a fort and movies on his laptop. he forces himself to stay up longer than you so that he can carry you back to bed when you finally let the sleep get to you.

sapnap – he got a disposable camera just for this day. wakes you up accidentally, while he's fumbling around the bedroom. for a few minutes you only roll around, trying to convince your body to go back to sleep. ”sap, what's going on?” you sit up, blinking away the last of your tiredness. ”no, peach go back to sleep.” ”can't.”

instead of a full breakfast, he makes a big ass fruit smoothie that you can take in the car with you because you're out all day. not doing anything in particular, but just driving. occasionally you'll pull over, stop and sapnap will use the camera for a new polaroid or two, and you stop for lunch, more pictures when you pull over at an overlook to eat. he just wants to make the most of the day.

you come home late, tired and sap insists on carrying you back up to the bedroom because it's national girlfriend day and he loves you. he reads aloud a couple chapters of the book you've been reading, asking questions of course because he wasn't sure what was going on, and by the end of the last chapter, you're falling asleep.

george – lets you sleep in while he attempts to cook breakfast. keyword attempts. ”george what is that smell,” you rub your eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them and when you open them and can see clearly, the image in front of you is nothing short of laughable. george is struggling to move dishes around the kitchen, something is clearly burning on the stove, the sink is running and the fridge door isn't entirely shut. you pad your way over to him, ”oh georgie..”

you have to cheer him up from his failed attempts at cooking before you make breakfast. ”i wanted to do something nice for you love.” you smile at him, ”why? am i forgetting something? is it my birthday?” you're being sarcastic, somewhat. ”no, it's national girlfriend day you moron.” he continues to eat, and you gasp. ”well that's no way to treat your girlfriend.”

after breakfast, he agrees to try something you'd been wanting to do with him or teach him to do for awhile. he learned to like it, but he would never admit it. a few pictures, but not a lot because neither one of you wanted to ruin the moment. a stream on his twitch except you had entire control of everything; also him ending stream earlier than originally planned because he wanted you all to himself.

fbsdikjfb falling asleep watching your favourite romcoms.

pray4saint© do not copy, translate or repost my work without my express permission.

[biteofcherry]

Well now I want to know about their* fave drinks, fruits, and flowers!

Especially flowers—how would they react, I wonder, if you brought them flowers just because they made you think of him? 😂🥰

*Ari (all, any, yaaas), Nesting!Steve, and GrainofTruth!Steve are all on my mind, but answer about whomever you like! 😘

Hahahaha, I absolutely adore you @eralen 😘 you're the bestest! 💕

Mafia!Ari (Sweet Thrill) is a vodka kind of man, top shelf of course like Gray Goose and it has to be chillingly cold. Non alcoholic, it's surprisingly all types of tea. He's a connoisseur. He'll make tea for both of you and cuddle with you on the couch, reading books. Flavor-wise he likes really sweet fruit, but mostly focuses on buying fruit that can be cut into pieces that don't turn into mush, because he likes to feed his pet treats while you kneel at his feet. He likes this game where you're blindfolded and with open mouth await if you'll get a fruit, a finger, or a cock next 😏 He buys you peonies, as he prefers something more unique yet still classic. And there's always an abundance, the bouquets barely fitting in your arms. You get him black roses - elegant and dark to match Ari's intensity. It surprises him, but he keeps them until they crumble, and cuts the head of one rose to keep in his breastpocket.

Alpha!Steve (Grain of truth) doesn't drink alcohol often, even if you're at a restaurant or party, but if he does then it's either whisky or gin. He's one of those people who drink lots of water and of course all types of coffee brew, even occasionally some crazy Starbucks frappuccino. Steve's an all American boy, so cherries, peaches, apples, blueberries are his fruit to go. Though, honestly, he prefers them in pies than eating fresh fruit 😆 He likes house plants and simple garden flowers, since those are the kinds his Ma had and because it's what you like. He has a really hilariously dumbfounded face when you stumble into the house trying to carry a heavy pot with a pachira plant. When he takes it from your hands, you announce you got it for him - because it grows ridiculously huge and is unkillable. Steve reminds you thoroughly why you like his size so much and why you shouldn't complain about it... And then spanks you when you name the plant Alphachira 😂

Mafia!Steve (Nesting) is definitely a whisky guy, Chivas commercial vibes only smoother and hotter when Steve savors the flavor and you're unable to avert your gaze from his lips. Otherwise, he likes smoothies and coffee and isn't picky as long as it tastes good. Fruit is something he rarely munchies on, he actually eats it more since you're with him, so it's the types you like to eat. He does have a sweet spot for peaches, though. but that's mostly, because you get all squirmy and wet when he devours eats one in front of you... 🤤 Teases you, asking if you need him to eat your peach (and doesn't even wait for an answer, spreading you on the nearest surface). Steve appreciates flower bouquets, there were always some in vases around his penthouse even before you moved in. Elegant roses that were regularly delivered from a flower shop. Then you change the order and the flowers start coming more colorful and chaotic. He likes the freesias most, their scent reminds him of your perfume.

Alpha!Ari (Bad moon rising) likes a good, dark beer (not the light piss, but bitter porter), as well bourbon. His non-alcoholic choices are fresh squeezed juice and mint infused water. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, so coke or any soda aren't to his liking. It's also why he keeps to less exotic fruit, preferring rich but tart flavors of blackberries and cherries. Ari especially likes eating them from between your trembling lips, juice dribbling down your chins as he bites through the fruit and kisses you - after he's gone down on you and your taste is still in his mouth, mixing with the tart fruit 😏 He likes field flowers, like cornflowers or poppies, and lilies of the valley that grow in patches in various parts of the woods belonging to your pack. If you bring him a small bouquet, he'll display them proudly in a glass on his desk (then coax you to go for a run and take you on the forest floor, right on a patch of delicate flowers).

[pikmin-applebloom-art]

First page of my Video game Doujin webomic prologue redone

I decided that starting off with the grimdark stuff was too bold.

So here's some exposition and worldbuilding for Pixel City.

Transcript:

Video game game characters are just like us. They use public transportation.

Sign Language TL: Heyy (Misread as Love-ya!) wanna grab a slice (of pizza) later? Exciting! But Love yourself first! (she's aroace)

They go shopping occasionally.

Mario! Please don't stand in the shopping cart!

Hmm, what fruit to get for the party? Lotta good choices, pthhpth.

They even try out games and sports. Even dangerous ones.

THIS CLUB IS SO OFF THE CHAIN!!!!!

Hey there, Undyne, wanna play Chaosvolley? You know I can't do it alone, Pescita.

Video game Characters aren't perfect, and they will argue.

Shimea, we're late to biology. I'll make the first incision on the dead frog.

By Nayru above! You made the first incision on the sheep's eyeball a few weeks ago. You said I can have a turn next time, didn't ya, Enokiko!

Kirby divider by @alphabeet-s0up

Took a while, but I made this!! info below the cut

The inkling girl in the first panel is Carlotta Marisa Ikaraggi, and she's a prodigal sign interpreter for the Squid sisters. And her surname sounds like Ikarrage, or "fried squid" in Japanese, which is what Calamari is. She's from splatsville and her parents come from Cephaloflorence, Inktaly.

The gal next to her is from the Hoenn region. She's an ace trainer named Kasumi Dominica Hamasaki-Brooks. She's deaf in one ear and wants to be a water type gym leader.

Also in the first panel is the Sniper from Team Fortress 2. After finding out he NEVER buys his own shirts, I figured he'd be the kind of person to only enter a contest or competition if the grand prize is a free T-shirt. So yeah, with the transferable skills, Mr. Mundy became the Bee photography champ of 1964. Also he's wondering how Waddle Doo is listening to music.

Knuckles is autistic in my HC, and while he (much like Eggman) is a feminist, he doesn't like to read long paragraphs. So I decided he would read a book of Alison Bedschel Cartoons.

In the second panel, we see two sims characters, one of which is an oc. Hali'a el-Ghani is Hawaiian/Senegalese, and likes floral hijabs. To her right is Savannah Price, but I decided to give her a better looking hairstyle (namely box braids in a ponytail with some edges).

Also Mario and Luigi and Bob the Cat.

The mannequins are of Princess Dragonfruit (my idea of what Wa-Peach is like, somewhat like Bowsette, and she's cringefail villain with a Dr.Doofenshmirtz level of incompetence and her girlfriend is Princess Chammomile, who's pretty much WaDaisy and she sleeps often and has a mellow but lazy stoner-ish vibe) and some random guy.

The next panel shows a club of some sort. Rouge the bat wants to play a game of Chaosvolley with Undyne.

I decided that rouge the bat WOULD wear the jewelry she steals, and frequently lies about where she got it. Also I can't draw anyone playing pool to save my life. So I made up a dangerous "Party sport" instead.

The shirt Undyne is wearing is based off of a hat from @shirtsthatgohard

Bronto Burt is in the corner dancing.

The sonic character in the BG is an oc named Guava the Fennec. She's a green fox with pink eyes and likes fruit smoothies

The foreground shows a Hylian named Shimea who's family runs a tea house inn oot castle town. The Toad next to her is Enokiko Toad, a reserved and intelligent gal who's also quite blunt and also very autistic.

Chikorita Divider by @ianrkives

Note that none of the characters on this page who wear school uniforms wear the exact same uniform. That's because Principal Isabelle Shizue (yes from animal crossing) forgot to have a uniform made for Lawson High (named after Jerry Lawson, who pretty much invented the video game console) so Isabelle just put (wear a school uniform.

In reality, it's because I have ADHD and I don't want to draw the same uniform multiple times.

zelda divider by @saradika-graphics

Btw the department store in the second panel is fluffmart from the Papa Louie series. Which I HC as a mix of Target and Costco.

[platinumrosetail]

Yandere shadowpeach dbk freenoodles sliktea and spider queen x baby moth girl reader ( like mothman)

Where she just fall into the Lego world scard and in the process of making her little baby cocoon cuz she's going for it early metamorphosis she just a cute little baby

And it during a huge fight and she scared and stops halfway Makin her cocoon her chrysalis when she see she about to get hurt and call for her mama or papa but no one comes cuz obviously we're in a different world

And the other's save her and they smell like her favorite fruit which is only in the cave where her mama and papa are so like comfort of home lol

And then she coos at them and then go back to Makin her cocoon being cute the whelly doing it. And she falls asleep and the one who wears the pants in the relationship Cough coughing mama macaq mama pigsy Mama huntsman pif Spider Queen cough cough

Hold her cocoon safe and take care of her while also giving her little foods to eat cuz your little mouth is open so like a little baby cuz she can't move it on her eyes are covered) I thought that was very cute)

And then when she gets out of the cocon she's all fluffy and cute and her little wings are pretty like imagine if her wings became the colors of her parents that took care of her ( like for dbk fiery looking wings )

And they help her fly the best they can and take good care of her

Such wholesome and a adorable request.

Warning: noob author, female child reader, dark theme, yandere platonic characters, and others.

Characters: shadowpeach, FreeNoodles, waterspider/silktea, dbk family, spider queen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shadowpeach:

You were making a vaccine as to comfort yourself as you seem to have found out you’re in another world but of course you don’t really know that you’re in another world you just think you’re in a new environment now for some reason.

The two monkey found you when they came to visit mk and saw how some rogue bull clones that malfunctioned when the recent battles of many enemies surrounded your small form that had stoped making the cocoon to shake in fear.

They took care of the rogue bull clones, macaque made sure that you’re secure in his arms and made sure to not damage your cocoon that wasn’t finished. You notice how the two both smell like you favorite fruit and decided that they were safe to be with before falling asleep.

Since you’re just a baby you don’t really know what’s fully going and would get distracted sometimes from things that macaque and sun intended for you to be distracted with and other times out of the blue distractions like how you got distracted with sun absentmindedly waving his tail which got your attention and lead to him getting a bitten tail, which erupted a laughing fit from his mate.

Your favorite food is mango and peaches and sometimes when you visit mk he would make you a smoothie of those and maybe add few other ingredients instructed by pigsy.

Sun and macaque has to make sure that you don’t get bored and decide to go on an adventure and get lost and scared because they know how curious a baby can be when they get bored and such so they get you coloring books that mk and mei recommend and some books from pif on how to keep your baby entertained when they aren’t around or looking which isn’t that long maybe like a minute to on some occasions an hour.

When they do leave for a long period of time for a date or something else they leave you with mk, and the group. Bai he loves taking care of you and also loves being the older sister now and make sure that you’re taking care of like how her dads and brother do and soon she joins the boys with how protective she soon became.

Freenoodles:

It was some thugs that thought it was a bright idea to pick on a baby that just wants to make her cocoon without any ruffians to torment her; Pigsy whacked him with his rolling pin while tang punches the others when they had found you in the alleyway close to the shop.

The two made sure that you weren’t hurt from the thugs and kept you warm with tang’s scarf. You recognized a smell coming off of them and realized that they weren’t out to hurt you.

(I don’t know what they could smell like, maybe for pigsy pigsy or some type of ingredient that he uses while making noodles? And for tang maybe paper that smell like the trees they were made from? I guess, though I would like to hear y’all’s thoughts on this out of curiosity if you would like to leave a comment about it.)

Since you’re a baby moth pigsy has to resort to cooking other things than noodles which was kinda hard seeing as he made it muscle memory to make noodles.

(I feel like that could and have happened before 😂)

Tang loves reading you stories he get from his work; the library, especially if it involves monkey king and of course you being a baby don’t know anything about and just enjoy the story even if you don’t understand anything from it and just like his soft calming voice when he reads you a bed time story.

When you opened your cocoon after 21 days you finelly see them with your very own eyes, although blurry vision but it gets better over time.

When you finally get to eat noodles you eat about 8 to 10 rounds of it before getting food cause it’s that good; which strokes at pigsy’s ego a bit.

You color and draw you and your family a lot which by now hardly fights the fridge anymore. You, mk, and Bai he all draw different things like things from picture books or story that doesn’t have pictures in them to things that you made up on the spot.

Waterspider/silktea:

It was raining and therefore difficult to make your cocoon even if you go into a cardboard box for shield it’ll just bleed and drip through onto your cocoon. It wasn’t until sandy on a errand to find you and rescue you from your predicament.

He takes you home; dry you, feed you, make sure you all nice and cozy, and made sure that you were hydrated enough before you went to hibernate in your cocoon, this time finally able to without any difficulties in your way.

For 11 days were you in that cocoon, you somewhat met sandy already and with his smell and the way he acted towards you seemed safe for you but when you met another being especially a predator it was hard for you to get used to him and makes you want to go back to your cocoon; though sandy somehow coax you out in the end and you finally see huntsman as a parental figure about a month later after you got out of your cocoon.

You love the cats even though they sometimes like to play and mess with your moth like features! Mo helps you move around and help you adjust when sandy and huntsman aren’t around to help you move around their; now yours as well, place.

They join you when you draw, even invites mk and Bai he to draw with you when they can’t and when the two aren’t busy.

And when it’s cold, sandy knits you and everyone nice cozy clothes to keep warm from the weather of winter season.

Sandy likes to take you and huntsman on nature walks as a way to relax when things might get stressful for y’all or sometimes just to go out and breath in nature air along with making friends with the animals that are in the forest that y’all walk in.

Dbk family:

You met them when mk brought your cocoon over that he had found near their house close to a open fire and was wondering if the family knew you were there or not. The didn’t know that you were there and therefore want to take responsibility as you’re just a baby still and need to be taken care of as you’re too young to that yourself yet.

They at first didn’t know how to take care of you as you’re not what their used to which lead to all of them to read books about moths and experiment from there.

Seeing as you’re a month you prone to follow anything that lights up which includes fire and seeing as they have fire around their home that seem to be hard to let you be by yourself; that which made them overprotective and want to either stay with you so you don’t get hurt or have a bull clone supervise you to make sure you don’t do anything dangerous.

You like to follow redson around as he seems more brighter and can control fire which is light though he does make sure to always carry a flashlight if he needs to get your attention on him.

You be a little model for pif as she seem to have a hobby of making clothes for herself and her family, so that’s what you and her do when you two spend time together.

You and dbk don’t really speak much but you seem to like to always sleep on his shoulder when he watches his coupling show but sometimes when you are awake you do make small talking about what y’all should have for dinner and if you could have what was showing on the tv for dinner one night before going back to sleep.

They would definitely grow attach to you as you do cute and sweet gestures for them and be a good little daughter which leads to redson turning you into a demon if you’re aren’t considered a moth demon to them yet.

Spiderqueen:

You honestly are scared of everyone in the spider group as they are predators to you even if they smell like grape juice.

(I don’t even know why I picked that lol 😂)

Spiderqueen make sure to get you comfortable the most as she’ll be your your mother from now on and of course princess on the spiders.

With her webs she can make you clothes as it became a little hobby of hers since she was born/made as a demon plus it beats going to the store and stealing some.

She will make sure that you’re taught to always stay with her minions or her when they go out into the surface but also to stay in their general eyesight to make sure you’re safe and won’t be kidnapped. The gave you a play pin so you don’t run off either and so you could have a area to play in that won’t be anywhere near any dangerous equipment.

Syntax make sure to teach you things from math to history or well spiderqueen version of it I guess but also other things too so you can use that as an advantage when you become queen.

Huntsman makes sure you’re well fed and know what’s to eat and what’s not to eat to make sure you can survive in different climates plus where to hide to maybe make a cocoon to sleep in as well.

Strong spider is technically your bodyguard if the others are busy and would spend more time with you that the two other minions since he needs to make sure you don’t get hurt, lost, or kidnapped.

(A/n: OMG! This took forever didn’t it!? I’m so sorry! I just got distracted and stuff like that plus with the fact I needed to catch up on the dragon prince season 4 so I was a little busy anyway hope y’all like it!! And hope y’all have a wonderful day/evening/night!!!😁)

(P.s: also thank you so much for 100 followers on here!!! 🤩😁☺️.)

[slocumjoe]

could i get your take on what the companions (or just my favorite boy X6's) top 10 fave candies/foods would be in a modern AU?

anon you are in luck, because I am constantly thinking about the diets and eating habits of my blorbos

The numbered list isn't in any particular order, it's just so I don't have to manually count each point

so

What the companions would eat if not in a post apocalypse

Cait; Wouldn't have a taste for fancier cuisine. Eats more...hick-ish. I can say that because I was a hick with this kind of diet, growing up. Has a taste for filling, cheap, low-effort food...think lots of fast food, but "healthier" fast food. Like Chipotle, Panera, etc. Can cook, doesn't often, but will if she has a craving. Savory or tart tastes. She tends to eat lighter than you'd expect.

Blueberry brownie anything, favors dark chocolate in general

Submarine sandwiches, anything with pickles

Key lime pie

Salt and vinegar chips and thinks critics of such chips are cowards

Peach Redbull, any energy drinks though

Storebought hummus and Doritos, has been seen eating hummus with just a spoon though

Blueberry bread pudding. Simple to make, fun to eat, very comforting. Buys her bread already stale from a local bakery, has a guy to hook her up with the old shit

Seafood chowder

Sausages in any capacity. Jerky sticks, breakfast sausage, etc. Loves chorizo.

Honey buns from the gas station

Curie; Health nut, she eats like every influencer claims they eat like. Only, Curie actually eats like that. Lots of fresh foods and whole grains, little red meat. However, Curie makes a point to have foods that other health nuts would condemn, thinks its really important to not label any food as "bad." So, she balances between health nut and normal person. Her taste leans toward bright and/or sweet. Dislikes red meat.

Salmon breakfast wraps

Tropical fruit smoothies, eats so much pineapple

Iced tea, favors raspberry. Never seen without an iced tea of some kind

Halibut tacos, likes red cabbage and a fuck ton of lemon on it. Soft shells all the way

Bananas foster

Whipped brie dip, eats it with anything but loves it on apples, basically dessert

Lemon pepper grilled chicken and rice

So many salads, loves that you can just throw shit in a bowl and call it a recipe. Likes strawberries and almonds

Lemon poppyseed muffins

Shrimp and bitter melon stir fry

Danse; mixed bag. One on hand, small town diner tastes. Simple, cheap, good ol' American food. On the other, he's doomed to be a soldier in every universe he's in, so...maybe he picks up some tastes and dishes from places he's toured. Gets a weird pallate that shoots in all directions and makes you wonder what it's like in that thick skull. One day he's a good American boy with pancakes and steak, the next he's eating cake mix dry and drinking tahini from a flask.

Anything BBQ, but a pulled pork devotee

Hot coffee so heavily creamed and sugars it looks like milk. He likes the twix combo of chocolate, shortbread, and caramel flavors

Prepackaged baked goods a la Hostess, fucks up little Debbie oatmeal cookies

Apple and pecan pie

Menemen—Turkish dish, scrambled eggs with tomatoes, bell peppers, spices to taste, and (controversially) onions. Adds sausage and cheese, eats it with a fork or spoon (its meant to be eaten with bread)

Khachapuri—Georgian cheesy bread with egg. Eats with a knife and fork. (its meant to be eaten with the bread crust)

Smores pop tarts

Beef and potato stew

Rice bowl with fried egg and avocado, bonus points if it has bacon

Straight cookie dough/brownie/cake batter, usually when he's black out drunk and cannot shame himself out of eating raw egg products.

Deacon; Very childhood comfort food. Y'know, things you had as a kid, but probably grew out of a bit? Eats out of gas stations/takeout frequently. Very open flavor pallete, has tried everything he's had the chance to. Likes one-handed food, stuff you can have the other hand free for. Doesn’t really have a 'theme', has broad horizons for his diet. Likes lighter, mild flavors, though. He eats lightly and on the go a lot.

Hot/corn dogs, taste in hot dog toppings varies

Egg salad sandwiches

French fries and vanilla ice cream, classic combo

Mango sticky rice

Cornbread with any accompaniments. Likes honey or chili, thinks if you have a drink with cornbread, you ain't a real cornhead

Penne alla vodka

Cucumber salad. This could mean a salad with cucumbers, that trending Asian recipe where you cut the cumber so its springy, or eating a cucumber like a hotdog.

Fried mushrooms

Usually just drinks water but will have gator/powerade when he's working. Likes purple flavor

Captain crunch cereal, loves all cereal though. Prefers the kibble stuff to the berries. Starts philosophical debates about the morality of Trix commercials vs Lucky Charms commercials

Gage; His favorite foods reflect his upbringing. Coastal swamp cuisine, cheap and made in bulk. Take Danse's pallate and hyperlocalize it, and then lower the budget by a good amount. Things he grew up eating. Would gradually replace his favorites with pricier, 'less embarrassing' dishes, distances himself from his origins. However, takes care to not looked too loaded. Smokey and savory flavors are his thing, likes more spice than people expect.

Doberge cake, which is layered with pudding, often half-chocolate and half-lemon

Red beans and rice, with stewed pork if they could afford it

Blackened fish of any kind, liked it with cilantro-lime rice

Steak with potatoes and/or eggs

Chronic iced tea drinker like Curie, though he prefers the bitter kinds

Scallops

Brussels sprouts defender and will fight for their honor

Peaches

Was introduced to curry during a business meeting/outing. Could drink that shit from a glass, has it with potatoes and porkchops.

Lobster anything. This is one of those 'less embarresing' things, but he genuinely enjoys a good lobster roll. Even if he prefers a freshly-caught lobster bisque. Again, something he had growing up, something he pushes away.

Hancock; Similar to Deacon, but favors fatty, greasy food. No, it's not the drugs, that's just his metabolism. He's a skinny twink, always starving, can never put on weight. Eats as much as Danse, who is a big guy and needs more calories than most. He's really into street food and foreign dishes, won't eat at a restaurant if they speak fluent English or have good customer service. IYKYK. Very comfort food heavy, lots of "this would slap with Netflix at 2 am"

A classic oxtail, mac and cheese, and collard green take out combo

Any and all American-chinese take out, usually gets eggplant tofu with chow mein and cream cheese rangoons

"Walking tacos", those things where you open a small bag of chips and dump White People taco makings in. Probably just tips the whole thing into his mouth

Yakitori, Japanese chicken skewers, popular bar food

Bloody Mary cocktails

Pizza, will fight for the honor of pineapple. Would really be into how Brazil does pizza

Frozen yogurt and ice cream, piles with toppings

Breakfast sandwiches or wraps. Egg, meat, cheese, doesn't matter the time nor specifics.

Jam donuts, loves cherry fillings

Puppy chow/muddy buddies, chex cereal covered in chocolate and powdered sugar. Eats his weight in them if not careful

MacCready; forces himself to learn how to cook for Duncan's sake, but for himself...good God. It's horrible. Eats like garbage. Would never drink water if not to set an example. Take out, frozen food, so much candy and soda. After Duncan, broadens his horizons. Finds he really likes soups. Just throw shit in a pot and it works. Eats on a budget, so that's a life-saver. Doesn't have a preferred flavor pallete, aside from his love of candy.

Meat lover's pizza. Thinks pineapple has no place on pizza

Used to drink Mountain Dew and diet coke, replaced it with iced teas and more organic fruit juices for the sake of his teeth

Chicken soup, either from a can, or homemade. Either way, slaps. If homemade, blends veggies for a hidden veggie stock. For him, Duncan is a lot better at eating veggies, MacCready needs to trick himself.

Sour rainbow ropes

Cookie crisp cereal, thinks whoever came up with it deserved the sloppiest head. Incredible design, no notes

Cheese and sour cream chips

Famous Amos cookies

Eggo waffles

Gnocchi is God to him. Its superior to all noodles and makes your Shit In The Fridge soup 1000 times better.

Rice pudding is cheap, easy, and a surprisingly efficient sweet-tooth satisfier. Makes it with pumpkin spice mix or chocolate.

Nick; Home-cooked meals all the way. Could kill himself with cheese and die happy. Lots of easy meals and snacking so he can keep working, but will treat himself to a nice, hard-earned dinner when he has the time and energy. Likes himself the smokey, the fresh, or the sour. Probably knows all the best sub shops in the city, probably in a turf war with regulars of rival shops. Jewish delicatessens are like church to him.

Lasanga. Most of his freezer space is lasagna. Eats so much of it. He's lactose intolerant. It hurts but it hurts so good

Latkes. Fried potato things, kind of like hashbrowns, except the potato is mashed/ground instead of grated. And yes. Also pastrami. But those little potato bitches...mmmph.

Red velvet muffins with cream cheese frosting.

Fried cheese in any capacity

A prosciutto, arugula, brie, and fig sandwich

Pickled pearl onions

Cobb salad

Black coffee. Temp doesn't matter, because he's going to forget it until its room temp.

Has been known to enter fugue states and consume an absurd amount of Chicago style hot dogs

Scones or just plain bread with butter and jams

Piper; Broke college student trying to make it as a reporter. Her tastebuds are fucked, they salivate not for flavor, or texture, but for those good, good low prices. Piper's diet is almost entirely snackfood or takeout. If she ever cooks, it's for Nat. But when taking care of just herself, Piper eats from a box or bag. When she does cook, it's very simple meals. Loves her carbs and her fruit flavors

Chicken Ramen with canned chicken and frozen broccoli chucked in. Also makes this for Nat

Hot cheetos, eats with chopsticks

Spaghetti and meatballs

Fruit smoothies/smoothie bowls, blends in veggies as well for the nutrition

Coka cola and anything from Fanta, loves fruit sodas

Anything carbs and I mean that. Eats a lot of bread, pasta, cakes, potatoes...they're the sweetheart of anyone on a budget.

Buffalo cauliflower, likes it more than Buffalo chicken

Chewing gum. Fruit flavors only, hates mint gum. Likes mint elsewhere, just not in gum.

Nickle-nips and other "jelly/juice in a wax package" candies. Likes the charm of it, also, free chewing wax

Suckers/lollipops, big on hard candy in general but the stick satisfies her smoking habit.

Preston; A mix of easy depression/bulk meals and dishes from his childhood. Lots of spices, cooks with a lot of straight peppers. Tends to eat his food 'raw', not made into a dish. Again, easy and quick to eat. Also tends to buy pre-prepared stuff for the same reason, buys more fruits and veggies and just eats them straight. Doesn't care about eating healthy, he just lacks energy to cook most days.

I have no choice to explain this as it has no name. Casserole dish, layer of mashed potatoes, layer of shredded or chunked chicken, layer of white breakfast gravy or brown poultry gravy, top with drop biscuits. It's buttery, its savory, it is white as snow. Easy, cheap, one ladlefull is dinner. You'll get a few meals out of it, and it's so filling you have like, five minutes before you're stuffed. I call it gut-glue.

Dirty rice

Eggs scrambled with spinach

Jollof/jambalaya

Veggies and hummus or ranch

Various fruits and berries such as grapes, cherries, blackberries, and oranges

Shakshouka, eggs poached in spicy tomato sauce and eaten with bread

Chicken biscuits, crackers dusted with, like, chicken bouillon? They taste like a chicken Ramen packet sneezed on a ritz

Slurpees/Icees/those syruped gas station ice drinks

Straight peppers, eats bell peppers like apples. Eats pickled jalapeños and scotch bonnets to feel something. Drinks the liquid in pickle jars instead of alcohol, or mixes it with gelatin and makes pickle jello.

X6-88; Pretensious rich asshole who eats like it. He rarely cooks for himself, probably has a personal chef or something. Maybe his work has their own restaurants, like Google. Eats mostly vegetables, but his favorite foods skew from "Dubai Influencer" to "12 year old who earned too much lawn mowing money and was let loose in a convenience store." So much sugar. Willy Wonka's factory is his idea of heaven and until it exists, he's an atheist.

Raw meats. Steak and tuna tartar, sashimi, and sushi

Braised duck with cherries

Nduja, a spicy pork sausage spread, has it with flatbreads

Oysters. Eats them all fancy in public, eats them from a tin with doritos at home

Anything from Hostess, Little Debbie, those brands. Fucking anything. However, would kill a man for any kind of Swiss roll

Chocolate milk

Gummies, very picky with brands, hates the harder kinds like Haribo. Wants his gummies soft as a marshmellow

Cadbury eggs

Milano dark chocolate cookies

Gushers

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

Hi 🤭🤭 am I a pretty mf? Cuz I wanna talk to you<33

Lmao anyways- can u do an outsiders ship for me pls? Tsymm

Ok so I’m like, abnormally tall for my age-If I had to guess, I’m roughly 5’10. My hair is this bleach-blonde, really shaggy sort of overgrown butterfly cut. I have HORRENDOUS posture and hazel eyes, and my skin is peach-tone ig?

Idk how to describe my personality, but here’s some interactions I’ve had with my friends so you have a general idea—

[My friend] *Drinking a smoothie* eUGH, it’s so thick

[Me] *Struggling to hold in my own laugh* Y’know- cough, y’know what else is thick??

[My friend] Do NOT.

______

[Me] *holding up a picture of some random celebrity from the 80’s-90’s* i need him pregnant

[My friend] Mf, he is in his FIFTIES. He HAS CHILDREN

[Me] I don’t care

[My friend] LEAVE THAT MAN BE

_______

[Me] *Staring at the wall while hallucinating the hat man* chat. chat is this resl

[My friend] ffs, go to sleep you insomniac bastard

Anygays, my hobbies are drawing hot pathetic divorced w/ kids wet cat manfailure malewife babygirls and also making playlists abt said babygirls bc men,, need them so bad actually s not even funny

Sir you are relatable

Your Outsiders Ship: Two Bit Mathews

Explanation: looks wise I think you’re definitely his type. I think he would definitely make jokes about your posture if he met you and if you were insecure about it, he would probably quickly learn about that and then stop, but I think he would love your hair and I can’t remember his canon height but I see him as being a little taller than you, so I think he would also tease you about that and call you short, even though you’re not that much shorter than him. As for your personality, you seem like you like crack in a lot of jokes and you like being relatable which, even if you weren’t trying to be relatable that’s how you come across because I relate to every single statement is made and anyway I think you and to, but we just have such fun making jokes and teasing each other because that would also be your love language. As for your hobbies, I think two would totally make some playlists with you and Simp over people that already have wives and children. And then I can join your guys relationship and do that as well. But I think you guys would be a really fun couple and definitely have the most fun dates ever and are really cool people that would just get along great personality wise.

[cringecrew]

could you perhaps, mayhaps even, give us ideas for dragonkin snacks & activities? We are very food sensitive (autistic sensory issues), so many common carnivorous snacks recommend (I.e., beef jerky), don't really work for us!

Getting me to eat is often describes by my friends as "feeding a toddler" if that helps any as well :)

HI! I’m also a very food sensitive person! I’m def a picky eater :] and I’m pretty much vegan so carnivorous aren’t really on my roster anyways!

I’ve seen a lot of ppl love rock candy with dragons, I’m very big on candy so if you can find a candy with a texture you like that would work!!

Candy cigarettes are sorta a rock alternative, they’re quite crunchy and have a pretty mild (usually minty) taste

Idk why but when I’m feeling dragon-y I really crave juicy fruits- like peaches, oranges, mangos. I think it’s nice to be able to gnash your teeth into something that isn’t meat!

Also cereal! Especially dry cereal can feel very hoard like and nice to snack on, esp cause it’s small it sorta makes me feel bigger?

I’ve seen a lot of ppl also like spicy foods, esp for fire breathing dragons, personally I’m not big on spicy but! Maybe something to consider? I like a lot of spicy chips and crackers :>

Activities!!

Fire mmmm. If ur a fire dragon- candles and matches and stuff (be safe of course) I like being around campfires a lot! If you’re a different kind of dragon tho do stuff to connect w that! (Swim if ur water based, etc)

Collecting. Rearranging. Documenting. Omg I love having collections and documenting what I have and rearranging everything in my little collections. If you can’t irl there’s a lot of games that have u collect stuff! I play a lot of chicken smoothie haha

It’s pretty a basic idea but makeup/accessories!! I got glow in the dark horns at a ren faire a while ago and omgggg so dragon. Love. It’s nice to just have the weight up there sometimes yk?

Very specific but if u curl up with a big blanket stretched over ur arms/hand and feet it cane feel like ur wings over ur body!!! Very nice feeling, good for naps

Sorry if this isn’t what you wanted!!! I hope I did okay <33

[phandomphightclub]

Phinal Round: 3rd Place Match

“Jack Fenton?” Tali gaped at Danny, who reclined in the stadium seat beside them. “You let Jack Fenton stay while I was gone?”

On Danny’s other side, Jack Fenton, notoriously ineffective ghost hunter, slurped a (hopefully ectoplasm-free) smoothie.

“Yeah.” Danny shrugged.

“Why?”

Danny shrugged again. “He likes violence.”

“That… is a good point,” Tali admitted through gritted teeth. “But he’s still a ghost hunter.”

“Yeah. So am I.”

“You didn’t destroy the entire Denny’s while fighting Technus!”

“Hey, can you keep it down over there?” Jack asked. “I’m trying to watch these ghosts get torn apart molecule by molecule!”

Tali groaned. But, as Jack had indirectly pointed out, the phighters of the third place match were floating into the ring.

One of them was… a giant peach? Okay. The other ghost held a potato, so this looked like it would be a very nutritious phight.

Tali cleared their throat and squinted at the cue cards Vic had prepared. Then they raised the megaphone.

“Phighting for third place, we have Peach and Andi (Englandamericaitaly)! Congrats on getting this far!”

The crowd cheered, Lexx waving her Danno on a stick enthusiastically. Down in the ring, Andi took a bow. Peach, being a giant peach, didn’t have a waist to mirror the action. Her weapon, a 64-pack of Crayola crayons, wrote a rainbow THANKS on the asphalt instead.

“Now, without further ado… PHIGHT!” Tali dooted their kazoo.

Andi sprang into action. They ran circles around Peach, trying to find the best angle to yeet their potato. 

“I don’t see any explosions,” Jack grumbled. 

Danny patted his shoulder sympathetically. Did Jack know that Danny was his son? Despite the phinal round’s prompt, it was unclear if Phantom Planet counted as canon. 

“Andi is looking for an opening,” Tali announced. “Jack, you may get your wish yet. Yes, they’re going for it! They yeet their potato, and—oooh, that’s gotta hurt!”

The potato exploded against part of Peach’s fuzzy flesh. However, instead of blasting apart into fruity guts or ectoplasm, a pile of chocolate bars tumbled out of the wound.

“Ah! That’s right!” Tali referenced the cue card again. “Peach’s special skill is collecting an unholy amount of chocolate bars! Looks like that candy armor is gonna keep her in the game a little longer.”

Peach prepared her retaliation—a spear of crayons, all sharpened to points. 

Andi pulled another potato from behind their back, but their yeet wasn’t fast enough to counter the waxy weapon. The spear lodged in Andi’s chest, then exploded into its individual crayon components. 

“Yeesh. That’s gonna be a tough one to come back from.” Tali grimaced as Jack whooped. 

“WOOO! THAT’S WHAT I CALL MOLECULE BY MOLECULE, BABEY!” Even without a megaphone, the whole stadium could hear him.

“Vic?” Tali said into their walkie-talkie. “You mind dispatching the emergency medical team? …Do we still have one of those?”

“Nope. We’ve got the janitorial staff, though.”

“Eh, close enough. Over.” Tali hung the walkie talkie back on their belt, then picked up the megaphone. “Andi is unable to phight! Peach is the winner of the match, and will take her rightful place as third place victor!”

With her crayons broken in the explosion, Peach couldn’t write anything, but she seemed happy.

(That was how Tali interpreted her peachy glow, anyway.)