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#therapy game special chapter
wardenparker · 3 months
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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 2
Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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!
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unreliablesnake · 1 year
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MASTERLIST
FYI: I don't have a taglist. Please follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the "Get notifications" button to know when I post new chapters/stories.
If you wanna know about my wip's, follow @unreliablesnakewip.
Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader
Forbidden Love
Elopement
Escort
Untitled drabble #1
Smutty request #1
Hold it together when the world's on fire
Unmute
Animals (smut)
Animals - part 2
Animals - part 3
Animals - part 4 (smut)
Animals - bonus chapter
Animals - bonus chapter 2
Abortion request
The bet
The bet – part 2
The bet – part 3
All of the girls you loved before
Movie night
Jealous Ghost request
Shy!reader request
Thunderstorm
Bitten - zombie!Ghost
Surprise
I want you, but...
Bliss (smut) - I want you, but... part 2
Simon says (smut)
Lost and found
Smut drabble #1
It would've been nice (zombie!Ghost)
Jealous!Simon drabble
"Mare" series
Not on my watch
Is it too soon?
High (smut)
Dirty little secrets
Timing
Cornered
"Osprey" series:
The only exception
••••••
Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader x John "Soap" MacTavish
It's time to have fun (smut)
Jealousy (smut)
••••••
John "Soap" MacTavish x reader
Lover
Smut drabble #1
Shock
••••••
Phillip Graves x reader x John "Soap" MacTavish
Sharing is caring
Sharing is caring – part 2
••••••
John Price x reader
Bakeneko
Scenes from a relationship: the fight
Yearning
Punishment (smut)
Am I old?
Give me a reason not to love you
••••••
König x reader
Can you handle it? (smut)
Your memory
One-night stand (smut)
Tall reader request
Jealous König request
••••••
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x reader
The first proper date (Mare series)
Race day
The Boogeyman
••••••
Joel Miller x reader
Wounded animals
Someone like you
Early birthday present (smut)
Good girl (smut)
The plan
reputation
Workaholic!reader request
Dirty little secrets (smut)
Singer!reader
You must be new here
Embarrassment
I shouldn't love you, yet here we are
part 1
part 2
••••••
Phillip Graves x reader
Failing
The trip
Is it in your DNA?
Help me out
••••••
Marquis Vincent de Gramont x reader
Gf limited series
Proposal (smutish)
Dress-up game (smutish)
Territorial (smut)
One-shots
Interrogation
Divorce
Vincent takes a liking to you series
Vincent takes a liking to you HC's
Home is where your heart is
Stay
Hold on tight
The dress
Pregnant
••••••
Miguel O'Hara x reader
Keep your distance
Keep your distance - part 1
Keep your distance - part 1.5
My place
Villain!reader snippet
••••••
Harrison Wells & Eobard Thawne x OFC
Of reverse love and stuff
How he met his lightning rod
The parents
Confession
Good news, bad news
••••••
Harry Wells x reader
Somebody like you
Part 1
Part 2
••••••
141 x reader (barracks bunny)
You're reading what? (Ghost)
Punishment (Price. Smut.)
A special kind of therapy (Alex. Smut.)
The unlucky one (Ghost)
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satureja13 · 1 month
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'Guess who just got back today? Them wild-eyed boys that had been away Haven't changed, had much to say But man, I still think them cats are crazy They were askin' if you were around How you was, where you could be found I told 'em you were livin' downtown Drivin' all the old men crazy'
The Boys are back in Town - Thin Lizzy
We are back! From a new computer! (EA App stopped working on my old Windows 7 PC -.-) Arturo invited them to celebrate the opening of a brand new Temple in Morensong (and for a belated Ostara/Spring Equinox Festival since we couldn't celebrate together last week. Day and Night were equal on March 21st and warmer days are coming. Hopefully for the Boys too).
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They aren't really ready to meet again. Neither Saiwa and Jeb (after Sai's breakdown) nor Jack and Kiyoshi (after Jack's breakdown). But Ji Ho has a plan.
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Arturo welcomed them and showed them around. This Temple is much bigger than Kiyoshi's/ the Tree's in Koh Sahpa. Had Kiyoshi gained so much more popularity since he's back from the tree?
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Arturo: "Haha no ^^' Kiyoshi's followers wanted this Temple for Kiri, Little Goat and Kumo who hadn't left Kiyoshi's side and cared for him while he was one with the Tree for all those decades. And Little Goat played a big part in bringing him back eventually." Oh... ok Ö.ö So we have a Stable Temple now... For horses, goats and sheep. We've seen stranger things, haven't we? There are 12 easter eggs hidden in the following pics and posts. I write the amount of eggs in the respective pic below in brackets. For example in the pic below you can find 1 easter egg, so I write (1). (The same egg can appear in different pics and angles, but it still counts as 1 egg.)
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Kiyoshi is embarrassed. He knows that the others are keeping his distance to him since they know the whole truth about him and Jack and that he became a demon, he's back and and a diety now and they are forced to stay together to avoid a catastrophe in their possible future and he destroyed Jeb and Saiwa's relationship with this damn 'Bird' misunderstanding... He just wanted to live quietly among them and somehow make it up to them and serve them and not to cause a ruckus and being treated as something special and upset them even more. (1)
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The Temple is big enough for all the horses and goats and Kumo so they finally have a place to stay in Tomarang! (1)
The Boys' horses are Otherworlds horses and they are free to roam whereever they want to and the Boys can call them via the goats. Not sure if they stay here all together all the time since they have their own problems and misunderstandings and quarrels among them... (see our spin off -> The Stables)
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Arturo: "What do you think? It's awesome, right?" Saiwa: "It absolutley is. They will live in a palace!" Arturo: "Come over to the meadow. I prepared games and food." (3) (But only two new eggs, the third egg is already shown 3 pics above. That makes a total of 5 different eggs in this post. Have you found them all? The other ones can be found in the following episodes and I will reveal where they are hidden in an extra post after the festival.)
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From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28
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lunerna21 · 4 months
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***I meant to do a post for Chapter 1 of Book 7 earlier but it’s been super chaotic with the holidays 😭***
***Slightly longer post but I just want to get my feelings out lol***
BUT I do wanna vent about specific parts of this chapter cause I’m constantly on edge waiting for the release of Chapter 2 (even though I’ll be crying and hyperventilating throughout the next chapter)
First of all, let me start off with how much I love seeing Sebek have a bitch fit from us calling Malleus Tsunotaro
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Like dude basically had an aneurysm and tantrum over it and I fucking love his reaction 😭
(Also totally not loving the attention from Malleus in the very beginning of the chapter 🙈)
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Being such a huge fan of Sleeping Beauty I’m thriving on the focus of it for this Book and I can’t wait to see where it takes us ❤️
BUT BUT There were two parts that had me almost to the point of losing my goddamn mind
1. The idea that we could be leaving Ace, Deuce and Grim
When Deuce and Grim started reminiscing and getting upset about us leaving and Grim being alone again
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JUST THE ABSOLUTE HEARTBREAK I FELT IN THIS SCENE WAS AWFUL LIKE TWST WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME
CAN WE GIVE OURSELVES A BREAK WE KEEPING GOING THROUGH SO MUCH SHIT TOGETHER
BUT THEN ACE'S REACTION IS SENDING ME TO THE HEAVENS
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I'M SO CONFUSED AT ACE'S REACTION LIKE CMON TELL ME HOW YOU ACTUALLY FEEL
Throughout the whole series we've always seen Ace consoling us and keeping his positive outlook, and I'm DYING to see how he reacts to us leaving when we have a guaranteed way home
I feel like once he know's our time is coming to an end, Ace is gonna be inconsolable and just completely break down and beg us to not leave
AND I WILL NOT BE OKAY
IF I SEE ALL THREE OF THEM CRYING ABOUT US LEAVING OR THE OTHER STUDENTS IM GONNA BE IN THERAPY FOR WEEKS
I wish we got to see him more vulnerable but I feel like Yana is just cooking something up to DEVASTATE the fandom
AND THE ACEYUU LOVER THAT I AM IM HOPING WE GET SOME DEVELOPMENT CAUSE THIS LITTLE SHIT IS SO GOOD AT MASKING HIS FEELINGS AND EMOTIONS
LIKE CMON ACE TRAPPOLA LET ME KNOW HOW YOU FEEL
2. Malleus speaking about this past
LET ME TELL YOU MALLEUS DRACONIA NEEDS SO MUCH GODDAMN LOVE
THE AMOUNT OF TIME MALLEUS WAS ALONE AND HE WAS USED TO IT IS ABSOLUTELY AWFUL
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(Also screw that last option like why would I ever pick that after what he told us)
Just the fact as he was telling his story and we pointed it out and he was just like "Oh, I guess I was" and acknowledged it
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Does everyone need to be so traumatized by their past in this game like goddamn the whole goddamn school needs a therapist
Just reminiscing on his reactions to spending time with us in the main story and side stories, and how much he enjoyed being included just makes the past events more special with him 😭
....And his reaction afterward we told him we'd found a way home...
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WE'RE JUST ADDING ON MORE TO HIS LONELINESS AND I HATE IT CAN'T WE GIVE MALLEUS LOVE AND A BREAK
AND THEN THE WAY IT ENDED JUST SENDS ME INTO OVERDRIVE EVERY GODDAMN TIME
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.....Malleus facing the horrible reality that everyone is slowly fading from his life and he has no way to prevent this is just....
When I tell you I'm going to be in therapy after Chapter 2, I will be so inconsolable that I will be in shambles for a while
I'm glad I'm also caught up to the Chapter 6 on the JPN server, but having to now relive everything in the EN server I will not be okay
Now I will sit in and cry impatiently as I wait for a date for the newest Chapter (ALSO MANIFESTING MORE CHAPTERS NEXT MONTH FOR BOTH SERVERS EVEN THOUGH IT HURTS)
Enjoying the rest of your day~~!! *walks off in tears*
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heartfulselkie · 2 months
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WIP Game
Thanks @coffeebanana and @rosie-b for the tag, and thank you @kasienda for coming up with this new game!
List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)
An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing
Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!
Then tag 10 writer friends!
WIP TITLES
So I'm kind of cheating a bit with my choices here I guess since I have a lot of ideas but not so many actual active WiPs. So some of these aren't actually stuff that has been posted (or not posted in fic form) but they're all what my rodent brain is rotating right now.
Bell the Cat - Ladyblanc Knight AU. Enemies to Reluctant Allies to Lovers. Plenty of angst and trauma to be had in this one!
2. Sad Machine - Not currently available. I'm attempting aiming to have the fic more or less completed before I start posting. Futurist/Cyberpunk-type AU. No Miraculous but there's a dash of vigilantism and mysterious happenings to solve. And some questionable ethics (thanks Gabe).
3. Porceline Girl - Emonette and Badrien (post Paris Special) Oneshot that I'm hoping to finish soon. They're just angsty teens trying to figure out what is love how to be around each other.
4. Kaleidoscope - (not currently a posted fic so link leads to my tumblr tag) Kwami Swap AU with a dose of amnesia! Love Square is a mess in this with a Reunioned Ghostbug trying to solve all the problems. Adrien needs a coffee and a nap. Tikki needs a drink.
5. Citrus and Lavender - Enemies to Lovers AU with Chat Noir being deceived into being on Hawk Moth's side from the very beginning. The kids need therapy and Gabriel needs jail.
UPCOMING
There's is so much I'm looking forward to with Bell the Cat, but with the upcoming chapters I'm excited about introducing some more characters into this world! And of course all the Ladyblanc banter to be had!
2. This is my little pet project at the moment that I am slow roasting in the microwave. There are so many things that I am foaming at the mouth for that I want to just spit the fic out onto ao3 already but I'm trying to go slow with this one.
3. I'm just excited to feed myself more Toxigriffe, even if its in Adrinette form. I have so many ideas for these two but this oneshot is the closest to being finished. I'm excited to have it done (soon! hopefully!)!
4. Another one that's been slow roasting for a bit. I'll admit I'm still undecided with how I want to post this - do I go full fanfic on ao3 with it? Or a webcomic-style on tumblr? Perhaps a hybrid of both? I normally go with writing for longer stories, but this AU really got its interest and following through my random comics of it. It's exciting to think about my options as I could really challenge myself with it (even if opting for a more webcomic style is terrifying in its own way).
5. We're finally reaching the point in the story where Ladynoir are trying to transition from stalwart enemies to shy and unsure partners. All sides of the love square are standing on bambi legs right now as things are very new and scary - but at least they'll slowly learn they have each other to lean on!
I think most of my usual victims have been tagged already - so consider this an open invitation to anyone who wants to do it! I'm tagging you! Yes, you!
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beskarandblasters · 6 months
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October Fic Recap!
What I posted last month, what’s coming from me this month, and what I read and loved!
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My works from the month of October:
Din Djarin:
Me and My Husband synopsis, masterlist and tag list form! Posted on 10/23. Chapter one of this series comes out today!
Show Her “The Way” To Behave - Posted 10/25. Professor Din punishes you after class. Part of the What Happens After Coruscant University… Series
Frankie Morales:
Group Therapy - Featuring Tommy Miller - Posted on 10/5. Frankie and Tommy go to group therapy for veterans and take a liking to you, the therapist
You Hired a Cleaning Lady, Mr. Morales? - Posted 10/18. Frankie falls into a depression spiral after the events of Triple Frontier. Santiago hires a cleaning service for him (you) and one day you show up in a sexy maid outfit.
Snowball Kiss - Posted 10/19. Santiago tells Frankie what a snowball kiss is and Frankie wants to try it with you.
Joel Miller:
Pillow Queen - Posted 10/2. Joel calls you a pillow queen and you prove him wrong.
I Might Kill My Ex - Posted 10/15. Joel leaves you for Tess and that just won’t do. Murder and hate fucking ensues
New York or Nowhere part 5 - Posted 10/15. Joel wakes you up in a special way and something terrible happens when you’re at brunch.
Thick Skull Never Did Nothing For Me - Posted 10/28. You have a habit of going after broken men but this time you go for the most broken one of all, Joel Miller.
Rock, Paper, Scissors - Posted 10/28. Written by me, @wannab-urs, and my boyfriend. Crack fic about Raider!Joel and Raider!Tommy playing their favorite game.
What you can expect from me in the month of November!
Me and My Husband every Wednesday!
More installments of the What Happpens at Coruscant University… series
A Din one shot where the reader is jealous over Xi’an (what can I say I’m a sucker for jealousy)
Final part of Bodega Owner!Joel
Maybe a uniform kink Cassian request if I can find some inspiration
I’m sure other miscellaneous ideas I’ll write and post rapidly
Some fics I’ve read and loved last month!
@wannab-urs Starving Season
@theywhowriteandknowthings Catch Me If You Can and various Kinktober posts
@jksprincess10 Exile and Attraction Spell
@chloeangelic Rendezvous
@proxima-writes Ghost in the Sheets and Real Gods Require Blood
@beardedjoel Pretty Little Wife
@janaispunk Still Bejeweled
@multiversed-daydreamer Pet
@patti7dc The Hunted
@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Linger On
@penvisions Of Kyber and Beskar
@flightlessangelwings The Favorite
@toxicanonymity The Raid
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cyber-corp · 4 months
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2023: The year of all time
This felt like the first year post-COVID where things really kicked into high gear for me personally. My new year's resolution was that I would go out and have fun for once.
And had fun I did.
I did some voicework reading for a story podcast, I went to a bunch of amazing concerts (nothing beats seeing Weird Al for my birthday!), and I sorted out a bunch of RL stuff and put a neat little bow on it. Thank goodness.
But fuck all that sappy shit: Here's a small collection of things I really enjoyed this year!
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Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: An excellent sequel to a seemingly unfollow-uppable first film. Takes everything from ITSV, and amps it up to twenty with a stunning visual style, a sonically fitting soundtrack, and a meta-commentary on the nature of Spider-Man's character and whether they really deserve all the tragedy thrown at them.
Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe: The guys who made Pud did another show, this time with funding from the Australian Government! While stripped back in its setting, they continue to provide the same stupid bullshit that put me into laughing fits as they did with their Netflix show. Haven't they done well.
Scott Pilgrim Takes Off: I think when people heard about "An animated Scott Pilgrim show with the live-action cast and Edgar Wright producing", they did not expect "A proper dissection of Ramona Flowers' character and her motivations, as well as her own journey of forgiving the Evil Exes. Also lots of yaoi." Scott Pilgrim continues to dominate as the premier "guy learns not to be a shithead" franchise.
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Live in Accor Stadium: The Peppers prove their pertained power as performers by playing the purest psalms in their prospectus from the past 35 years (eugh, what a mouthful). Flea came out, did a 30-second handstand, waved and said hello to the moon and then got up some people littering in the crowd. Their life is more than just a read-through.
Caroline Polachek - Desire, I Want to Turn Into You: I had absolutely no clue who Caroline was before I listened to this album. I now realise that she might just be the person that pop needs right now. A soaring collection of songs destined to become classics down the line, like a greatest hits compilation that doesn't exist. We're all on Caroline's island, and we ain't leaving.
Bomb Rush Cyberfunk: I kept my eye on this game as it was developing, and it was absolutely worth it to see it come through in the end. Satisfying gameplay that requires you to learn how to combo to progress, an addicting artstyle inspired by Y2K, and the soundtrack. Holy fuck the soundtrack. I just can't get enuf.
Weird Al Yankovic - TUROTRSIIIVT: Man, what a title. Emu Phillips come out swinging with jokes I did not expect, and then Weird Al comes out aggressively swinging, with all the songs you don't know him for. He then did a polka melody of his parodies, did a ritual halfway through, and then ended the concert on a high note. Only the best from Strange Alfred.
Doctor Who 2023 Specials: That bastard David Tennant returning led me down the rabbit hole known as watching Doctor Who, and did it ever pay off more than these specials. A trans woman saves the day and the Doctor realises he's bi, black, and needs therapy. A magnificent close on a chapter of one of the greatest sci-fis ever, and a bright step into the future.
The Hyperfixation of the Year award goes to none other than
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Homestuck, everyone's favourite webcomic! Everyone's.
And I think that's partly because I joined this website to begin with. I probably say this all the time, but leaving Reddit was probably the best decision I could have made at that time. As much as I reminisce, the communities I was in began to get a little stale. Same jokes, same shitposts, a different day. Tumblr in some strange way, is not that. It feels less like a big communal website and more like a collection of small towns spread across a large spot of land. Calm and village-like, you know?
So to all my mutuals, my followers, to the people that liked and reboggled my stinky posts, to all that offered mealworms and crickets in my askbox, thank you. "Gecko Boy" might just be a silly lil joke in the grand scheme of things, but it's a fun joke to play into.
Whatever comes next year, I know I've got the energy to keep going. Have a good 2024 everybody. <3
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embossross · 10 months
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From His Mind to Hers
chapter 11 >> Chapter 12 >> masterlist
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✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader
✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content
✣ Chapter CW: violence, discussions of torture, drugs, hanma fantasizes about anal play and ptv sex
✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more
✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.
✣ Word Count: 6k+
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Hanma regrets not doing one last line to see him through tonight’s meetings. His jaw aches like the soreness of a two-day old punch, and he keeps his hands plunged into his suit pockets to cover their trembling. A little hair of the dog to ease the worst of the symptoms is just what the doctor ordered, but the nagging voice of reason in his head – an unholy blend of your voice and Kisaki’s – tells him to sober up and stay sharp.
Days of the job running him ragged have taken their toll. An hour of sleep here or there between assignments, a fitful doze in the backseat between locations, and the fortifying effects of cocaine are all that sustain him.
It will soon be well worth it. The usual irritability that comes with a cocaine hangover is nothing compared to the thrill of imagining all the delicious possibilities that await him when he confronts the Immortal Mikey.
Is it a matter of weeks or only days until their showdown? He wants Mikey to fight with the ferocity of a blood feud, but what if Mikey refuses to fight him to the death? To bring out the darkness in Mikey, Hanma can always taunt the memory of his dead siblings, maybe lay the blame for their deaths at his feet. Hanma has spent years training with fighters specializing in Muay Thai and Taekwondo in the hopes of someday facing one of Mikey’s bestial kicks. Just imagining the difference in power behind Mikey’s strikes and his usual opponents’ makes Hanma salivate. To prolong the fight, he’ll need to move strategically. Relying on his height advantage would be a mistake as Mikey can leap to nearly Hanma’s full height, so Hanma will need to hunker down to protect his core. He should get as close as possible, limit the force Mikey can draw behind each kick, deliver short, devastating punches to the organs, maybe get a grip on one of his legs to throw him off balance. Like predicting an opponent’s moves in a game of chess, Hanma wonders how Mikey will counter if Hanma pins him flat in the dirt. He’ll probably never get the chance to find out. A single direct kick from Mikey will rattle his brains. It will take superhuman powers of concentration to not lose consciousness then, to fight until the bitter end, until sweet, sweet nothing…
Rapturous, as he imagines Mikey’s potential countermoves, Hanma smiles with all his teeth at nothing.
Around him, Toman’s top brass gather around a coffee table in Kisaki’s suite on the penultimate floor of the Ritz-Carlton, waiting for tomorrow’s negotiations to begin. The atmosphere is tense. Writers would describe said tension as thick; a description Hanma finds appropriate. He likens the energy in the room to sucking in a great lungful of car exhaust and then holding it there, letting the smoke stir up the lungs and burn the eyes as you fight back the urge to choke, cough, sputter.
On the floor above, where the HKJ executives strategize and, on the floors below, where their entourages gather to get a few hours of shut eye before tomorrow’s activities begin, Hanma imagines the mood is equally warped.
Kisaki’s suite brims with the stale smell of smoke as the room’s occupants light up cigarette after cigarette before the last even has a chance to burn out. The cherries flare bright and then fade like dying stars amid the flick of titanium lighters. It is ritual, comforting, unifying. There are billions of yen at stake tomorrow. It’s the kind of money lesser men kill for, and they have done far worse than kill for a fraction of this prize.
Each man’s nerves manifest differently. From where he stands guarding the door, Hakkai switches compulsively between his cigarette and a toothpick before giving up and shoving both into his mouth on either side like a pair of mismatched fangs. Mucho fingers the knives at his side while glaring into the eyes of anyone who glances his way as if daring them to make a wrong move, reserving the worst of his ire for Smiley, newly back into the fold after his long exile – Hanma can’t guess what Kisaki was thinking allowing that – and grinning, unperturbed from his seat by the window. Kokonoi looks highly medicated where he sits on the loveseat, fidgeting with his rings and only settling when Inui places a centering hand on his shoulder.
As for Kisaki, well that is the strangest thing. Apart from a manic gleam reflecting off his glasses, Kisaki sits like an iron pillar, steady and supportive.
It is out of character. He should be pacing, glaring through his phone, like he can see beyond the screen into the heart of the device, barking at them all for breathing too loudly. The details of this deal have been meticulously ironed out over the course of months. There will be ceremonies, demonstrative displays of respect, staged misunderstandings, and finally resolution. It’s not unlike taking your school exams when you’ve already studied with the answer key. All that is needed is to show up and not tip your hand. Still, Kisaki should be nervous.
Someone knocks on the door, and for one brief moment, they all forget how to breathe.
The only men with access to the penultimate floor of the hotel tonight are already gathered here. Whoever dares knock on their door has made a fatal mistake. Yet to Hanma’s surprise, when Hakkai sees the visitor through the peephole, he nods knowingly to Kisaki, who returns the gesture, and then Hakkai opens the door.
Neither man reacts when the opening door reveals Haitani Ran, dressed in pinstripes and looking like a fucking pencil case. Hanma leaps to his feet, already fidgety hands reaching for his gun, but Kisaki nods the man inside, and Haitani closes the door behind himself. It clicks shut decisively.
“Glad to see you’ve made it, Haitani,” Kisaki greets him.
As usual, the sight of the man who has plagued his mind these last several months triggers a restless agitation in Hanma. The feeling has become a familiar one, a mix of the desire for a vicious fight that rises up whenever he sights an enemy with even halfway decent martial arts skills mixed with the enraging certainty that Haitani would see him die of something mundane like hypertension behind bars. There is no room for reactionary thinking tonight, not when his epic battle with Mikey is on the line, so Hanma swallows his impulse to attack, limits himself to a frown when Haitani waltzes right inside to stand opposite Kisaki and to Hanma’s left.
Hanma looks to Kisaki for instruction on how to react. He knows Kisaki better than anyone else living or dead. So, he knows that the grin that spreads across Kisaki’s weather-worn face signals nothing less than complete victory. Kisaki always avoids the spotlight when plotting something, sticking to the shadows, sacrificing a stooge or two, playing the double agent. If he chooses to center himself now, it signals something huge.
Kisaki begins, “Now that Haitani’s finally here, I will tell you a story. Certainly, you’ll have heard it before, the Kachi-kachi Yama, but listen carefully, and I think you’ll find much that’s applicable to what’s happened here this last year. Once there was a troublesome tanuki, who plagued a farmer’s fields. Perhaps the farmer could have lived alongside it in peace, but the tanuki was spiteful and cunning, and the farmer knew someday the tanuki would destroy the bountiful fields that he’d dedicated his life to cultivating. So, the farmer captured the tanuki, tying it to a tree and continuing about his business. He figured he could return later and kill the tanuki for his supper. That was my first mistake, I’ll admit. I am that farmer, confident that the tanuki would remain in my trap until I saw fit to gut it. Because instead of making his peace with the gods or thanking the farmer for this stay of execution, the tanuki grew rabid and vengeful. He called out to the farmer’s wife, begging to be freed. I forget that our greatest threat is not always the malice of our enemies but the stupidity of those unworthy men we call allies. The wife, a simpleton, released the tanuki, who, in thanks for her idiocy, promptly killed her. Then, he shapeshifted into her likeness and cooked the farmer a dinner of soup made from his wife’s flesh. The unsuspecting farmer shared his table with the enemy, none the wiser. Until, of course, the tanuki revealed itself and its treachery. It might have escaped justice if not for a rabbit who offered his help to the farmer, and hunted the tanuki down, and well, you know the rest. The rabbit is Haitani-san. I am the farmer. But who is the treacherous, shape-shifting tanuki?”
Theatrically, Kisaki pitches his voice down and makes heavy eye contact with each man in the room. Hanma’s brain races as he decides which man to bury beneath the weight of his suspicions, which man is marked to die. Because, though inscrutable in classic Kisaki-style, the story tells him there is a traitor in their midst, likely in this very room, and Hanma must be ready. His trigger finger itches.
“Quite the mystery…Our best clue came with the hack of Kokonoi’s computer. After all, only executives are allowed entry to that floor of the building, and despite Muto’s best efforts to compel one of the guards to snitch – and let me assure you, those efforts were remarkable in their brutality – each guard swore he didn’t let anyone else in. So, where was our clever tanuki? Hiding in plain sight?”
Kisaki nearly whispers those last words, so they all have to lean closer to hear. A rapt audience, everything Kisaki ever desired.
“The timing with the HKJ deal was suspicious, too. Someone was taking advantage of our vulnerability around the deal. I suspected Haitani, there’s no denying it, but three nights ago, he called and gifted me some critical information. Perhaps, like the simpleton wife in the story, none of our guards betrayed us. Maybe they followed orders to the letter and only let executives in.”
Everything happens very fast then.
There is rapid movement in his peripheral vision, coming from the right where Kisaki sits with the wall of windows to his back, and in the split second it takes for Hanma to draw his gun, Haitani throws a projectile past his head. Hanma knew not to trust that fucker.
A silenced gunshot shatters any remaining illusion of civility. The bullet goes wide, missing Kisaki, its intended target, by a hair’s breadth and exploding a vase.
Standing with a gun clenched in his fist, Smiley takes aim a second time.
Mucho vaults the couch, meaty fists reaching Smiley before he’s even fully cleared the obstacle. The contact throws them both off balance, and the gun falls harmlessly to the floor, where Koko is quick to pocket it. They land on the ground with a boom that rocks the furniture.
One moment Mucho is on top, and then, they roll, Smiley taking the dominant position, and then repeat. Every gun in the room trains on the wrestling duo, but there is no clean shot around Mucho’s bulk. The knives at Mucho’s waist could end the fight, but no one wants to paint the hotel with DNA, so Mucho relies on his fists, like they did in the old days, two captains of Toman, two once friends.
When Smiley’s face briefly comes into view, Hanma sees there are shreds of glass embedded there, and the meaning behind the mysterious projectile clicks into place. In the split second before Smiley could fire his gun, Haitani thew a crystal ashtray at Smiley’s head. His quick thinking saved Kisaki’s life.
As Mucho and Smiley grapple on the floor, strained grunts interrupted only occasionally by a howl of pain, they bite, aim for the groin, the eyes, anything to gain the advantage. With Mucho clocking in at easily twice Smiley’s weight, you’d think the fight would be over in a flash, but Smiley fights back with the fury of a decade fueling him. Gone are the old days when Smiley would trade blows with a carefree grin on his face, eyes screwed closed like he couldn’t be bothered to take his opponent seriously. This is life and death for him, and he knows it.
Hanma’s bloodlust sings out for him to join the fray, to test himself against the once fearsome Smiley, but there is no room between those flailing bodies, and despite Smiley’s best efforts, the fight does, inevitably, come to an end.
Delivering a winding knee to Smiley’s gut, Mucho leverages himself onto his knees, where he can wrap his arm, like an iron bar, around the other man’s throat. Both men turn bright red, one fighting to keep the chokehold and the other to break it. Staring down the barrel of his gun, Hanma watches as the power drains from Smiley’s eyes measure by measure, legs kicking helplessly before he goes limps. Inupi darts forward once he does, zip ties at the ready to restrain him. In a matter of minutes, it is over.
Typically, Hanma is the fastest to react when a threat looms but this time he was out maneuvered by Haitani and Mucho both, the way they both lunged for Smiley without a moment to take stock, like they knew who and what to suspect.
Hanma seethes.
“I think we found our tanuki,” Kisaki chuckles, signaling the second half of the night’s show, the part where he boasts in the face of his enemies. He doesn’t even turn his neck to look at Smiley, trussed up and submissive on his knees, instead addressing the group of them, “Of course, after the security breach, we fired or reassigned all of Kokonoi’s guards, which put several of them on the market. It’s only natural that several sought out Haitani’s security firm. Generously, Haitani questioned each before agreeing to hire them, asking whether they had allowed Smiley into the office, and one of them confirmed.”
“How’d he figure to ask? And while we’re at it, didn’t Smiley just get back into town when we discovered the hack? The malware was in place for months. And you had him exiled in Singapore,” Inupi asks, the first to reholster his gun and settle in for Kisaki’s victory lap.
“Ah yes, that’s why I never suspected him. I mean, Hanma had the flight logs for all international travel in and out of Tokyo-Narita. How could he have missed something so obvious?”
“He didn’t fly in or out in the last year. I checked,” Hanma snaps.
“Yes, but you’re forgetting a tanuki can shapeshift,” Haitani chimes in helpfully.
In retrospect, it’s fortunate Hanma didn’t take that last bump of cocaine because if he were high right now, he would probably throttle Haitani without any care for discretion, and then, it would be goodbye Mikey and any chance at a glorious death at their absentee leader’s hands. Instead, Hanma tries to remember all the bullshit you’ve drilled into him about mindfulness. As the hostile thoughts drift by his mind, he tries to “catch and release” them into the ether. Yes, he wants to see Haitani’s dye job ruined by congealed brown blood chunking in his hairline. He can acknowledge this desire, and then redirect his thoughts. Following your instructions, he empties his mind, pictures that pretty little plug glinting from between the cheeks of your spread ass, pictures slipping his tongue past the ring of your asshole, imagines cresting a wave twice his height and then plowing your ass on the sand afterwards.
He is surprised to discover it helps.
He doesn’t lunge for Haitani. He breathes.
“Yes, our shapeshifting tanuki,” Kisaki continues in the meantime, nodding approvingly at Haitani. “You see, Haitani learned we were looking into the flight logs and decided to do his own digging. What he found painted a clear picture. According to the logs on January third, Kawata Souya flew out of Tokyo to Singapore. He stayed for only three days before flying to Copenhagen, where he stayed for less than twelve hours before flying back to Tokyo. There, he remained forty-eight hours before flying back to Singapore. This time, he stayed less than eight hours before flying back to Tokyo. Now, what does all this spontaneous travel tell you?”
Kokonoi groans, “Fuck, they swapped places. Angry flew to Singapore, then gave his passport to Smiley. From there, he went to Copenhagen to put some distance between the flight paths so it would be less obvious. The newer guards who didn’t know Smiley was exiled probably waved him right into my office, and then he flew back to Singapore to trade places with Angry once again.”
“My mistake as the farmer was to let the rodent live long enough to become a problem,” Kisaki admits generously.
Throughout all of this, Smiley hangs limp in Mucho’s meaty arms. One wraps around Smiley’s neck, restricting his breathing, and the other pins his ziptied arms to his sides. There is disgust in Smiley’s eyes as they discuss him, but they spark to an incandescent rage when they mention his brother. They are not the eyes of a defeated man.
“So what happens now?” Smiley croaks, voice a scratch from what is surely a bruised voice box.
Kisaki bothers to turn and acknowledge Smiley for the first time. “You must know we kill you now.”
“What you’re gonna blow my brains out in the penthouse of the Ritz? Gonna drag my body through the elevator down four dozen floors? And then out through the front door for the whole world to see? Not even you have the clout to pull that off. And I’m not gonna make it easy for you to drag me out of here to my execution. I’ll fight you every step, scream and shout so loud the police will be down on your heads. Not just your heads either. The HKJ’s too. How do you think that’ll go over?” Smiley sneers, that can’t-be-bothered grin that always masked his emotions returning in a blast from the past that for one moment throws Hanma back a decade to what he always considers the best years of his life.
Smiley timed this well, Hanma admits. Given enough space, he might chop Smiley’s body into a dozen pieces and cart them out one-by-one, but disposing of a body that way is too messy. For the first time, Kisaki’s aura of well-earned triumph dims as Smiley backs them into a corner.
A tanuki is too flattering a comparison. Smiley better resembles a scheming, smiling rat.
“If I may interrupt, Kisaki-san. I have a solution,” Ran pipes up, solicitous, falsely humble.
“I’m all ears.”
“I hope you can forgive me, but I took it upon myself to prepare for the worst-case scenario before today. Right now, my brother is waiting in one of our safehouses with a few of our most trusted men and Kawata Souya. He picked him up earlier this evening.”
Hanma has seen men confront their worst fears too many times to count. Many buckle, going semi-comatose under the weight of it. Others bargain, plead, pray to gods that never cared at all. His favorites fight with everything they have, like they might bend the heavens to their will. Smiley, of course, lands in the latter category.
He howls and jabs both of his elbows into Mucho’s gut, straining forward like he might reach his brother. To keep him in place, Mucho picks him clean off the floor with an arm around his neck, cutting oxygen off until he realizes the futility of it all. It takes minutes for Smiley to accept the situation, and even then, his eyes roll like a feral animal biding its time before escaping its cage.
Kisaki beams. “Excellent thinking, Haitani.”
“I know what a man would do for his younger brother,” Haitani demurs. Watching him play the sycophant turns Hanma’s stomach, but Kisaki eats the performance up with relish.
“Well, either way, it was good thinking,” Kisaki says approvingly, and then to Smiley, “Returning to your earlier question, what happens now is you walk out of here of your own volition, and you don’t so much as signal with your fucking eyes that you’re in trouble or your baby brother dies. Slowly.”
“You’re going to kill him either way,” Smiley whispers.
Head hung low, all Hanma can see of Smiley is the mess of saffron curls. The tiniest sliver of pale white scalp peaks through. Had he remained quiet and reintegrated into Toman, or parted ways entirely, Smiley’s life would likely have still ended on the wrong side of a smoking gun. Kisaki had proven methodical in eliminating all the original leaders of Toman, but somehow the Kawata brothers had survived this long. Maybe if Smiley grinned and bore the death and imprisonment of all his friends, the same way he could smile through so much, he and his brother would have made it to thirty. Who knows?
“Your brother will survive the night and walk away from this. You have my word,” Haitani says. It is a pardon he has no authority to grant yet the quiet sincerity in his tone compels them all to keep their silence. Even Kisaki does not object.
The odds of either brother surviving the night are abysmal. And yet, the shadow of Haitani’s fraternal mercy is Smiley’s best and only hope, so he nods his acquiescence.
Hakkai, Mucho, and Inui all escort Smiley to the elevators. They take no chances at his escape. He will be tortured for information, broken until he relinquishes his accomplices and all the intel he stole from Toman, and then, finally, buried under wet concrete.
The last man standing from Toman’s old order is condemned to death. It is the end of an era.
--
Thirty-six hours later, the deal is done.
A breeze cools the nape of his neck where a day’s worth of sweat has collected as Hanma steps through the revolving doors and into the world for the first time in what feels like an age.
Negotiations wrapped hours ago after endless rounds of bowing that left his lower back aching and some last-minute concessions – new negotiations around when in the supply chain possession of the drugs and, therefore liability, would pass hands, a few negotiated favors leveraging the HKJ’s contacts in the CCP– so that both sides could walk away satisfied. Long after the HKJ returned to their separate floor, Kisaki kept the leaders of Toman behind to indulge in many long-winded speeches that celebrated his own genius as well as some generously poured champagne. The festive mood infected even Hanma, and he frankly didn’t give a shit about the deal one way or another beyond his promised reward of Mikey.
Still, as much as Hanma can appreciate a delicious power play or a barbed bit of double-speak, both of which were amply supplied during the negotiations, he is ultimately a man of the physical world, meant to touch, taste, fuck. He needed to get the hell out of there.
Smiling to himself at how scandalized you look whenever he mentions mixing drugs with his medications, Hanma does a celebratory bump right there in the street. The welcome headrush brings new reserves of energy, and Hanma thinks to himself that he should swing by your apartment later to keep the good times going.
He won’t admit as much out loud, but, in truth, your mindfulness techniques were a lifesaver during negotiations. The HKJ thugs there as security were delectable. A hearty temptation, all corded muscle, cauliflower ear, and thrice-broken noses. The self-sabotaging impulse to pick a fight to test their skill would beckon, but with one eye turned mindfully inward, Hanma could recognize the impulse for what it was and turn instead to one of two delicious fantasies to distract him.
In the first, he is pinned down by the weight of Mikey’s slight body, accepting punch after brutal punch to the face, the copper tang of blood hot on his tongue. In the second, your fingers curl in the sheets of your bed – the very bed you’ve guarded from him out of some bourgeois loyalty to your boyfriend – as you throw it back on his dick, doing all the work, so he can watch the jiggle of your ass each time you slam yourself balls deep. Whichever fantasy he chose, the effect was always the same: hard cock, deep breaths, and the stress of boredom dripping harmlessly from his distracted brain.
You deserve a special reward as thanks…
As he waits on the otherwise empty street for one of Toman’s lackeys to swing his Bentley around from where it’s been parked in a garage downtown, Hanma hears footsteps, the tap of Italian loafers behind him and knows it’s Haitani before he even turns.
“Tonight went well. Some congratulations are in order,” Haitani says.
Hanma grunts, briefly wonders if he can antagonize Haitani into squaring up, and then, discards the idea. No matter how much he pokes and prods, Haitani won’t play with him. A shame as Haitani would make a solid opponent excepting his character. The fundamental difference between the two men has always been that where Hanma craves the violence, Haitani wields it as a tool in the pursuit of what he really longs for, the trappings of their lifestyle: the money, the prestige, the power. Haitani will never consent to a fight without running through a league of calculations, and even then, he’s more likely to backstab Hanma at the last second.
“I was impressed by your team’s due diligence. I don’t think you could have brokered a better deal,” Haitani says.
“Yeah yeah, Kokonoi’s a genius or whatever,” Hanma agrees tonelessly.
“Kisaki-san as well.”
More of the same. Once negotiations wrapped, Haitani clung to Kisaki’s side, playing the supplicant and making sure his glass never emptied. Watching the two men bowed together, Kisaki eating up Haitani’s deference, irritated Hanma. One might expect that cleared of all wrongdoing against Toman, Hanma might forgive and forget, but truthfully, he never cared one way or another about Haitani’s treachery.
He just doesn’t like the slick fuck.
Never did.
An acrid aftertaste from the cocaine drizzles down the back of his throat, coating his words and mind in a kind of chemical haze. There is no sign of his Bentley. Whichever grunt was tasked with picking it up is in for an earful for keeping him waiting.
“I’m grateful that I learned of the HKJ deal when I did. I’ve been looking for the opportunity to do Toman a service for years. There have been favors here or there, of course, but something substantial like this is rare. Kisaki-san is so grateful for my help. In fact, Hanma, why don’t you ask me just how grateful Kisaki-san is for my help?”
The open insinuation in his voice is enough to pique Hanma’s interest, turning around to face the other man before he can think better of it. Haitani isn’t gloating any more than he does on an average day, walking around like a god among men, but Hanma knows this is yet another victory speech. He spits a gob of saliva right at his feet.
“With you-know-who out, there’s a new opening at the top, and Kisaki-san’s asked me to fill it,” Haitani purrs.
Hanma clenches his teeth.
The Haitanis’ security business will be an asset for Toman, bringing in new resources and intel on a high-status client list. Both brothers will fit into the more polished, clinical Toman that Kisaki has nurtured, one where money wins out over brotherhood. It is a natural choice, and no one will deny that Haitani earned this.
A ghost of a smile taunts Hanma, like Haitani is just waiting for him to explode, and for the first time, Hanma is sure that the enmity between them is mutual. Maybe Haitani considers Toman neither enemy nor prey, but there is malice there towards Hanma. Haitani must know and enjoy how seeing him every day, forced to play nice, will sting for Hanma like a fresh cut each time. It is with the sadistic glee of a mad scientist, playing out his twisted experiments and documenting his subjects’ reactions, that Haitani watches him now.
In this, however, the two men can be dreadfully similar. Hanma won’t grant him the satisfaction of a reaction, schools his already blank expression and waits for the next move.
“It’s a day for gratitude all around, really, which is why I wanted to thank you. I never would have known about the HKJ deal without your help. So, thank you, Hanma.”
“What are you on about?” Hanma grits out.
“Well, really, I owe it all to your girl – you know, that tight-ass doctor you’ve been hanging around – but if you hadn’t told her in the first place, she never could have clued me in. And then, where would I be? Watching from the sidelines? So, I figure I owe you a thank you as well.”
A zip of adrenaline lights up Hanma’s synapses, the effect stronger than a bump of cocaine. It feels like his very pores have been blown wide open. He smells the musk of Haitani’s cologne. The wind alights on his skin like a lash. Sensitive to the world, he notices everything. He is wide the fuck awake.
You told Haitani about the HKJ deal.
He knows this in the way you recognize a path once taken while drunk. Returning in the bright, sobering light of day, the road appears unfamiliar at first, but then as you retread those previously taken steps, your feet know to avoid the potholes and loose tiles, which turns to take and those to avoid, like unlocking a hidden piece of knowledge or a muscle memory. Hanma recognizes your betrayal for what it is immediately, perhaps always knew deep down.
Why stop at the HKJ deal? You probably told Haitani everything Hanma ever shared with you. What did he leak during cozy pillow talk, enjoying how the details of his job could impress or frighten you in equal measure?
Come to think of it…how did Haitani know he was investigating the flights out of Tokyo-Narita in the first place? Maybe three or four weeks ago, you mentioned that you’d never traveled abroad. The conversation tilted, as it so often did with the two of you, and he ended up telling you that he was monitoring international flights, making you one of only five people in the world who knew about it: that shit for brains who worked for the airport, Tanigawa, Kisaki, Hakkai, Hanma, and…you. And now that he really thinks about it, didn’t you ask quite a few questions about Haitani, pushed where you would normally let the conversation flow naturally, like you needed the answers?
Months of banter, games, and, Hanma will admit it, intimacy between you shatters as Hanma recategorizes everything you are to him, dragging you from the special position he created just for you in his brain – something of a coveted and cosseted pet and trusted advisor in turns – into the one he reserves for all of Toman’s adversaries. It is not a classification you will enjoy, not when you’ve made a fool of him and all the violence that inevitably entails.
Much louder, brimming below these thoughts, Hanma’s mind cascades through a montage of impressions, too chaotic to capture in words or phrases, something pre-language and true. These insubstantial impressions roar, pounce, spear, inflame, attack. They sabotage his every attempt to think through his next actions, to plan or reason. All is made impossible against the backdrop of his disordered inner mindscape.
Adding Haitani’s voice to the mix only makes the noise worse.
“I was surprised you’d see a shrink. Oh! But don’t worry, I’ll keep that between the two of us. I’m sure you have your reasons, and it would do you no favors if all the men found out. And, she is cute enough. I’ll admit, I started to see the appeal around the third time I met her. I won’t pretend she’s my type, but I saw a glimmer of something then. A little fear maybe behind the dead eyes? I could see you liking that sort of thing, though as your therapist, she probably shouldn’t indulge your sexual sadism,” Ran muses. “Regardless, you’ve kept her around so long though, it makes me want to find out her appeal for myself, and after putting up with you for so long, the woman certainly deserves to be shown a good time…”
A hand decked in rings on your thigh, dimpling the flesh. Wet lips mouthing along the curve of your jaw until they reach the special spot to the left of your chin, the one that makes you shake. Eyes brimming with tears while you take a cock too big for your unstretched hole.
Fleeting impressions. Imaginings. He is not the man in any of them.
Haitani is really starting to piss him off.
“You gonna sing like this if the cops ever bust you?” Hanma snaps. “Oh, Officer, let me tell you every detail of my master plan, let me give you a list of names. Or, you just scared as shit of me?”
“Can’t I want to do a favor to my new brother?”
“You’re acting like you want me to break those shiny new veneers of yours. But I don’t know what you actually want.”
As if to show those shiny new teeth off, Haitani smiles. There are no visible stars under the haze of smog, but Roppongi is well-lit even in the depths of the night, and Hanma can make out each gleaming one of them.
“See, I wouldn’t normally share my plans, but I don’t think it matters one way or another with you. You’ll just sit there with a thumb up your ass. So, cards on the table? You can expect a lot more of this. You’re the right-hand off the boss. I want your job. And, I’m gonna get it.”
In the space of a blink, Hanma unholsters his AMT Hardballer and jabs the muzzle into Haitani’s firm stomach. The other man grunts but doesn’t react further. Smart. Because Hanma is tempted to end it all here. His position as Kisaki’s righthand is cemented from a decade of partnership, not the kind of role you resign. Once you climb to the top of the mountain that is Toman, the only way down is a long fall, ending in a broken neck. If Haitani is gunning for his job, he’ll do whatever it takes to see Hanma shot through the back of the head execution style or worse, rotting away in a prison cell.
He won’t go out that way.
He won’t.
He’ll blow a hole clean through Haitani’s stomach first. Gut anyone who ever even thought about helping the bastard.
He’ll kill them all.
“We’re caught on CCTV footage, Hanma. Might want to put that away unless you want a gun charge,” Haitani warns lowly.
They’re directly outside the lobby of Midtown Tower in the center of fucking Roppongi, of course there are cameras capturing them from all angles. No one will check the footage unless he leaves a corpse to clean up.
His trigger finger twitches anyway. It would be so easy to end this all here, fuck the consequences. But then, Hanma remembers Mikey and the brilliant swan song that awaits him when he dies in a blaze of glory. If he murders Haitani here and now, Kisaki will renege on their deal, and Hanma will surely go to prison for at least twenty years. Whereas in the end, it doesn’t matter what Haitani does either way. Hanma will be dead at Mikey’s hands in only a few weeks. Once he’s in the ground, Haitani can have his fucking job.
Hanma starts to laugh, little giggles that escalate into full-blown peals of laughter that shake the gun buried in Haitani’s gut.
“You know what? Do whatever you want, motherfucker! I’m gonna burn either way! Gotta hot date with the devil coming up, ya know? Tell you what, if I somehow survive, beat the devil and live to see another day, that’ll just mean I’m immortal. So, in that case, you’re welcome to try me. Just be sure to make it interesting.”
Haitani looks more alarmed now than when Hanma first drew on him as if reconsidering for the first time that Hanma may be unstable in a way suits like Haitani can never quite figure. It only makes Hanma laugh harder.
Still laughing, Hanma reholsters his gun, thinking his one regret when he dies soon might be that he never got the chance to make Haitani eat a curb.
Knowing that Haitani must have paid off his driver to not show, Hanma turns to walk home on foot. He takes off, right down the middle of the street at a stroll, whistling a happy tune as he goes, knowing Haitani will watch his every step with that same half-frightened look that asks if he has horribly overestimated Hanma’s grip on sanity and whether that will pose a problem down the line. A stranger walking past Hanma then would see nothing but a happy-go-lucky guy, making the most of the what the city has to offer on a late night.
Inside, the tempest of impressions continues, whipping up to a frothing storm of violence and fury. He is going to die at Mikey’s hand, but before that happens, he has some business to take care of.
He walks in the direction of your neighborhood.
A/N: 100 bonus points to whoever can figure out the major clue from chapter 7 that in retrospect hints at Smiley and Angry maybe having switched places.
also, writing this, i kept humming that 'oh no' tiktok sound and 'let the bodies hit the floor.' they seem appropriate...
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Hi there! Could you recommend a well written fic with a...happier ending? :) Where after a while they make different decisions (especially Hawk) and somehow manage to fix things. Alive. I saw a summary where the author fixes things, but Skippy kind of has the same fate only later and in a different way... and, well... it's ok if it's not all fluff but I would prefer not to cry out my eyes at the end. But if you say it still worth it, I believe you.. :) Thank you!
As you know, happy endings in this fandom (or at least within canon) are hard to come by. But we’ve suffered enough, haven't we? I hope these feel good fics hit the mark and hopefully work towards offsetting the extensive therapy that loving this show undoubtedly requires. Happy reading!
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✨ Be sure to show the authors some love and appreciation with kudos and comments on the fics you enjoyed!
#angst with a happy ending ❤️‍🩹 A Joy, Hard Learned by @partialresonance // partialresonance [E, 12K] Tim and Hawk get snowed in together. Later, Tim comes back from the war a changed man.
The dynamics between Tim and Hawk are on another level, which just adds to the heat on this already scorching hot, emotional smut. That said, it’s only one layer of this fic. The building angst with the happy ending that follows, absolutely stellar! Not to mention, the cozy winter atmosphere. What else do you need?  Grab yourself a nice cup of cocoa and settle in by the fire with this one!
❤️‍🩹 Anywhere With You by @kayleebye // kayleebye [T, 3K] Hawk shows up at Tim's door with news after breaking-up with him several weeks ago. Tim isn't interested in hearing anything from Hawk, but one sentence changes everything. Will Hawk and Tim finally have a chance at happiness?
This one I haven’t read yet, but it’s got a lot of what you’re looking for… true love, angst and a happy ending fix-it all wrapped up in a snug little 3K word package. Give it a shot!
#fluff ❤️‍🩹 A Package of Sunshine by @bluebellsinburbank // ConsumingLove(Bluebellstar) [T, 1K] Hawk and Tim have a day at the beach.
This should be called A Ray of Sunshine, because that’s exactly what it feels like. It’s so refreshing to have these fluffy moments, a snapshot into a happier time between these two. And delightful banter with Marcus and Frankie in tow… We love to see! 
#fix-it, #time travel, #canon divergence ❤️‍🩹 Cheek to Cheek by Iviviendo* [NR, 1K] A special guest arrives unannounced at the Laughlin house on Christmas Day in 1953.
A fluffy little Christmas fix-it, light and cozy. I felt like I was right there at the dinner table, laughing and singing along with the rest of the family. Even Tim’s grandma is pleasant and cheerful, a welcome change from the cranky Grandma Gaffney we see in the book.
❤️‍🩹 Everything, Everything by tinypurpleghost* [E, 4.8K] Hawk wakes up in 1968 and everything is different.
A sprinkle of angst with a heavy dose of heart-warming fluff, along with some wonderfully tender (and super hot) smut. Short and sweet, this time travel fix-it will be the perfect balm to mend your broken heart.
❤️‍🩹 the pawn in every lover's game by hyperfixfic* [G, 8K] Lucy decides to face Hawk after Mr. Laughlin slipped a letter under Hawk’s apartment door instead of ignoring the problems of her marriage. And there are many.
This one is more book-inspired, and Lucy-focused, which is something of a rarity. Love to see it! 
❤️‍🩹 Sands of Time (Turn Backwards) by @brouill3r // brouiller [NR, 7K WIP Ch.3/?] 1987 Hawkins Fuller is full of regrets for the life he's lived, though Tim once told him he regrets nothing. Hawk so wishes he could say the same.
In the still night air of a hotel room, clutching a cracked paperweight to his chest like it's carved of the finest gold, Hawk gets his wish.
Or, a time-travel fix-it fic that nobody asked for.
This has me glued to the edge of my seat. The pacing of the first chapter pulls you right in, adding to the tension in with its punctuated rhythm--absolutely perfect for the mindset of Hawk trying to come to grips with what is happening around him. 
❤️‍🩹 Again, only better by@madsmeetsmisha // madsmeetsmisha [M, 11K WIP Ch. 4/9] Hawk had no idea what was really going on here. All he knew was that he was back in 1954 and a completely distraught Tim was standing outside his door. And he also knew that he certainly wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
*DING DING DING… Haven’t read this yet, but by the summary and tags, this sounds like it might check all (or most) of your boxes… Tags: fix-it, someone dies from AIDS but not Tim, second changes, all the fluff we need to get over this
❤️‍🩹 Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps It’s Real by drabbleswabbles* [NR, 24K Ch. 9/?] And then it happened. The metallic screech of the gate, the shuffle of men stepping out beyond the prison walls. And suddenly there he was. His hair was shorter than he’d ever seen it. And his glasses were different. But it was him. Their eyes met. Tim stared at him in wide-eyed shock before recognition melted his features into a confused outrage.
Basically a fix-it in which Hawk finds himself back in the early 70s.
I haven’t had the chance to dive into this one, but it’s at the top of my list, along with so many other readers who can’t stop singing its praises. I’m sure you’ll love it just as much as they do.
❤️‍🩹 The Twelfth of Never by ghostandwitness* [M, 973 WIP Ch. 1/?] What if Hawk didn’t prevent Tim from passing the security clearance?
A retelling of Hawk and Tim’s story where their affair is continued through Tim’s employment at State, for those of us who want a different ending (but of course, not without a hard time getting there-After all it's Hawk and Tim).
I feel like this one might be flying under the radar, but it deserves all the fanfare. So far, this one is fantastic, and while it’s still currently a WIP, and can’t guarantee it will be exactly what you’re looking for, I can confidently say it will be enjoyed. 
❤️‍🩹 But If You Don’t Dear, Confess by@bluebellsinburbank // ConsumingLove(Bluebellstar) [G, 3K] "Have you ever considered yourself to be in love with another male?"
And that was the question, wasn't it?
Giving gifts, receiving gifts, walking like a gay man - like that could even be quantified; sex and sodomy. Those things were nothing, a mere drop in the ocean compared to that one question.
Had he ever been in love with another man?
For a moment, he almost expected to think of Kenny. That sweet boy who loved beautiful things, who'd followed Hawk into a war none of them had any place being.
But Kenny was the furthest thing from his mind. No, his mind was alive with memories of his Skippy.
Or, Tim Laughlin is a little harder to get out of Hawk's head, and the choice between yes and no isn't as easy to make.
This is part 1 of a series that follows Hawk and Tim as they run away to Italy together, after Hawk fails the polygraph on purpose. Each fic is a standalone, so if you’re uneasy about getting too attached to a WIP, this might be for you!
*Authors: If you have a tumblr (or other socials) you'd like linked, let me know and I'll add it. Also, if anyone doesn't want their socials linked here, please let me know and I'll gladly remove it.
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tadahoni · 5 months
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A House in Nebraska
movie! Mike Schmidt x f! reader
part one
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synopsis: After the events of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, Mike decides it's time for a change. Whether that means just a visit to Nebraska or fully uprooting him and Abby to move back home could possibly be a decision that rests in your hands.
warnings: (kinda?) angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers trope, mentions of loss, emotional vulnerability, not FNAF lore accurate, not proof-read
A/N: omg hey guys, I know I haven't written in eons, but I just went through a major depressive episode, and Ethel Cain has been helping me a lot through it. So when the Five Nights at Freddy's movie came out and a whole Nebraska plot point was introduced, I just. (╯°□°)╯( ┻━┻. So enjoy! I might continue with more chapters if y'all enjoy it :3
It was hard for Mike, to return back to the little town after so many years. He wasn’t sure if he was ready, but when would he be? After learning about what really happened to Garrett and getting back on his feet after the whole pizzeria incident, he wanted a fresh start. Besides, he wanted to make sure Abby was safe. He was older and smarter, and definitely more aware, so if he was going to do anything in Nebraska, it was making sure that he didn’t make the same mistake with her that he did so many years ago. 
It wasn’t official. Of course, Mike couldn’t uproot their entire lives and cause another stressful event after the duo had just endured one of the most traumatic times of their lives. But after getting closure on his brother’s disappearance and working on himself in therapy (per Vanessa’s recommendation), Mike felt ready to visit the old town he grew up in. Whether he moved here or not was still up in the air.
The old diner he used to frequent as a kid was still intact, and since Abby had been begging for a hot dog since their arrival, Mike thought it was time to make a pit stop for lunch.
Upon entering the rinky-dink diner, the familiar bell jingled above him and the two were seated by a middle-aged woman. She set two menus on the table, and she talked about whatever specials the diner had that day. Her raspy smoker’s voice became mere background noise as Mike scanned the restaurant, the memories flooding in. He remembered celebrating a friend’s birthday in the corner by the exit, and a family dinner in another booth by the bathroom. It was all bittersweet, maybe a bit too much. Overwhelmed, he contemplated getting the order to go so he could book it out as fast as possible until his eyes landed on you.
Everything in this town was still a blur to Mike, so he wasn’t sure if it was a figment of his imagination or if he actually saw you. The diner’s old uniform suited you really well, considering how aged it was. Your hair was pulled in the messy sock bun that the other waitresses sported as well, and Mike would have brushed your presence off as something we were imagining if it weren’t for the way your eyebrows furrowed at the cash register; the same way they did when you were both young, when you would concentrate on your homework or a video game you were both playing.
Mike was brought out of his trance as the woman seating him and Abby coughed up a lung, then spoke “Y/n will be with you shortly.”
The feeling of enchantment that Mike was feeling suddenly turned to pure terror. He was fine looking at you from afar and wondering if it was you behind that counter. But now he knew it was, in fact, you. And he was going to talk to you.
Mike felt guilty- he hadn’t contacted you in over ten years. You probably didn’t even know about Abby. He couldn’t do anything about it now- the raspy-voiced woman had already made her way over to you, nodding towards the table and walking away. He barely had time to prepare as your gaze met his. 
It was like a bomb went off in his chest the way Mike’s heart started pounding. You didn’t seem to recognize him immediately, but there was definitely a twinge of recognition behind your eyes.
As you approached, Mike was sure that digging his head in his menu was the best course of action. However, upon peeking over the top of it, he realized that he had forgotten one crucial detail:
Abby was smart, and judging by the way she was staring at her older brother, she had absolutely figured out that something was wrong. 
Before Mike could even mouth anything to the 10-year-old, you had already approached the table.
“Welcome to The Red Brick Diner, can I take your-”
“Mike was looking at you. Do you know him?”
Dammit, Abby. After casting a warning glance at his smug-faced little sister, Mike peered over the menu at you. 
This time he was absolutely sure it was you. Despite being several years older, he could still see the youth in your eyes and the same curve in your lips when you smiled. 
“Mike Schmidt?” you greeted him warmly, your smile curling to its full potential. “I thought that was you! I haven’t heard from you in years!”
Nervous energy coursed through Mike’s body, and he was almost certain he forgot to breathe. Here he was, sitting right in front of his childhood best friend, someone he hadn’t spoken to in a decade, and he had no idea how to even say hello. But he managed.
“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He chuckled, a weak smile making its way to his mouth. A little sneaker kicked his shin, and he jumped before glaring at the offender.
“Right. This is my little sister, Abby. Abby, this is (y/n), she was really good friends with me and.. Yeah.”
Everyone knew what happened to Garrett, it wasn’t a big town by any means. But everyone knew better than to bring it up, and Mike was relieved when you brushed off his slip of the tongue and held out your hand to shake Abby’s hand. 
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Abby,” you beamed, and all of a sudden the confidence Abby had just moments before to completely freak Mike out was gone and she shyly reciprocated. You turned back to Mike and pulled out the notepad from your apron, clicking the pen that was already in your hand. “Here, I’ll take your orders and give them to the chef, then I can come back and we can catch up,” you spoke before pausing and looking back up at Mike. “...if that’s okay with you?”
Now, Mike already knew the answer to this question was “yes.” However, with the influx of emotions and memories that had plagued his brain, his thoughts were muddled, and the simple task of speaking was now ten times harder. “Uh… yea! Yes, that’s gr- good! That’s great! Yea.. I’d like that.”
You smiled and took the order, and before you left the table to put in orders, Mike was met with another shin kick. Abby looked at him, miming a scribble on the table. Wondering where her sudden shyness came from, Mike looked at you once more. “Do you happen to have a kids' menu? Like one of the stupid sheets with the crayons?” “They’re not stupid Mike!”
You laughed out loud at the sibling back-and-forth, and Mike felt his heart leap at the familiarity of the sound. 
“We do, I’ll bring one back with me when I come back,” you replied, writing one more thing down on her notepad before making her way back to the kitchen.
Mike, watching you leave, took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to expect, and he certainly was worried whether this would affect his decision to move here. But he had to do one thing before his mind was filled with thoughts of you.
“Ow! Mike!”
“Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, Abs.”
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gwenbrightly · 4 months
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(Re) Building the Future Chapter 4
Her entire body hurts, but at the same time she's floating. Weightless. Everything feels so far away. So muted. Her mouth feels cottony and there's a nasty aftertaste of rotten lavender mixed with lemon, along with a slight metallic tang. She feels like puking. Is this what dying feels like?
Dying. Cassie has never really thought that much about death before. Not even when her mom died. Though that was probably because she was too little to really understand things, back then.
But holy heck. The pain is intense. She hurts in places she didn't even know existed. On a pain scale of paper cut to mauled by a bear, she's giving this experience a solid 12/10.
If Cassie is dying, this is probably a good time to regret not leaving a note for anyone to find. Her dad won't know where to look for her. He'll be so worried when he gets back from his trip. So heartbroken when she never comes home. There'll be no more hugs. No more cheesy horror movie nights where they pick apart the horrible special effects and cringy writing. No more Cassie.
Oh, well. At least when she's done dying the pain will stop. Hopefully. Her… Her… Those human spaghetti thingies that allow you to feel pain? … Oh, right. Nerves. That's what they're called. Her nerves are on fire.
She longingly waits to be swept into the sweet oblivion of death, but her body seems to be taking its sweet time with that whole thing. After what feels like hours of agonized waiting, Cassie slowly cracks open one eye, then the other, blinking back tears from the painful blurriness of doing so. Maybe she's already dead and she needs to see heaven in order to accept reality? But no. Unless heaven looks like the inside of the Pizzaplex's Daycare, Cassie hasn't died (yet). Not that being in the daycare makes a lot of sense when the last thing she remembers is falling deep, deep below the sinkhole in Roxy Raceway. So maybe she's hallucinating to make herself feel better about being on the edge of death. Or something.
"Oh, good. I think she's waking up," Cassie hears a voice say. There's more, but she can't quite focus on any of it. Everything is still so foggy. She squints up at the source of the voice, trying to identify it. Milky white eyes come into focus. Cassie screams as everything goes black again.
"Get away from me, you monster!"
—-----
"Vanessaaaa!" Gregory calls, banging loudly on her bedroom door. Cassie has disappeared into the sinkhole and he and Freddy could really use some backup. When Vanessa doesn't immediately reply, he rattles it again and threatens to find his lockpicking kit.
"We've been over this before," an indignant Vanessa finally calls from the other side of the door, "You don't disturb me during Me Time and I don't judge your ability to turn video games into a contact sport or question your choices when you impersonate famous Metubers online."
"I knowwww, but this is an emergency!" Gregory insists, choosing to ignore the comments about his semi-legal internet habits.
"The last time you said that, you and Freddy had nearly succeeded in setting fire to our microwave," Vanessa points out. She sounds tired. Her latest therapy session must have been draining.
"We just wanted to see how many grapes we could explode at once," Gregory mumbles,"but forget about that for now. This is a way bigger emergency than that!"
Vanessa finally cracks her door open. She makes that 'I don't believe a word you're saying' face she's gotten so good at lately. The one with only one eyebrow raised - how does she do that, anyway?
"Uh huh," she says in a tone that matches her facial expression perfectly. How can he get her to listen?
Deciding there's no time to lose arguing with her, Gregory grabs Vanessa's arms and starts to drag her down the hallway as he frantically tries to explain the last few hours of Cassie getting herself into a buttload of trouble.
"Gregory, what the heck?" Vanessa starts to protest, but Gregory keeps bulldozing through his story.
"I… um… Might have hacked into the Pizzaplex's security program awhile back… And today while me and Freddy were playing Fazcraft, I got an alert. And when we checked the feed, somebody - a friend of mine - had gotten into the Pizzaplex and someone who sounded like me - butwasn'tmeIswear!"
"Okay, you need to slow down and breath. I can barely understand you," Vanessa cuts in, worried now. She plants her feet to prevent Gregory from dragging her any further. He tugs on her to no avail. Vanessa isn't going anywhere.
Gregory reluctantly gasps in a fresh breath of air.
"My friend is at the Pizzaplex and somebody talked her into deactivating the security nodes," he says more clearly, "Got it?"
Vanessa nods.
"Whoever it was - maybe that… Thing below the pizza? Which would be really bad if it was that." Gregory and Vanessa share a knowing look, "Got her to deactivate all the security nodes and now she's down under the sinkhole! Freddy and I tried to stop her but we couldn't and now she's all alone down there and we have to help her NOW!"
Vanessa says something that would normally prompt Gregory to demand she added a significant amount of money to their swear jar. He, however, decides that the situation will probably call for a great deal of swearing before all is said and done. Who is he to stand in the way of progress?
“So, uh,” Vanessa begins after a moment of awkward silence, “Now that I've had a chance to process all of… that… Have you ever wanted to hack into Freddy's restricted files?”
“Have I ever,” Gregory replies, stepping into the living room where Freddy is staring hopelessly at the monitor. “But how is that gonna help Cassie? It's not like hacking Freddy will turn him into some epic ninja bot or anything.”
Vanessa draws up a chair next to Gregory and Freddy.
“All of the animatronics are programmed with maps of all areas within the pizzplex grounds, from the VIP areas to the parking lot. Including the restricted ones, the ones no one is supposed to know about.”
“Why don't I have any knowledge of this?” Freddy questions. Vanessa looks uncomfortable for a moment.
“Let's just say the map program for these areas is only triggered once you hit a certain point. It's designed to make you forget the exact details once you've returned to the main pizzplex. For… Security purposes.”
“I… See.”
“Erm. Anyway, I was thinking we could use the maps to find your friend and get her out of there before something bad happens,” Vanessa explains.
“Okay if we poke around in your head a bit?” Gregory asks Freddy. Using the maps seems like their best shot. If they can get through to Cassie, that is.
“I suppose so. Just be careful not to cross too many wires or send me into cowboy mode again,” the bear relents. It's not like he has a choice, really. But he does so hate it when people mess with his programming.
“Freddy! Now is so not the time!” Gregory isn't proud of some of the places his curiosity has taken him. Vanessa clears her throat, interrupting their rabbit trail of distraction before it can continue.
“Focus, you two. Now, once we get access to Freddy's maps, we'll need a way to contact Cassie. Any ideas?”
The trio is silent for a time. Hacking deactivated bots didn't seem to be working earlier. There are no intercoms in the sinkhole. Only…
“Wait! I got it,”Gregory jumps up, “Cassie had one of those Fazbear Entertainment walkie talkies with her. I think I still have one in my room. We just need to find the right frequency!”
“You go get that while I get Freddy hooked up,” Vanessa instructs. With the speed at which he takes off, she is suddenly reminded why it was so difficult to catch Gregory at the pizzplex.
It doesn't take Gregory long to dig through the box of ‘spy equipment’ located at the back of his closet. He retrieves the walkie talkie and whacks it a few times to ensure that the (finicky) batteries are jammed in all the way. Satisfied with his work, he returns to the others. The first channel they try manages to get a response from the twins a few houses down, who are playing capture the flag. The second channel somehow connects them with all the police car radios within a 50 mile radius? Fazbear Entertainment probably needs to do something about that. Not that they care enough to do so. It would be a fascinating development for Gregory if there weren't more pressing matters. (He'll have to revisit this later).
The third channel is static. So much static. They're about to move on to channel number 4 when someone on the other end asks, “Gregory? Is that really you? I mean REALLY you?”
Cassie. She's not dead! (yet)
No one is surprised by her question. She's clearly had a run in with It. Gregory does his best to explain while the others jump into action. They move quickly, overriding the programming that usually blocks Freddy's maps as Cassie races through tunnel after tunnel. Vanessa and Freddy relay as many details as they can to Gregory, who practically shouts into the walkie talkie. Occasionally, they can hear It running in the distance, trying to catch up to Cassie. Thunk! Crash!
“Go right! Go right!”
“OK. Tell her there should be an elevator just up ahead,” Vanessa finally announces after what feels like hours of navigation.
“Almost there!” Gregory tells Cassie. She's so close to being safe. So close. They hear the elevator doors grind open and the sound of Cassie stepping inside.
“We did it!” Gregory screams, relieved. He hugs Freddie (who doesn't seem to mind) and Vanessa (who is more than a little surprised). Figuring Cassie probably needs a little more context for whatever horrors she's just experienced, Gregory begins to tell her what little he knows about It. But then… He hears another voice on the walkie talkie. A voice that sounds exactly like him. And a sinking feeling fills his very soul. It has something truly awful planned for Cassie. Gregory just knows it.
It's in this moment that Gregory truly learns what it means to be powerless. Never in his life has he been so totally unable to do anything to affect his circumstances. There's always an option. Running away, biting someone, simply using Google. Even when he himself was at the Pizzaplex, there was always something he could do to save himself. But this time… No matter what he does… No matter how many buttons he mashes trying to take charge of the elevator's controls… There is nothing he can do to stop the elevator's plummet into parts unknown as he listens to Cassie's screams.
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satureja13 · 1 month
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The Friendship between: Saiwa and Vlad
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Like Vlad and Jack, Saiwa and Vlad met at the Space (Balls) Bar & Grill & 'Residence'.
They have a very solid friendship and respect each other. Usually one of them is reasonable and able to talk the other into doing the right thing or out of making wrong decisions and usually the other listens.
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Saiwa is a reluctant leader (no one except himself ever questioned his abilities to lead them, neither the Boys themselves nor the Resistance) and often questions his position in the group and it's a burden for him. He's glad that he can ask Vlad (and Kiyoshi) for advice.
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And he also thinks that Vlad would be a better leader (also no one else shares this opinion lol and Vlad would be shocked if he knew about this. He has more than enough problems, is an introvert and prefers quiet activities like painting and writing over herding a bunch of weirdos out of control ö.Ö') More about this (and more ^^') here (under the cut) and here (also under the cut).
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Aside of all their hardships, they also are a very handsome pairing (=the visuals of the group ;) (Romance Level: Below Zero) At Mount Komorebi
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In our Heidi Special I love the way they look at each other.
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And a very funny one! That was when we made the Simtimates Collection Special at the end of the Sabotage Chapter: Sai joked about what if Ms Coombes, their teacher (Vlad is her favourite) ever sees these pics hahaha. (And a few weeks later she said she really saw them! omg ^^')
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And that was at the 6 month anniversary of our story ^w^ Hissing and growling with the yeti :3
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And in the Jungle of Selvadorada
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After Vlad died, it had been Saiwa who refused accepting it and kept on investigating. He even dragged Jeb to DEATH's Domain to find out what happened to him.
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And that was when Saiwa and the Gang Doctor 'encouraged' Vlad to tighten the Bond with Ji Ho :3 (Ah I really enjoy doing this series, we had so much fun! And it keeps me busy and from worrying until I have my new computer and if everything goes well ^^')
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And no one ever found out which song it was...
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The only fights they had (and I remember) were before Ji Ho and Vlad tightened the bond. This was at the beginning when Vlad wanted to avoid Ji Ho:
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And this was when Giga/Saiwa had sent Ji Ho to Vlad's room to take a bath and Vlad was upset because he feared to lose control ^^' (It had been Saiwa who dragged Ji Ho to the Space Bar and Saiwa was the first who predicted their epic love story at the first they they'd met)
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Oh and the epic fight they had that faithful day when Vlad decided to bond with Morgan to spare Ji Ho from doing Bond Magic... Sai and Jack had been so mad at Vlad, they didn't speak with him for months ö.Ö' (this stupid action also lead to the Boys' separation and a few weeks later they swore to not have any secrets from each other to avoid further harm).
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This is one of the few things they'll never agree on I fear. Saiwa wants to use their Bond magic for doing good and Vlad wants to spare Ji Ho from doing it.
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Their Friendships (in chronological order):
Giga/Saiwa and Jack
Vlad and Jack (updated)
Giga/Saiwa and Vlad
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Vlad and Sai at Tartosa
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Vlad and Sai dancing together in our Goth Special
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In chronological order: 🫛 Saiwa and Jack 🫛 Vlad and Jack 🫛 Saiwa and Vlad 🫛 Kiyoshi and Jeb 🫛 Saiwa and Ji Ho 🫛 Ji Ho and Jack 🫛 Ji Ho and Jeb 🫛 Ji Ho and Kiyoshi 🫛 Vlad and Kiyoshi 🫛 Vlad and Jeb 🫛 Saiwa and Kiyoshi 🫛 Jack and Jeb
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❤️‍🔥 Ji Ho and Vlad (and Luci) ❤️‍🔥 Saiwa and Jeb ❤️‍🔥 Jack and Kiyoshi ❤️‍🔥 Noxee and Greg ❤️‍🔥 Leander and Wesley (and Vlad) ❤️‍🔥 Francine Spencer (Jeb's Grandmother) and Jules Rico
From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🕹️ 'Therapy Game' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28
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janec23 · 9 months
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New intro with WIPs
Hello everyone and nice to meet you!
I decided to do a new introduction including my WIPs, since it was about time. I am Janec, 31, she/her, plant biotechnologist, climate change anxious. 
If you have questions about plants for your WIPs, including GMOs, bio-techniques, plant physiology feel free to ask :) I love carnivorous plants, so if you have them in your work bonus points!
I’m an extremely emphatic person, which means it’s easy (most of the time) for me to understand other people and their feelings, so I’m always open to help, listen and encourage others, I just need to be away from emotional vampires and drama queens O.O but I love them as well :)
I read everything except extreme violence and gore, and I am happy to read your WIPs, so don’t be shy about them! I am open for ask and tag games! I am already behind, but I will do them all ^^'
More under the cut
About my writing: 
I dealt with emotions and feelings from other people all my life, so I also deal with them in my WIPs, since this is what I know best ;)
I mostly write novels for teenagers, romance and occasionally erotica. 
Most common tropes: family, friends, found love, self discovery, female condition and healing from trauma or past events.
I hate toxic relationships portrayed as romantic, so you won’t find them here.
I grew up in a small christian village, so there was not so much variety of people there, which is also reflected in my early works, now that I am out of there I found out how colorful and various is the world! 
So I’m trying to put a diverse cast in my work (yes, even monsters), even if I’m always afraid of hurting someone from such communities (So please, help me understand and correct my mistakes!)
I have tons of WIPs, but I will focus on two for now, I am horrible with summaries so they might sounds boring XD
My WIPs:
Echoes in Cosmos
It’s a sci-fi romance from enemies - to therapy - to friends- to lovers. It’s set in a post-apocalyptic, post-climate change and post-nuclear war scenario.
The protagonists are Robin a cold mechanical engineer from Kepler and Corinna a earthling with special powers and a boring life. Their story is complicated and a bit twisted, especially because they both have unsolved issued with their family, their society or themselves and Robin is sent to Earth to fight, capture and study Corinna. (Great start!)
Main themes: a bit of world-building, trauma and healing, second chances, found love and few +18 scenes that I will not post here.
First chapter here on AO3
The boarding student (title may change, since I don't like it)
It’s a super slow burn romance set up in a regency french setting. William is a 17 years old marquise, by education he knows what is a gentleman and how he should behave. What he doesn’t know is that people are more variegated than he thinks and less inclined to be put into boxes, so when he’s forced to enrolled in the College of Holy Abbots, he’s in for a big change in his life. A change that Julien is more than happy to provide. 
Main themes: friendship, family, love, inclusion, broken stereotypes and teenage vibes. (I am currently translating it in english for a friend)
I will eventually post some snippets from other WIPs if I feel like it ;)
This is something I'm really proud of ^^
Or you can ask something from my WIP folder here!
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mikithelibrarian · 2 years
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It Takes Two | Chapter One - BLACKPINK Jennie - GN! Reader
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Being a streamer has brought you your happiest in your life, even bringing you the opportunity of meeting and dating your favorite idol, Jennie Kim. After some months of dating and pressure from your fans, you've decided to share a part of your relationship with Jennie through a very popular game for couples called It Takes Two. However, your intentions may not have brought the result you wanted Disclaimer: It Takes Two is a property of Hazelight Studios and Electronic Arts as its publisher
Being one of the biggest streamers in the world isn’t as easy as people might think, it is not just sitting in front of a screen and commenting a videogame but it also takes a lot of creativity and a special spark to maintain people’s attention for hours and hours with only your words and actions. Fortunately for you, you had everything to be just that.
Of course, there will be haters, especially since your girlfriend is the one and only Jennie Kim, a member of BLACKPINK. People saying that your fame came from her instead of your personality, people comparing your numbers with other big streamers, saying you were just lucky and that sometime you’re gonna fail, that you’re gonna have to retire, yada yada. Apparently, they like to ignore that your numbers have been increasing constantly during the months and thus your average viewers.
However, these kind of things just don’t come for free. Sometimes you have to succumb to your audience’s wishes like playing a game that is trending or talking about certain topics pertaining to your job or the ones surrounding you, maybe surrendering a little bit of your privacy in exchange of people’s interest, but the last popular request you’ve been getting lowkey excited you.
There was a new game around called It Takes Two. It was described as couple therapy made into a game. Now, you didn’t have problems with Jennie in your relationship but the game also featured heart-warming messages and a story that will make you work as a team, since one character is controlled exclusively by Jennie and the other character was controlled by you, not being possible to play the game without one another.
Little by little, this idea started forming in your head. You already knew when you will propose this idea, the time you will be spending in the game, the days you both would play and a little bit of convincing arguments such as a constant request from both of your fandoms to reveal a little bit more of your relationship. Although you didn’t need all these planning and arguments to convince her.
Jennie accepted immediately, seeing this not only as an opportunity to pass quality time with you but also experiment first-hand one of the things that made you the happiest in the world. Hype and excitement for what was to come slowly filled up her spirit, maybe, a little too much, but you couldn’t say you weren’t as excited as her.
“What are you doing baby?” You asked as you saw her on the couch of your shared apartment’s living room. 
“Practicing” As you got closer behind the couch you could see her playing PUBG in her phone, her eyes moving around the small screen trying to collect as much details as possible.
“Do you have another sponsor event?” She shook her head.
“I’m practicing for that game you mentioned…” You were a little confused for some seconds before realizing which game she was talking about.
“For It Takes Two?” She nodded. You simply smiled at her attempts to make your collaboration as good as she possibly can. “Love, the game we are going to play is much less competitive than that and it’s not a mobile game”
“Of course I know that, I’m practicing my reflexes and hand-eye coordination” You shrugged your shoulders and kissed her nape.
“Good luck then”
At that, you just went towards the kitchen for a quick snack while taking out your phone to text a particular person that might have put these training ideas into your girlfriend’s head.
Turtle Rabbit
(Y/N): So, were you the one that put Jennie to practice on PUBG?
Turtle Rabbit: No…
Turtle Rabbit: Maybe
Turtle Rabbit: It was that or having her on my room all day for the last week
(Y/N): What’s wrong with that?
Turtle Rabbit: I don’t trust anyone with my saves
Turtle Rabbit: I also wanted to play all day!
(Y/N): Understandable
(Y/N): But PUBG…?
(Y/N): And what’s that about hand-eye coordination?
Turtle Rabbit: I had to convince her somehow…
Turtle Rabbit: I didn’t actually believe she would fall for that
Turtle Rabbit: She is that excited to play with you!
(Y/N): I’m happy I think
(Y/N): But if she discovers what you did
(Y/N): I’m not gonna cover you up
(Y/N): I also want to live
Turtle Rabbit: Traitor
You laughed a little before saving your phone and grabbing a cereal bar from one of the counters before returning to the living room.
“I’m starting the stream in five minutes, do you want to accompany or do you want me to call you when it’s time to play?” Jennie remained silent for some seconds before answering.
“Call me when it’s time to play” Although a little bit disappointed, you smiled and nodded, even if she wasn’t seeing you.
“Got it”
And so, you started the stream alone, much to the confusion of some of your viewers which were expecting Jennie to be there from the start, but you calmed their questions just by saying that Jennie was preparing herself, that she was nervous to be in a new environment with you. After that, you continued talking with your audience for an hour, noticing how the chat was going faster than normal since a lot more people were watching since you’ve been promoting this day for the last week. Up until the moment arrived.
You went out of your streaming studio and called Jennie from up the hallway, getting surprised when instead of coming from the living room, Jennie actually got out from your shared bedroom with light make-up and comfy but still fashionable clothing.
“You look as beautiful as ever” You smiled at her and she returned the gesture with those loving eyes that have hypnotized you since the first time.
You invited her to your studio and offered her a seat in a gaming chair you bought just for her and this exact moment. As soon as she entered into the camera view, the chat went ecstatic with hearts, compliments and encouraging comments for both of you. Some even were addressing the obvious nervousness in your girlfriend’s eyes but you both just laughed it off and talk with your audience for a few minutes and addressed the positive donations you were getting.
Of course, there were haters but your mods actually got rid of them in seconds, despite the big flow of comments, and while you could limit how many could participate in the chat and control the limit of messages a single person can send in a short amount of time, you reject the former idea and went with a one message per person every five seconds, understanding the excitement of everyone.
After that, it finally started. Jennie, per her request, chose May, the female character of the game and you chose Cody, the male character of the game. It all started as amusing as she pictured, but, well, that was the peak of her excitement.
As time went on, she started to feel kind of bored. It was a good game, that was for sure, but, she saw nothing special in it. Apart from that, the environment around her didn’t help, you were as supporting as ever, but just the feeling of you having to pause the game to help her understand how it worked, the occasional hate in the chat because of her clumsiness, you having to limit the people that could comment on the chat and finally, she saw nothing different between being an idol doing Vlives and this. Knowing Internet, this was noticed and oh my, did it cause controversy.
A popular image was suddenly trending on Twitter, you smiling as a bright as the sunshine and her, looking unamused, serious, as if she didn’t have any real interest in the game. Your true fans defended her, saying that it was obvious something like this could happen, saying her mind blocked at the new environment, a whole lot information going into her head, having a lot of attention for 5+ hours and a lot of stimuli going around.
Of course, after the stream was done and you saw this, you defended her immediately and tweeted that it was just as your fans were saying. It was a new environment for her, that’s it. However, you still talked with her afterwards.
“Did you have fun?” You asked her as night had come and you both laid on your bed, ready for a goodnight’s sleep.
“Of course baby” She cuddled into your chest and hid her face on your neck. “You know what they say about my resting face, I was just trying to understand the game and follow the story, that was all”
“I’m glad then” You started to caress her head. “I just got worried there for a second, I thought maybe you didn’t enjoy the game and was thinking about changing it for another”
“I love the game; you don’t need to do that” She lied. Of course, she’s going to lie. She could see your face while you both were playing, you were truly happy and got very sweet and romantic with her with every cute scene that passed in the game. It is not as if you weren’t romantic, but these shows of affection carried a different meaning. That of eternity. She felt awful that she couldn’t share that meaning with you in that moment. But maybe tomorrow she’ll be able to, Hopefully…
Next part
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silcoitus · 5 months
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TMSA 26-27 Delay
I hate making this type of post, but I also know that it's better to miss a self-imposed arbitrary deadline than to share a chapter that I'm not proud of.
I had said before that I aimed to get chapters 26 and 27 posted at the end of November and December respectively. I will likely be missing those deadlines. I had finished writing 26, but through the course of writing 27, there are some things that need to be completely rewritten in 26. I'm struggling with certain scenes/resolutions and I'm realizing it's because the pacing wasn't right and therefore the characters' actions felt rushed and unnatural. I want to get this right the first time. I don't want to have to rewrite this story after it's been shared. (Not that there's anything wrong with it; I just personally don't want to.)
So, in the interest of giving myself some breathing room, I'm not setting a release date for these last chapters. While setting the deadline was beneficial a few months ago because it helped me focus, it's now detrimental because it's making me rush through the end for the sake of meeting it.
Yes, I know, perfection is the enemy of good. But I also don't want to give you a BAD ending. And it's not like I have stock holders breathing down my neck to get this shipped out like some AAA video game.
Thanks for your patience and understanding. Thanks for being wonderful readers. Thanks for staying with me during my most ambitious writing project ever. And special thanks to @purplefangirl42 and @ink-and-dagger for putting up with my DMs where I spew all manner of imposter syndrome and doubt. Send me your invoices so I can pay you back for the therapy lol I can pay you in Silco gifs and smut drabbles.
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walkawaytall · 7 months
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For the fic ask game:
16. Is there a commonly held misconception about one of your stories that you’d like to correct for the masses? (I know of one and thought you might want an excuse to say it. 😎)
17. What does your editing process look like?
16. So, I think I actually may have touched on this answering number 20 (at least if I'm thinking of the same conversation that you are about Han's motivations in Purpose of Heritage thus far)? And, aside from that, I don't think there have been many widely-held misconceptions -- though there have definitely been different responses to certain things than I expected (like, more than one person saw Reconstitution as a bit of a downer and that was...the exact opposite of my intent with that story...but we all bring our own experiences to the stories we read, so I'm not going to say their reading is wrong per se, just that I intended for the ending of that rather melancholy fic to have a hopeful slant to it, even in the midst of life's imperfections).
Oh! Actually, I though of another one: there are moments in Purpose of Heritage specifically where Leia's straight-up wrong. Like, she is our heroine, our main character, our beloved space princes, but she's also 19/20/21 years old and traumatized and very specifically not dealing with said trauma in healthy ways at least 50% of the time (her eschewing therapy repeatedly is not supposed to be viewed as a super-great alternative to, you know, going to therapy), and there have been moments that people have clocked as Leia being a badass -- and they aren't wrong -- but I also see them as Leia's cool, together facade cracking in a way that isn't good technically.
Like, we love Leia, so the scene at the shooting range where she uses Varner Coy's blaster to shoot a line of bullseyes does feel badass and empowering and a little cathartic because that guy has been a jerk, but it's also Leia losing her cool entirely and giving into an impulsivity that I don't see as a good thing for someone in leadership to do. I didn't stick immediate consequences in there because I'm not writing an after-school special, but...just because Leia doesn't always have negative consequences for a thing doesn't mean that I included it with the intent that it was supposed to be seen as totally awesome, full-stop. Sometimes it's partially awesome, and partially a big red flag. And maybe I should be more obvious about this; I don't know. I just am not writing a morality tale exactly, so I don't want to steer the narrative into an area that makes it feel clunky or preachy.
17. For normal-length things like one-shots or Collateral, a multichapter with chapters that are a sane length (4K-6K words): I write the thing, I read the thing and edit as I read. I may or may not edit while I write; it depends on how long it is, how long it takes me to write, if any parts are giving me issues. (Like, if I get really, really stuck, I'll start on a fresh document and copy/paste different sentences and paragraphs until I can get back into a good rhythm, and in the midst of all of that, editing happens as well). I basically read and edit things several times until I'm either 1. Entirely happy with it (rare) or 2. Tired of looking at it and no longer debating about changing anything (more common).
For Purpose of Heritage, I did an unhinged and probably short-sighted thing where I wrote what was originally two chapters, decided I preferred them together, and combined them, setting a precedent for myself to write chapters that are 8K-10K words long (and that is legitimately where I've felt each chapter has a natural stopping point -- like, I'm not padding stuff to get to a certain word count. Most of the chapters, I suppose, could be split in half, but we're so far beyond that at this point, I'm just resigned to writing giant-ass chapters until this project is complete). I used to reread everything every time I set out to write a new chapter to try to ensure I didn't go off-the-rails tonally, but when that became too cumbersome, I think you were the one that mentioned having your phone read what you'd written aloud, and I use that not just to review past chapters, but also to edit (so, thank you for that suggestion if that was you, DP!). It helps me identify clunky wording and sometimes straight-up inconsistencies.
So, I usually write and edit as I write, then reread the whole chapter and edit, have my phone read it and mentally dogear what needs to be looked at and edit those pieces when I can, and then read it another time and occasionally have a beta reader (thanks for the times you've helped with this, by the way!) assure me that I haven't gone off the rails entirely if I keep worrying about one particular aspect, edit again with any beta reader suggestions in mind, and finally publish when I'm either as pleased as I'm going to be with it or I can't bring myself to read it again. I do usually try to make sure there is at least a night where I ignore the chapter entirely before doing one final editing pass-through before I post. Giving my brain a chance to not think about it helps me catch errors I missed on earlier read-throughs, and also usually helps me realize that I haven't, in fact, written a pile of garbage.
Thanks for the questions! Sorry these answers are so dang long!
fanfic writer asks
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