#the imprint of a fancy carpet

[lepusrufus]

Cass will comfortably lay on the fancy couch in her dirty hunting clothes only to immediately jump up and get off as she hears Alcina's footsteps. You know what mothers are like with dirt on furniture.

She doesn't tire easily, but if it was a particularly long and taxing hunt she may not even bother getting up. She hears the booming steps and just rolls down the couch like a dead cat

Alcina comes in to find her middle daughter face down on the expensive carpet, covered in mud, and the adjacent couch with a Cassandra shaped mud imprint on it.

"I got us a huge ass buck!" Muffled from where she's plopped down on the floor

Alcina has to forgive her lmao

[suestoscribbles]

The Ramble

It was surprisingly hot, for English weather. That's what everyone I met on the coastal path told me as I wound my way along the public footpaths of the Jurassic Coast that week. The sun climbed high in the sky for each glorious summer day, lingering for hours late into the evenings. It was a beautiful time to ramble and camp, taking photos and combing the beaches in the hope of finding little fossils. The days were pleasantly repetitive in a way. I'd eat and pack up at dawn, hiking until mid-afternoon so that I could enjoy the evening in a new place. A little swim if it struck my fancy, or a nap in my hammock if I was lucky enough to find a spot to set it up. I'd have dinner in a pub if I was close to a town and felt like being sociable. Those were rare; this trip was never supposed to be a solo hike but I wasn't interested in filling the gap I felt. Thursday was a rough day. The pub dinner on Wednesday turned into an accidental drunken night when I met a pair of ramblers going in the opposite direction. A drink with dinner turned into several bottles of wine between the three of us, then beers at the campsite where they were also staying. We shared stories of sunsets, of placidly curious livestock, and of hikes in our dreams. I woke up late with a nail in my head and a carpet in my mouth. They had already gone. I set off for the day's journey later than I wanted to, but wasn't feeling anxious about time. My breakfast bread was half-eaten, though I didn't remember having a midnight snack. I stopped in the next town for more bread and cheese, and some juice to try and settle my stomach. Maybe it was the hangover, or maybe it was a sign of things to come, but the edges of my vision were dancing and wavering by early afternoon. I stopped at a campsite I had hoped to use anyway, the hot weather vindicating my choice. The wooded spot was a perfect place for cool respite in the hammock for the rest of the afternoon. I settled in without much fuss - pack leaning against one tree and shoes at the base of another. I could hear the distant chatter of a family with small kids and the little creaking sounds of tree branches rubbing as they swayed in the wind. The air smelled better in the cool of the shade, a bit more damp and a bit more green. It was a welcome change from the day's dominant smell of sundried sheep. The world became gentler in those moments, and in thinking about it now I suppose that sleep came on me stealthily, smoothing over the roughness of the day and the grief of the previous months. The wind blew a little stronger, but a little less purposefully. My unfocused eyes started picking faces out of the patterns of leaves and flower petals as they swirled above me, over the top of the hammock. A parade of lost lives flowed past me, snatches of their voices carried on the wind. They looked worried. I couldn't find it in me to care about their worry. All was comfort around me, for what felt like the first time. The air fell still for a moment and surged again, churning petals alone - tulip poplar petals? It was my sister's face, right in front of me. I felt her weight distort the curve of the hammock as she shared it with me for the moment. Her face. Her face formed of tulip poplar petals, the petals that fell around us in the summertime as children when we shared dinosaur facts and dreamed of camping everywhere. Her perfect face, clear of fear and pain. She smiled. I spoke first, apologizing. She never made it here, this which was to be our inaugural camping hike in the big wide world. Her eyes were sad and she waved the apology away, forgotten. She thanked me for the bread that morning, the gift that let her come to me now. We talked, like I wish we had talked before she was dying. Before she was gone. The way of dreams is strange. All of the details of a single moment imprinted indelibly just before an hour of time spent which drops through time like the dive of a hawk. That conversation passed just so, and then she cocked her floral head. "You should probably go now. If you forget to wake up again, I'll

never let you leave." Her weight was suddenly gone, and as I opened my eyes to the late evening sky I fell to the ground, a clump of petals in my hand. For the first time since I started the hike, I lost some of my guilt and dread at seeing my family again at the end of it. It was only later that I noticed, while I showed them the pictures, that I hadn't seen a single tulip poplar. Short story based on the following post from@one-time-i-dreamt I was sitting in my hammock, when a woman made out of petals breezed through. She sat with me for a while and then told me, "You should probably go now. If you forget to wake up again, I'll never let you leave."

[cherrydreamer]

They were going. Finally getting out of Hawkins. Him and Steve together. They had a house, all their own. Not quite a sea view, but a sea smell when the wind was right. One bed, one bath. Small, cosy and Theirs. And Billy wouldn't miss Cherry Lane.  Most of the objects in the house had left imprints on him in ways he'd rather forget, and anything of value had been safely stashed with Steve months ago.  So he couldn't wait to slam that door for the last time and never look back.

But.

Steve's house was harder to leave behind. Steve's mom had insisted they take as much fancy crockery and cookware as they could cram in the car, and Billy knew that she’d be sending more and more boxes along for the next few weeks. A few things, to get you two started. Help you out in the early days. 

But that wasn’t what he was going to miss.  It was the bricks and mortar.  The rooms. The memories they held. 

"We'll be back for Christmas," Steve had said with a roll of his eyes, "It's not like we'll never see it again."

But Billy still insisted on giving the place a proper goodbye.  He knew you had to. That you shouldn't just leave without saying something. Shouldn't assume you could come back and find things as you left them. Waiting for you. Things don’t always stay. So off he went. Hand in hand with Steve, taking one final tour of his favourite places.

Steve's bathroom It was where it started. Where they started. So Billy starts it there too. "Remember when," he let his fingers drift along the sink, "you found me? That night?" Billy stumbling at the side of the road. A twisted ankle where he’d fallen wrong. A bloodied nose, a black eye and a couple of cracked ribs. Harsh words ringing in his ears. Nowhere left to go when he was caught like a deer in the headlights of a red Beemer. Picked up and patched up under Steve's expert care. Put back together, piece by piece. Tender fingers stroking over tender places, healing everywhere they touched. "First piece of good luck I'd ever had," Billy looked up at the mirror, at the two of them together, "You being out there, finding me." 

 The guest room next. A quick visit. He'd only spent one night here. Half of one, technically. But it had meant something, the ease at which Steve offered it.  The security of a door which locked from the inside and the nicest sheets that he'd ever seen, expensive cotton going to waste on a bed no one used.  Not even him. In the end. Not when there was a better offer next door. 

Egyptian cotton no match for Hawkins skin.

On they go.  Billy retracing his footsteps. Out of the guest room, padding across soft carpet and into softer arms.

Steve's bedroom went without saying. But Billy wanted to say it.  Wanted to rhapsodise about the nights and days spent on plaid sheets. And the sex.  Of course the sex. Two teenage boys in a bed together with hormones and hands and mouths and time.  The stain still on the pillow from that first night, when Steve’s tongue reopened the split on Billy’s lip. Stubborn. Indelible. Undeniable. 

But it was more than that. It was falling asleep next to Steve. Wrapped up in Steve. Surrounded by him. Entangled and entwined.  The mornings when he would wake in Steve's arms. Safe. No yelling or banging on the door to rouse him, just the sunlight filtering through the curtains and the breathiest of snores ruffling his hair. Mornings when he didn't have to jump straight out of bed but instead could lie there, tracing lazy patterns on Steve's skin, watching the flicker of his eyelids as he started to wake, see the smile growing as he realised Billy was there. 

A smile just for Billy. Because of Billy. "Morning, sunshine." He could hear it every day and never be tired of it. He would hear it every day.

 They made quick work of the downstairs rooms.  The kitchen was easy. The burnt toast when Steve had been distracted by Billy’s mouth. The burnt bacon when he’d been distracted by Billy’s hands. The full cups of coffee, left to go cold when they realised that they weren’t that hungry after all. The smoke alarm that called them back, charred remains of eggs in a pan they'd thrown away, hidden right at the bottom of the bin."Still owe you a pan," Billy smirked.“Still owe you that breakfast,” Steve countered, “First morning in the new place. I promise." 

The dining room was less obvious.  “Our anniversary?” Steve guessed, and Billy thought back.

The table, set for two- Grandma Harrington’s finest crockery. The crystal glasses, the kind that rang out when Billy tapped them. Heavy crockery. White linen. Lit candles. The good wine. Steve’s cooking. Much less burnt when Billy stayed away. Nothing gourmet- sauces from a jar- but everything made with love. With care. The dessert that Billy knew was his mom’s apple pie. Knew it from the first bite. Remembered the little recipe card that he’d given to Steve for safekeeping. The one he’d never dared try to replicate.

It had been heaven.

But.

No.

“The family dinners, actually.” Billy explained, leaning back against the bare oak table. “Talking with your Mom, about her charity stuff, all those causes. Think she was trying to save the whole damn town." He stops then, voice a little shaky.  Steve comes to stand next to him, pulls him close as he continues, "And those...discussions with your Dad," 

Because Richard Harrington liked to talk. Proper talk. About issues and events and headlines.  Steve had always complained about it. Hated the formality when he’d rather grab a pizza and slob out in front of the television. Got antsy with the conversations, the questions, the rapid fire discussion.

But Billy had loved it. Being listened to. His voice being encouraged. The more vocal, the better because Richard Harrington lived for a debate. Billy had struggled at first, to contradict, to push, to make his case. Yes, sir, you're right, sir, I'm sorry, sir. But Richard had coaxed, had prised out Billy's opinions and held them up to the light.  Let them shine. "Hadn't thought of it like that, Billy. You make a good point."  The two of them staying at the table long after the plates were cleared because it wasn't just about the food.

It was about family. 

And that led Billy to one more room. One more memory. Up the stairs once more. Pausing on the landing just outside Steve’s parents’ bedroom. Steve stayed quiet. Confused.  And Billy hesitated. Remembered that night

Remembered the shock of stumbling to Steve's, only to find Steve's car gone, only one light on in a window that had never been lit before. Remembered standing on the driveway and blinking away tears of frustration, of desperation when,

The door opened.  Not Steve. Close, though. The same shining hair. Longer, a little curlier, just as striking. The eyes, just as big, as brown and with the same way of looking at Billy like she could see right through him. "He's out with his father," that warm voice, the hint of a European accent that Billy never could pin down, even when his ears weren't ringing. “Dinner. Boy talk."  She laughed, and it seemed to flow towards him as a golden haze. 

She was in a robe, Silk, elegant. Hair still up in curls, Beautiful.  Standing in the doorway, Alone. Eyes on him. And Billy had felt sick. Hadn’t wanted to taint the one safe place he had. His sanctuary.

And he wouldn't. He couldn't. 

But.

He'd know that she'd tried. He'd always know it. Because he knew how this went.

And then it Hadn't. She didn't. 

Instead, she'd taken a step forward. Enough to see him in the porch light. That glow that made everything look worse. Darkened the bruises and shone off the blood, the tears.

He always knew when Steve noticed. How his fingers would flutter, how he'd hold himself back from touching. How his brow furrowed for a split second, a flash of fury aimed outwards, beyond Billy, so piercing that Billy wondered if Neil felt it, if he lurched awake in bed clutching at his heart.

And then everything would settle.  Action mode. Hero mode. The hair isn't the only thing Steve gets from his mother.

"Billy?" The concern always made it hurt worse. "I can just...sorry…I'll go."  But he didn’t move. Couldn’t pick a direction. Didn't have anywhere to go.

"I've got a cream that might help." She hadn’t needed to ask Billy to follow her.  Steve never did either.

But it was when they carried on past the bathroom, almost over the threshold into Mr and Mrs Harrington's bedroom, that Billy had faltered. He’d pictured the mud, the footprints, the mess his boots would make on that pale pink carpet. Couldn’t bring his kind of filth in there. "Mrs. Harrington, you don't have to-" "Of course I do,"  And she had.  Had taken his hand so gently and led him in. Sat him down on the padded stool. He’d looked around, Anything to keep his eyes away from the vanity, the mirror with the pretty lights all around the edge, his reflection. Pink. Frills. Silk and lace. Delicate and soft. And then. Her fingers on his face. "Steve's told me a lot," she’d said, “not everything.” Her lips pressed together as she dabbed at the cut on his eyebrow. The sting of the alcohol was nothing compared to the warmth of her fingers cupping his chin, turning his head so slightly into the light.  “But enough for me to work it out.” Billy had flinched at that, ready for whatever came next, but her gentle touch never altered as she applied the cream, “He’s so happy with you, Billy. You’re good for him. You love him. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted him to have. All a mother ever wants for her child. Happiness and love.” The cap is back on the cream. Her fingers are back on his face, cupping his cheek. Kind. Motherly. Loving. “All I want for you too.”

He cried then,  Hot tears pouring down his face. He saw them drip on her hands before he even realised they’d left his eyes. She brushed them away so carefully and held him close, one hand in his hair, stroking, holding him until he stopped shaking. Moving away only to come back and press a key into his hand, Identical to the one Steve had given him after that first night. "You come here, Billy, whenever you need. This is your house too, your home."

And now he was leaving. And Billy cried again as he’d cried then. Sudden and silent. Hadn't even realised until Steve's fingers were wiping the tears away, just as carefully, his voice whispering reassurance, comfort.

“We’ll be back, baby, I promise. Every holiday, every chance. Bunking up together in that tiny bed, burning the bottom out of another pan, you and my dad arguing over the stock market while me and mom drink all the wine. It’s not gonna go, it’ll all still be here, baby, for years and years.”

And Billy knew that he was right. That this was different. That here, he could come back anytime and he’d be welcome.  Safe. Loved.

And he’d never had that before. But it was...it was good.  Kinda nice to have something to miss. Nicer still to know it wasn’t going to go away.

He sniffed, pulled back from Steve’s shoulder, “Yeah, it’s not...not long until Christmas is it?” 

And Steve smiled.

��It’ll fly, baby.” 

[obeymeaskme]

Obey Me!: Human and Demon Hearts!

A/N: lol, I fell asleep when I was supposed to upload this. Anyway, remember to check my pinned post for all the chapters!

Chapter 5: Asmo Needs a Savior! (1/2)

Word count: 1,329

Rating: 18+

It was only a couple months since Bella and Noelle had, unintentionally, made it into the RAD program. The mess over Noelle's magical barrier had been completely resolved and the bond between everyone got stronger. While Noelle and Leviathan spent their time catching up on the latest anime and video games, Bella and Belphegor already had their own friendship blossoming. Even with Beelzebub in tow, it was apparent they were getting closer.

During one evening, on a particular calm day, the peace in the house was broken.

"AHHHHH!"

The sounds of heavy objects and screeching could be heard throughout the house. The high pitched scream came from none other than Asmodeus. Already in a frantic panic, he was spotted on his bed by Belphegor and Bella. The sight was amusing as Asmo was on his hands and knees trying to peer over the foot of his bed. Once he realized the two had been standing there snickering, he took the opportunity to ask for a saviour.

"Don't just stand there and laugh! Help me! I'm in obvious peril!"

Bella shrugged at Belphegor after they scanned the room. Nothing seemed out of place and no one was in sight. Belphie suppressed his chuckle as he investigated the situation.

"What is it that has you so spooked?"

"It's a creepy little rodent! I think it's one of those scummy little dust eaters!"

Bella looked at Asmo confused.

"What's a Dust Eater?"

"Oh hunny! They're nasty little vermin that like to eat dust and chew through cotton and wool, and more importantly my clothing! Look at these holes!"

Asmo sat up and stretched out the white cardigan he was sporting, showing the various sizes in holes that had been obviously chewed in.

"Do you know how expensive this cardigan was!? When I find that little demon I'm going to string it by it's [CENSORED]!"

Belphie had cupped Bella's ears, giving Asmo a stern stare, warning him to calm down. He was then instructed to look under the bed as his older brother cowardly hid on the blankets. With a slow motion he snagged the creature and held it out for everyone to see.

It was a small, blue, imp like creature that was covered in dust. It wagged its crescent ended tail as it happily shoved the dust into its mouth. Cautiously Bella looked over Belphie's shoulder. A small gasp of adoration coming from her lips.

"It's so cute!"

The Dust Eater's overly sized bat ears twitched, and turned its attention to the sound of her voice. With a tilt of the head it leaped from Belphie's palm and scurried up to Bella's shoulder. Upon finding it's balance it sniffed and nibbled at her cheek.

"Aw- it's so friendly! How can you be so scared of something so sweet?"

Asmo huffed at her in exaggeration.

"Because it ate through my clothes! And the worst part is where there is one, more are sure to follow!"

Belphegor smiled and scratched underneath the intruder's chin, earning a very tiny purr.

"Not exactly. They only show up in groups when it's mating time. They're not usually social with their own kind. A lot of demon's use them as familiars to keep castles clean."

"Oh! Of course you'd know something like that! Just get rid of it!"

Bella frowned and followed Belphie out into the hall, and down the stairs outside. Though not wanting to release it, she agreed it would be better off not to deal with any further infestations. But no matter how many times she placed it on the ground, it ran back and crawled over her body until it found it's rightful spot on her shoulder. Even after the attempt to let Belphegor handle it the Dust Eater found its way back, and proved to be too quick to catch. Slowly the two realized how attached it was to Bella and decided to keep an eye on it until Lucifer came back.

In the meantime, Belphegor had hidden the three of them in the twin's bedroom. Together they played a couple card games, and Bella made it a goal to keep the avatar of sloth awake. The afternoon went by fast and the front door opened and closed with a loud echo, signalling the return of the eldest. Even still Bella and Belphegor waited for him to settle in before meeting up in his office.

The large room was rather tasteful and almost mimicked the style of a 1920's office, but with a more morbid and gothic spin. The dark red and black walls just barely conflicted with the brighter red carpet with a fancy intricate cream colored damask pattern. The desk was traditional and stained in a dark chestnut color. Even with Lucifer sitting in the red wheely chair, Bella couldn't look away from the giant animal skull that hung on the wall in between the two large windows.

After a few seconds went by, Lucifer finally acknowledged their presence.

"Sit."

The two of them sat at the provided leather chairs. Neither of them spoke until Lucifer sat his pen down, his back resting against the chair.

"What happened, and how much will it cost to fix?"

The exhaustion was already evident on his face, but he soon relaxed as they explained the situation. As if amused Lucifer leaned forward keeping his chin on his hand. Bella had eventually pulled the small creature from her pocket and asked the obvious question.

"What should we do with it?"

"Usually I would say to just find a field far enough away from here and take a taxi or have Mammon or Beel drive you there, but it seems that this Dust Eater is too young to survive on their own. They're also a protected species in our area of Devildom due to the high population. The next step would be to find a good home for it."

Bella immediately jumped from her chair in excitement.

"Does that mean I get to keep it?"

Lucifer stood up and dusted off his vest as he smirked at her.

"I think it's more along the lines of it keeping you."

Bella looked down at the Dust Eater in her hands. A small sense of nostalgia came over her and she muttered a single word under her breath.

"Chip."

Belphegor gave a small snort and Lucifer raised an eyeblbrow at her.

"People do not usually name them, are you sure you want to get so attached?"

Bella nodded her head with enthusiasm. So much so that neither Demon could tell her otherwise. It didn't matter anyway as she was too entertained with nuzzling it and doting over it. It was then explained the gender, which was male, and though it had imprinted to her, in a few months it would develop the desire to wander off and mate. As to whether or not it would return was unknown.

During dinner Noelle had forced Levi to switch seats and the rest of the brothers chuckled and entertained themselves by watching the two girls fawn over the small pest, much to Asmodeus' dismay.

"I can't believe you let her keep it!"

Lucifer sighed at him, and offered a small bit of "reassurance".

"You're lucky we found it. With it being so young it needed a mother. Unless you wanted to find it's tiny corpse hidden in your closet?"

Bella gave Lucifer a terrified look, and Asmo gave him a dissatisfied huff.

"That's gross for one thing! What if it multiplies!"

Satan slammed his silverware on the table, glaring at Asmo.

"How many times do we need to explain that can't happen. They're not social creatures so even if we had a small infestation they'd move out as soon as they came. You'd be surprised at the rage of territory they have. Why do you think they're endangered here? There's not enough space for them with all the buildings around. You'll just have to tough it out and accept it."

[allfandomxreader]

Before // Till Death Do Us Part

Paring: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You always knew marriage was never easy, you’ve heard that all your life. But this doesn’t feel like a marriage anymore, and hasn’t for a long time.

Words: 2.7k

Part: 2/5

Main Masterlist // Series Masterlist

not my gif! 

It was a dreary day to say the least, it rained that morning and the humidity was still thick in the air. His shirt clung to his skin and his hand grew clammy in yours as the two of you walked under the brewing storm. He didn’t know where you were taking him, but that didn’t matter. Tom would follow you anywhere without batting an eye, without thinking twice.

You smiled at him when you caught him staring, and even though dark clouds hovered just above the city, threatening to cover the streets with rain at any given moment, Tom saw sunshine just by looking at you.

The two of you find your way into a garden, you pretended that was your plan all along. You didn’t want to admit you were lost, that you missed your destination a few streets back and if Tom knew that, he didn’t mention it. This was just another adventure the two of you would laugh about later, one that you’d remember for years to come.

You talk absentmindedly as you pass flowers, stopping to smell some, but Tom’s mind was elsewhere. He could only think about the small velvet box hidden in his pocket. Tom’s held onto it for so long he’s surprised it hasn’t imprinted his jeans yet.

Tom knew you were the one for a while. He told Harrison he wanted to marry you only a few months into dating. Of course, Harrison laughed at the time saying, “Oh, you’re whipped, mate.” but the second he saw the two of you together, he understood. And everyone saw it, not just Harrison, from friends and family to strangers on the street. It was undeniable that you and Tom were made for one another.

It wasn’t the way you always laughed even when his joke wasn’t funny, or how you always held his hand in the car no matter how short the drive may be. It wasn’t even how you’d fly for hours just to see him for a few days at a time. Of course, he appreciated all this, but it was something more.

It was the way you could see him, how you could truly understand him. How you didn’t need to ask to know what he needed. How you always had the right words to say when he was on top of the world or when it was falling apart. It’s the way you said you loved him, time and time again no matter how hard things got. The list could go on and on. Tom could never run out of words to explain why he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

You stopped walking when you couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore. You figured he probably got distracted by the clouds again or for whatever reason wanted to take a picture of the nearby rose bush. But when you turned, you saw he was down on one knee. For a moment, you thought he was just tying his shoes, but the box he held towards you confirmed otherwise.

You never really thought about marriage, even when all your friends from college started posting their engagement photos and sending their save the dates. And of all the conversations you’ve had, the two of you never even talked about marriage, you never alluded to the future or even glanced at the ring displays when passing the jewelers.

But it was the way he looked up at you. He looked at you like you were a masterpiece in the middle of a gallery and he could stare for hours. And in that moment, all you wanted to do was say yes.

“Y/N—”

“Yes!” You beamed taking two strides to meet him, ignoring the tears that pricked your eyes as you kneeled to his level.

“You’re not even going to listen to what I have to say?” He laughed.

“Oh, right, sorry.” You pushed away tears with your fingertips as he took your hand into his.

“Y/N, I can’t go another day without knowing you’ll be mine forever,” He cleared his throat, his own tears threatened to spill. “Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

You only nodded, unable to form words as he slipped the ring onto your finger. The two of you kissed, smiling into one another like there was no other place in the world you’d rather be.

The wedding was quick to follow, the two of you eager to start the rest of your lives together. In all honesty, Tom could’ve married you that very same day. He could’ve married you after the rain started to pour, in your soaked clothes and running mascara, in his sloshy shoes and wet hair. He would’ve done it in a heartbeat. But the two of you wanted to celebrate surrounded by friends and family. He wanted to see you in a dress, he wanted to stand beside Harrison, and you wanted to stand beside Z.

Luckily, it was a beautiful day for a wedding, unlike the day of your engagement. The sun was shining and the air was warm as Tom stood at the altar. He scanned the faces of his loved ones, trying his best to ease the nerves. Everyone was smiling, there were a few cameras flashing and chatter amongst the guests. But it all quieted once the music started playing and you stepped out.

Time stopped all together when you made eye contact. You didn’t focus on everyone when they stood from their seats, you couldn’t hear the camera clicks anymore, or the quiet sniffles. You could only focus on Tom.

Tom knew he’d be a puddle of tears as soon as he saw you, and he was right. You looked breathtaking in the dress he begged to get a glimpse of. He wanted to run to you right then and there, to meet you halfway and marry you in the middle of the aisle, he didn’t want to wait a second longer.

It felt like an eternity as you made your way down. He kept wiping away his tears to make sure he could look at you fully, to try his best to savor the moment. When you finally reached him, he took your hand into yours the second Zendaya took your bouquet. He mouthed I love you, and you mouthed it back.

You couldn’t follow a single word as the officiant talked. You spent the time trying your best to not ruin your pristine makeup while wiping away tears. You never stopped smiling at the man in front of you, too absorbed your own thoughts that consisted of him, dreaming of the life you’d have together.

The two of you somehow managed to get through your vows. Your voices were shaky and you both hiccupped through phrases but you wished it could’ve lasted forever. You mimicked the speech of the officiant, word for word, not once looking away from each other’s eyes.

“Till death do us part.” You say in unison, waiting for the cue to kiss your groom, and to officially become Mr. and Mrs. Holland.

Life kept moving when you returned from the honeymoon. Tom had another movie to film and you went along with him, neither one of you ready to be apart quite yet. You went to premiers and sat through interviews, you wore fancy dresses to red carpets, and spent most of the time either on planes or in hotel rooms. You traveled the world, tried new foods, and took too many pictures at the world’s greatest landmarks. You did it all beside the love of your life.

And that’s how life was for the first two years. But the constant travel came to a halt when you waved a positive pregnancy test in the air. Tom was over the moon. He picked you up and spun you around the hotel room as you both laughed and cried. “We’re going to be parents, Y/N!” Was all he could say for the next hour.

He told stories to the baby every night before bed, always made sure you took your vitamins at the correct time and not a minute later. He sat through every doctor’s appointment, holding your hand and crying alongside you while hearing the heartbeat for the very first time.

The two of you bought a house far too big for just the both of you but a perfect size for a growing family. You wasted no time decorating the nursery for a baby girl. He packed the hospital bag a month in advance, sitting it by the door and another in the trunk of the car. “Just in case. I want to be prepared.” He’d say when you laughed and asked if he was going overboard.

He held your hand in the delivery room for hours on end, not even flinching when he most definitely thought you broke his. But it was all worth it once the bundle was placed in your arms. He cooed at the baby who slept peacefully, he cried all over again when her hand squeezed his finger, he swore he was the happiest man alive.

“Charlotte,” He said abruptly, eyes never leaving her face, “I think we should name her Charlotte.” You smiled at him, it wasn’t your first pick, it wasn’t even on the list you’ve discussed time and time again. But it sounded beautiful when he said it.

It was all the same two years later upon the arrival of your son.

Tom was the world’s best dad to your children, there was no question about it. He read them stories when he could, he’d play princess and have tea parties when Charlie asked. He wrestled with Aiden and even coached the toddler’s baseball team a few summers. Those kids had him wrapped around their finger.

And that was the most painful part of it all. The way you can visibly see their hearts break when Tom has to leave for filming or the way that Tom would promise to be home by Wednesday and wouldn’t arrive until Friday.

By now, they understand that Tom’s career takes him all over the globe and why he wouldn’t be back for a few months. That was the norm of the household, it always has been. What they don’t understand is why he stopped coming up to dance recitals or why he stopped coaching the little league baseball team when it was never a problem before. You’d be fooling yourself if you weren’t wondering the same thing.

Of course, you understand it more. Tom’s schedule has always been changing, never set in stone. But when Tom promises something to them –a pinky promise at that— and doesn’t show, to an eight and six-year-old, it’s the end of the world. Charlie cried for hours when Tom wasn’t at her last recital. Aiden cries when he’s been looking forward to calling his dad at night only for him to not answer.

You sigh, watching them stare out the window, their movie long forgotten and nothing but background noise by now. “Come on you two,” You say standing from the couch when you see the clock strike eleven. Tom should’ve been here hours ago. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But Daddy’s not here yet,” Charlie pouts, but reluctantly stands from her spot.

“I think his flight got delayed,” You lie effortlessly, something you’ve been doing a lot more than you’d like to admit lately.

You carry Aiden to his bed while Charlie settles into her own across the hall, their nightly routine already done for the evening. Aiden’s already sound asleep by the time you tuck the spaceship blanket under his chin. Charlie’s eyes are heavy by the time you kiss her goodnight and flick off the light to her bedroom.

Downstairs, you walk through the hall on the way into the kitchen. You stop as you pass the photos hung on the wall. In one, each of you are smiling, your happiness frozen in a frame. Aiden sticks his tongue towards the camera, you couldn’t ever get an actual smile out of him. Tom holds Charlie on his hip and she’s smiling at him like he puts the stars in the sky. It was the last family photo you’ve ever taken, almost a year ago.

The door doesn’t open until around midnight, Tom follows the light from the hallway and into the kitchen where you sit at the table, back facing him.

“Where have you been?” Your voice is calm as you ask the question. You aren’t looking for a fight, nor do you want to have one. Fighting these days seems pointless, it never gets you anywhere.

The distance between you and Tom started slowly. The cracks in the foundation you both tried so hard to build only grew over time. They went unnoticed at first. Fights used to be solved with a sincere apology and a kiss goodnight. And now, arguments are left unfinished and you almost always find yourself sleeping alone. You once believed that the two of you could get through anything, now that seems so naïve, almost like childish thinking.  

“Harrison and I grabbed a drink when our flight landed,” He explained, “Sorry, I meant to call you.” He takes the chair opposite from you, rubbing his face with palms when he’s seated.

“You went out with Harrison? Your best friend who you’ve been with almost every day for the past six months?” It’s more accusatory than you wanted it to sound, you didn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did.

“Yeah,” Tom’s brows knit into something like annoyance, maybe confusion. You can’t tell, you can’t read him like the way you used to. “I didn’t know it’d be a problem.”

“It’s a problem when you’ve been gone for so long, Tom.” You snap, your sudden outburst gaining his full attention, “It’s a problem when my kids were up waiting three hours past their bedtime because they wanted to welcome you home. It’s a problem when you decided to not be a husband but to be a best friend.” You try your hardest to keep your voice down, to make sure not to disrupt the sleeping bodies upstairs. This isn’t how you’d want them to be reunited with their dad.

“I’m sorry, your kids?” He shakes his head, as if to understand if he heard you correctly.  

“You don’t get to do that,” You say firmly, an edge creeping into your voice, “You don’t get to come home after months of being gone, after months of disappointing them, after months of not picking up your phone and taking just an hour of your day to talk to them. And then to sit there and be offended when they’re suddenly my kids? Yes, they’re my kids. And if you were around enough –if you even bothered to be a father to them these days, they could be yours too.”

Tom only stares at you, mouth unmoving, eyes staring straight into yours.

“Nothing? You have nothing to say?” You scoff, rolling your eyes. You place your elbows onto the table, taking your head into your hands for a moment. You wipe away the anger, you wipe away any sign of your heart breaking with a single swipe of your hands. “You’re exhausting,” You say shaking your head and leaning back into your seat. “I’m done, I can’t do this anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want a divorce.” The words escape your lips all too quickly. You don’t even realize that’s what you wanted to say, that that’s how you were feeling. But it’s too late and you can’t take them back as much as you desperately want to.

His body wilts, his mouth hangs open to speak but no words follow. He looks to the kitchen tile, unable to hold your unwavering gaze any longer. You want him to fight for you, to string together any form of words as an apology, to give any sort of explanation.

You want him to get up, to hold you the way he used to so many years before, to say he’ll try better this time, that he can’t lose you. Tom Holland always knew what to say, but now, sitting across from you he’s at a loss.

And finally, when looks at you in the eye once more, when he’s found enough courage to speak, he can only say, “If that’s what you want.”

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[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 42: Talon's and Tea Leaves

"I thought you could only see Dementors if you saw someone die?"

"They're not thesterals you dumbass!"

James groaned as he struggled to open his eyes this time. For a moment he thought he hadn't accomplished it at all, before he realized they were in a very dimly lit room, but at least it was quite warm. Sitting up slowly with still shaking hands, he found himself in a very pleasant cushion, a roaring fireplace behind a teacher's desk only a few feet away.

Sirius and Regulus were already up and aware, bickering with each other, and the others were getting more unsteadily to their feet and glancing all about them to make sure there was truly nothing more about to pop out at them. Where they were exactly though was a bit of a mystery.

One quick glance out the nearest window showed him to be looking north, and as high up as they were and in a circular room no less, he was positive they must be in a tower. It was odd though, as the North Tower wasn't used in his time, so he really hadn't a clue what the tea set up all around was for, nor the plentiful cushions instead of seats like a class would normally have. In front of him was a steaming blue teacup just waiting to be drunk.

There were two books in front of him, one he vaguely recognized as Harry collecting while he was in Diagon Alley, and the dark purple book leading them around this madness. He'd never cared about Divination a single moment in his life before now, but he continued putting the obvious together rather than dwelling on anything else. "I think we're in Harry's new Divination class."

"Figure that out all on your own did you?" Frank rolled his eyes as he looked through the teachers desk curiously. James was beginning to think he'd actually like this guy if he weren't such a prick, he had a natural curiosity about him that clearly, without anyone around to enforce them, he was all to willing to indulge. As of now, he wasn't taking the accusations thrown at Sirius any more lightly from some Ravenclaw who didn't know a damned thing about his best-friend.

"Well get to reading, would you Prongs," Remus prompted, sitting on a poof so forceful beside him, he felt compelled to see if anything had come out.

"Eager to get to your classes?" Wormtail chuckled as he came over and helped himself to some tea.

"Urgh, I still can't imagine it. Moony, at the front of the class!" Sirius snickered as he sat down on his other side and began nudging James' foot. James kicked him in the shins before he began.

James still didn't continue right away. He really wanted a chance to talk to his friends, really have a conversation about this future and all that seemed to have happened to them. This was extremely private though, and not just because of Moony or even Padfoot. He just wanted some time with his friends again, back in their dorm. He'd always loved being the center of attention; nicking students textbooks to juggle them, telling raucous jokes, chasing the Snitch about, but always at the end he'd crept off to his dorms and have a late night conversation just the four of them before bed.

Judging by their expressions, the others felt the same, but there was nothing to be done for it except power on. "Talons and Tea Leaves."

"Well, we got the second part," Peter smacked his lips in appreciation as he'd finished his glass in record time.

"I swear you've scalded all your taste-buds off," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"It's good," he defended, reaching for a clean cup to pour more. "Much better than bags."

"Must be bitter, I've not seen any sugar," Remus looked genuinely hurt for this misfortune, it was likely all that was stopping him from making his own cup.

"The one time I don't have any honey on me," Sirius smirked.

"Bloody hell, they won't shut up about the damned chapter title." Evans grouched from the opposite side of the room. "We're never getting out of this blistering hot room."

James watched her for an even longer time than usual, but for once couldn't think of anything to say to her. He'd always been endeared by her, the ferocity in her every step, how intense she was over every subject, especially him. He fancied himself the hero who was going to rescue her from Snivellus the useless idiot. She'd spurned him, but never enough the thought had ever crossed his mind she wouldn't see what he was doing eventually. Now though, if she really thought so little of Sirius? Surely she didn't mean it, thinking him a murderer? The flare wasn't truly gone, but he looked away lest something he would actually regret passed his lips towards her.

Malfoy was a pleasant distraction, the git.

"Somehow I doubt that boy's as funny as he thinks he is," Lily scowled in Potter's direction, then her brow furrowed when he glanced up at her and looked away remarkably quickly. "Not that this is a new development for boys." She finished pointedly. He made no reaction, and her feelings quickly rose to true bafflement. She twisted a strand of her hair around her fingers in curiosity for a moment, before she decided she didn't care and turned away.

None of them were paying Hermione's little conundrum any real interest. So the girl was taking some extra classes and worked them into her schedule, however she and McGonagall had pulled it off likely wasn't interesting in the least.

Regulus muttered to himself when Hagrid announced boasting about his coming class. He'd tried striking up a conversation with Sirius, to try and talk to him and see if he couldn't find out what had spooked him around that Dementor. He'd never imagined a look like that could appear on his face, and he truly just wanted to help. Instead he'd been insulted and the prat had walked away to be with his friends once again after his ignorant comment, now he was left by a trapdoor in the floor as the kids in the book struggled to find the tower they'd been dumped into.

"Well she's going to be a character!" Alice burst out laughing for the description of this Trelawney professor.

"She already sounds like a fraud to me," Frank muttered without interest as he finished shuffling through her papers with nothing interesting to note. He plopped down in her high-backed chair and surveyed his surroundings, admittedly enjoying the atmosphere provided.

"Why's that?" Lily asked in surprise, as she continued looking through Unfogging the Future by Cassandra Vablatsky. None of it was really any more fantastical to her than turning a rabbit into a pair of slippers.

"Well it's all a load of tripe, obviously," Frank looked surprised at her. "None of this stuff is real," he waved vaguely around the room, where a crystal case of glass-balls could be seen, there were some medallions of unrecognizable symbols on a few patches of carpet, and the ceiling above had smoke imprints that may have more significance than Lily had guessed.

"Why's that?" She repeated even more curiously.

"Yes, do enlighten us Longbottom," Sirius sneered from his poof. It was hardly an intimidating posture, crossing his arms while sunk into a giant purple cushion, but he still somehow thought he managed it. "Continue telling us what is and isn't true from your wild experience."

Frank scowled a bit without looking over, continuing to address her as if there had been no interruption, almost. "Me mum's always been very clear about this load of tosh. You can't predict the future, even magic has limitations and that's one of them. Certainly no such thing as Seer's, prophecies, and signs from the beyond."

"We use unicorn horns as potion ingredients," Lily still sounded more polity argumentative for Frank's position on this than anything. "How is that more outlandish than applying astrology in practice?"

"What's that?" Frank blinked in confusion.

"Oh, I know this one!" Potter's hand suddenly shot up as if he really were in some class again, the eager look back upon his face speaking around her now present again. "Muggle's use it to define things about their birth based on the stars! Evan's is an Aquarius, that symbol that looks like a mouth."* He looked quite proud of himself until she turned incredulous eyes on him. He looked unabashed for several more moments before he actually realized she was just staring at him with that expression again, the one she'd had on her face since the train. He quickly turned back away, unwilling to diagnosis what this new feeling she was directing towards him was so long as she was still holding to not acknowledging Sirius' innocence.

"I see you've actually been paying attention in your Muggle Studies class," Pettigrew finally broke the silence when Potter hadn't continued right away, just kept staring at the book again like he was waiting for something. "Professor Burbage would probably give you ten points if she were here for that."

"I thought we were supposed to be doing that assignment over our own astrological symbol?" Sirius accused.

"She suggested it," he shrugged without remorse, before finally continuing on.

The class continued in mostly uninterested silence. Frank and Lily did not pick up on their conversation again, and James kept reading absentmindedly through Trelawney's chatter as he tried, for once, not to think of her. He finally got a reprieve when all four of them burst out laughing at Harry receiving a Grim in his cup.

"Oh that's brilliant," Sirius chortled hardest of all, now eagerly grabbing for his own cup and pouring himself a glass. "Think I'll get a stag?"

"I doubt the point of the exercise was to get your favorite animal," Alice rolled her eyes at them, but was ignored as they continued with this game.

"Nope!" Peter popped the p for emphasis as he looked gleefully into his cup. "I got a bloody rose! Maybe I'll find true love," he snorted, setting his cup down with an eye roll.

"According to this," Remus was flipping curiously through pages while still sipping his own, "it means deep emotion, friendship, infidelity, and betrayal."

His friends continued another round of snickering, while Remus repeated the process on his own cup he'd just finished. "Ooh, I got a lightning bolt. Wonder if I'll be the next Boy Who Lived."

"Merlin I hope not, it would be awkward as hell to be related to you," Sirius smirked.

Remus ignored him and pointed at what he'd found, "apparently it means 'you will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.' Merlin, are all of these just depressing?"

"I got something that looks like a set of wings, or maybe a bird?" Sirius was squinting and tipping his head from side to side to try and get some kind of visual.

"That could either mean peaceful, or an enemy." Moony snorted.

"I'm genuinely disappointed it wasn't a Grim," James snickered, refusing to admit the plummeting feeling in his gut as he eyed his own cup and swore he saw the same. He hung around with a 'grim,' once a month and wasn't going to let a cup spook him now. Before his friends could ask about his, he kept going on with Harry's time.

The situation was made even funnier when they reached McGonagall's class and his own son ignored the lesson on animagus'. It took everything in him not to laugh at that.

"McGonagall's a breath of fresh air to those kids," Frank snorted, hoping to instigate Lily into talking again, but she was swirling the dregs of her own tea around and just looked forlorn now. He stood up from the desk and circled around so she couldn't miss his apologetic smile in the shadows. "Sorry, if err, I offended you. Over the whole-"

"Oh, no," she quickly said, placing the chipped blue cup back down and giving him her whole attention. "Just, distracted," she casually flipped the book shut as if it had suddenly bored her.

"Right, yeah," he awkwardly rubbed at his neck and left her to it, more disappointed than he thought he'd be Potter had quickly burnt through the next lesson over something in Transfiguration. The change of topic would have been nice.

Lily smiled distractedly again until he turned away, trying to convince herself surely it was a coincidence she'd seen a snake...

Regulus was growing a little jealous of the meal the trio of kids were enjoying, even if they were still bickering over it, so was happy enough when the subject was changed. He was still avoiding his own teacup, he didn't want to tempt fate like Aunt Misapinoa was always going on about. If anyone was a real Seer, it was that woman, and he couldn't understand why Sirius was laughing all this off. Still, he knew his brother had a liking for magical creatures, and this one should be easy enough to engage him in. "I've a friend who's taking Care of Magical Creatures, and he hasn't mentioned anything about Hippogriffs."

"Not all teachers follow the same plan," it was Lupin who looked up and explained polity enough, his tone surprisingly gentle and calm for never having directly spoken to him before. "This is a bit advance, we didn't do these until our fourth year, but Hagrid may be showing off a bit."

"You didn't take Care of Magical Creatures?" Sirius didn't look up, but instead snorted crudely into his cup. "Let me guess then, Arithmancy and Study of Ancient Ruins."

"The two you didn't look twice at, too difficult for you," he snapped, quickly growing tired of his resistant brothers constantly fluctuating ability to look at him. The idiot truly seemed incapable of making up his mind if he wanted to talk to him or not! It seemed impossible he could come to any decision ever, let alone one so monumental as murdering people!

His mental tirade came up short in surprise at the thought, and he sucked on the inside of his cheek for a moment trying to analyze further if he had anything else to back this thought up as Potter continued.

Hagrid was doing quite well. The lesson was truly enjoyable, until Malfoy got involved. The git.

"I wish that hippogriff had ripped his whole bloody arm off, the insolent brat!" Sirius snarled in frustration.

"You know, it may be Padfoot, that comments like that make them think you're capable of such violence," Peter offered helpfully, even pointing his thumb to the three unimpressed faces.

Sirius grumbled for a moment before turning purposefully his seat. "I'm not going to defend myself from a bunch of idiots who don't know how to take a joke!" Then he turned back and looked quite pleased with himself for it.

James let out a little huff of breath that none of them could decide if it was suppressed laughter or annoyance at his best mate egging them on. They certainly all grasped what the following expression was as he read out Harry's reminder of Sirius Black supposedly being out there stopping his son from going to see a friend! He muttered tersely under his breath until his heart melted in sympathy for Hagrid. Then he wanted to dump his head in the water-trough again for suggesting any child of his shouldn't be wandering around school. He instead warned the chapter was near completion, and they all did whatever they could to brace themselves for the next skip.

*The symbol is actually supposed to be water, or waves or something, but that's what I thought it was at first until I read it.

[eolian-234]

A Night She Won’t Soon Forget

Previous Chapter Six: A Day He Begins to Move

Hi all. Hope you are doing well. Here is the next chapter, Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: A Day She Bakes Cinnamon Rolls 

Penny stood at the bottom of the stairs gazing up at the cobblestone building in front of her. The bricks constructing it, old as they looked to her young eyes, were clean and evenly spaced. They were woven into arches and patterns unfamiliar in the buildings around Midtown. With her meager belongings tucked under her arm and her feet dragging on the sidewalk, Penny felt like she was between worlds.

On the way here, she watched out the window of the car as neighborhoods and buildings morphed into designs she was unfamiliar with. People loitering on the street corners became few and far between. Instead, she spied people walking with purpose between the clean and uncrowded buildings. It was like she stepped into one of the stories the late-night radio shows talked about. Families with small children laughed and went about their day and business-minded people hurried to their workplace. A different atmosphere than what she was used to.

Penny glanced down at her hand-me-down smock and then over to Ms. Potts.  Her hat rested atop her head in some mysterious way not visible from the outside, revealing a bouquet of curls. The brilliant purple color matched that of her coat, gloves, and shoes. Penny swallowed. Her hands twined her smock in endless knots until Ms. Potts bent toward her. The woman’s smooth gloved reached out and unbearably gentle, she pried Penny’s nervous fingers apart.

“Are you alright, dear?”


Penny nodded sending her chopped hair every which direction despite the butterflies cramping in her stomach. She could see the woman’s gaze follow her hair for a moment before landing on her ears and nose. The frown that settled on her face was foreign to Penny. There was a certain detachment in her wrinkled brow. An anger Penny was almost sure wasn’t directed at her in the way the corners of her mouth turned down. Still, she couldn’t help but flinch back when Ms. Potts’s hand brushed her hair back from where it had fallen on her forehead.

“We’ll need to get you some warmer clothes, Penny. Your poor ears are bright as an apple.”

She wanted to lean into the soft touch of her warm, leather gloves. If only for a moment she could enjoy the feeling but her earlier outburst lingered at the front of her mind. The tears she shed so easily when before she was convinced they were permanently dry. Heat burned in her cheeks not entirely due to the cold. To think that someone like Ms. Potts, someone so warm and kind, witnessed her breakdown. So instead of basking in the affection like she wanted, Penny ducked her head and pulled her sleeves down over her hands, clutching the book under her arm.

The buildings loomed overhead. The possibilities waiting. Penny shivered.

“I’m alright, Ma’am. It’s not too cold.”

Ms. Potts’s shook her head as her hand dropped.

“Pepper or Ms. Potts please, Penny. And there will be no arguments from you. I want to go shopping and you will just have to humor me.” Penny remained silent but nodded in response. Ms. Potts, content enough with the nonverbal answer, gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

Penny scrambled up the stairs after Ms. Potts. The ornate, gold knocker hung right above her head on the front door in the same shape as the crest imprinted on the papers in Mrs. Delores’s office. Her eyes traced the slanted eye slots on the helmet’s décor and she had to stop her hand from reaching out to feel the smooth edges. The door swung open. Penny held her breath and ducked her head further down as a guiding hand on her back moved them into the house.

The sleet sticking to her wrinkled shoes melted with the heat of the indoors and sunk through her socks to freeze her toes. The carpet’s red and gold tones caught her attention first. The colors twisted and weaved together in spirals and delicate paisley patterns. It was hard not to compare the intricate artistry with her leather loafers. They were another child’s before hers and probably someone else’s before that. Time soaked into the crevices of the shoes, staining the material a deep brown and wrinkling the buckle edges. They were the beginning of the reminders of her lack of place there. She couldn’t even compete with a carpet.

Penny scrambled to make sure the bottoms were clean before stepping onto it with Ms. Potts beside her. She turned in a half circle to take in the full view of the room until she heard a throat clear. Frozen on the spot, Penny took a moment to breath, hoping and knowing it was beyond hope, that no one had seen her lack of decorum.

Black patent shoes stepped into her view. Her eyes followed them to the attached body. From the chores at Midtown, ironing being one of the many, she knew how precise you had to be to achieve lines that straight in the black pants and suite jacket. She admired the clean cut of the outfit before Penny met the person’s gaze.

While Mr. Stevens, the delivery man, had a beard similar to the bristles of her trusty broom at Midtown, this gentleman, for surely with his outfit and fancy demeanor he was one, had a neatly combed mustache, shockingly bold and grey. It twitched under her stare and Penny fought the urge to giggle. His piercing, grey eyes sat under a set of similarly colored heavy eyebrows.  

Ms. Potts stepped up beside her.

“Friday,” She said with a smile. “Good to see you. I have someone I want you to meet.” She placed her hand on Penner’s shoulder and brought her to her side. Penny shivered at the contact but held still.  “Penny this is Friday, our magician of a Butler here at Stark House. Friday, this is Miss Penny Parker. She will be staying here with us.”

The man craned his head down at Penny. She stared at the wall behind him but offered her best smile while attempting to curtsey. Her legs wobbled and she could hear Mrs. Delores’s voice critiquing the movement. Ms. Potts laughed as she looked between her and Friday. She brushed Penny’s hair back again.

Penny peaked at the man from under her bangs. His expression hadn’t changed from her earlier observations but there was a minute softening in his eyes. She fidgeted with her sleeves. Her head whipped up when he clicked his heels together. Friday bowed low before them and Penny giggled along with Ms. Potts.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Penny. We welcome you to Stark House. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“T-thank you, Sir.” She said and stepped back. Penny peered around Ms. Potts’s leg as the two began talking quietly. It wasn’t her intention to eavesdrop but she couldn’t help but overhear some of what they were saying.  

“…how is he, Friday?”

“I… haven’t seen him, but Harolds dropped Mr. Stane and him off at the club after you left. Both had bags with them.”

Ms. Potts’s hands curled into fists. Penny wondered at the significance of this and who they were talking about.

“No matter. Penny, give your…” Friday and Ms. Potts shared a look. “Coat to Friday. We will have tea in the blue room first. I’m feeling a bit peckish after this morning.”

She clutched onto her jacket and shuffled back a step. It wasn’t that she was fond of it but the clothing was her only heavy outerwear. No matter how nice they were she couldn’t give it away. Mrs. Delores would be furious and the cold bite of winter was fresh on her mind.

“I-I can keep it.” She said forcing herself not to step back any further. Both adults stopped and turned to face her. Ms. Potts furrowed her brows as she stared at the girl clutching her chest, barely more than rags between her fingers. It was Friday, silent eyes widening with realization, who acted.

He stepped in front of Penny, tall and immovable. His gaze directly on her, sizing her up, before he got down on one knee so he was her height. Penny’s breath caught in her throat.

“Miss Penny, I am only taking it to put in the closet. I promise, you will get it back at any point you need it. Is this acceptable?”

Penny dropped her eyes to the floor unable to take the honest expression Friday was showing her. He waited as she thought. He was offering, not demanding like Mrs. Delores solely did. He came down to her level. Penny wasn’t sure why but the action brought a sort of knot to her chest. Tension lumped up in the middle of her ribs and rose to the back of her throat but still he waited.

Taking her time, Penny untangled her coat and, with care, put it into Mr. Friday’s waiting arms.

“Thank you” She said.

“No, need for thanks, Miss Penny.”

“Come along Penny,” Ms. Potts called from down the hall. Penny made to follow but looked back at her coat still in his arms, torn with what to do.

“One second, Ms. Potts” Friday said before turning. “Follow me, Miss Penny.”

Penny glanced at Ms. Potts noting her nod and began following Mr. Friday down a short hall. The doors were all shut and Penny almost ran into him after he suddenly stopped. He opened a door to the right revealing a rack full of hanging coats.

“Yours will be right here if I’m not around to retrieve it for you. Anytime you need it, feel free to find it here.”

Mr. Friday slide the hanger into each sleeve, taking the time to straighten the hems and wrinkles before he hung it inside the closet next to the other, far longer and nicer, coats. The knot in her throat itched seeing it there. Like it was as worthy as any of the other pieces of clothing in the closet.

“Thank you, Mr. Friday, Sir.” She curtsied again, feeling only slightly silly doing so when she saw his eyes crinkle around the edges and his mustache twitch into a smile.

“And it’s my pleasure, Miss Penny. Again, don’t hesitate to ask for anything no matter how small. Now, I think it’s time for tea and if you’re lucky Mrs. Vern will bring her famous chocolate chip cookies up.”

-

Mrs. Vern’s cookies lived up to their fame. Penny stopped herself from taking a fourth helping much to the dismay of Ms. Potts. Her encouragement to help herself began bordering on the ridiculous the further along with tea they got.

If the entryway left her speechless, the blue room as Ms. Potts called it, left her breathless. Hand painted, blue wallpaper framed the dark wood moldings and picture frames in the room. Two couches, both printed in subtle silky looking fabrics dominated the middle of the room between the door and a large set of windows overlooking what in summer would be a garden. The natural light filtered in, casting a bright, clear air about the room.  

Penny sat at the end of the tan couch closest to the window while Ms. Potts sat across from her on a deep brown couch. Despite what Mr. Friday and Ms. Potts called it, ‘tea’ certainly brought more than the drink alone. A spread of little sandwiches, finger sandwiches she learned, and miniature cakes were laid out on the low table between them.

Her stomach protruded out and Penny was content. They settled into the quiet afternoon atmosphere.

At one point, Penny grabbed one of the sturdier looking cookies and shoved it into her pocket. There was no reason to suspect the ample amount of food would disappear the longer she was here but it was an old habit to have something that might help her later. She was glad Ms. Potts missed her theft.

“I’m afraid that Tony, Mr. Stark that is, is currently out of town at the moment, Penny.” The lady’s gaze turned upon her and Penny hurried a smile.

“It’s okay, Ms. Potts.”

In her mind it was more than okay. She had thought long about this whole situation she was in. Though Ms. Potts said this was all Anthony Stark, Penny wasn’t convinced. So far, the man’s absence spoke louder than any words said on anybody’s part. If she was being honest with herself, she was relieved the looming knight of Stark House hadn’t descended yet. The question of his force – good or bad – remained to be seen and Penny was alright with putting off that reveal until she was on firmer ground. With every step she took, the possibility of smooth terrain seemed more like a dream. This new world, so warm and strange, was welcoming on the front but what lurked behind? Ms. Potts and Mr. Friday were everything kindness and good but would it end up just like Midtown or was there something better here? She dared not hope … too much.

She fisted her hands on her knees and winced as Ms. Potts cleared her throat missing the flash of anger across the woman’s face.

“Penny, he’s… a good man and I’d hope you would be able to see that. But no matter,” She said with a sigh. “How about a tour?” 


Penny nodded but stifled a yawn. Ms. Potts’s gaze softened.

“It has been a rather eventful day. How about we go to your room and we can do the tour later?”

-

Ms. Potts strode through the long, winding hallways as Penny trailed behind her. Her eyes wandered between the sconces that bordered vast paintings and the furnishings under them. They passed a few people all dressed in matching uniforms who deferred to Ms. Potts while sneaking a curious glance at Penny.

At the end of a particularly long hall, Ms. Potts stopped and turned to her left so they were facing a large set of double leaf doors. Gold inlet flowers laced the large panels coming to a head at the same toned knobs. They looked like a portal into another world.

“Ready?” Ms. Potts asked with a smirk. Without waiting for an answer, she grasped the door handles and pushed forward.

Penny moved first with a small nod of Ms. Potts’s head. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected and hadn’t managed to hope for anything better than the room at Midtown despite all the kindness showed to her so far.

“We weren’t sure what you would like and I sort of got carried away, as Tony said, but no matter. We can change anything you don’t like…”

Her words faded into the background. Penny’s feet carried her across the floor and around the room. The largest bed she’d ever seen stood strong and wide in the center of the room. Green bedding looking as soft as grass was neatly into the edges and two nightstands were placed on either side of the curtains around the headboard of the bed. It was beautiful. And it wasn’t Penny’s. She was positive. It couldn’t be.

“I- Thank you for showing me your room but where shall I be staying, Ms. Potts?”

The woman behind her startled. She opened her mouth before shutting it again and her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned Penny’s face. Ms. Potts turned away toward the large window with pale cream drapes on the other side of the room. Penny shifted her feet back and forth as she waited for an answer. Something hard and churning settled in her stomach when the silence continued. Ms. Potts shoulders fell with an audible exhale. She turned around with a particular smile. Its strained corners made Penny’s heart pound.

“Sweetheart, this is your room.”

Penny looked at the flowers embroidered into the bedding. The delicate but strong looking stems that merged and melded into a chain of green. Using a feather light touch, Penny brushed her fingers against a pale-yellow flower noting the softness of the material. It was too good to be true and yet it was what Ms. Potts wanted her to believe.

“Now then, let’s get you all settled in.”

Warm clouds surrounded her. The material was creamy and smooth and Penny must be in heaven. She stifled another yawn. Ms. Potts laid a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her to rest back on the mound of pillows stacked at her back. Penny rubbed her thumb back and forth against her sheets as she watched Ms. Potts flit about the room, closing the drapes and folding her clothes. Protests were the first things out of her lips but Ms. Potts ignored them all in favor of letting Penny rest. The woman came back to her side beside the bed and tucked an errant corner in.

“Sweet dreams, Sweetheart. Rest all you need.” She squeezed Penny’s shoulder. At the door Ms. Potts turned back before latching the door behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Penny.”

Penny fell back against the pillows letting the softness embrace her. The moon was visible from the window across the way and glowed down, illuminating the new room. Despite everything she saw today, all the new people and strange surroundings, the moon was still the same eerie presence. Penny reached out a hand from under the blanket until the tips of her fingers were glazed in the silvery light.

With heavy eyes she wondered what the ever-absent Anthony Stark was doing at the moment. She hadn’t missed the bordering angry and past frustrated looks between Ms. Potts and Mr. Friday. There was also Ms. Potts’s apology to contend with. That barely constrained tension in the corners of her mouth and eyes. What did it mean? The niggling question of why she was here in the first place burst forward from where Penny had tried to stuff it down.

The emblem on the front door and crest she had traced on the papers requesting her here was the first pieces of evidence. But the question was left unanswered without any more besides.  Would Anthony Stark in all his mystery hold the answers? Of that, she was sure. Would he be a force for good in her life or would she leave this beautiful place even more broken than before? Penny wasn’t sure and she feared the answer.

Her hands fisted weakly in the sheets before sleep took mercy on her.

-

Penny was awake before the first rays of light steamed into the room… her room, she reminded herself ignoring the stale feel of the words. It was hers at least while she was here.

Foggy dreams shadowed her mind twisting her stomach. The moon had been shinning on her, lighting the tips of her nose and cheeks. Penny reached for its silver glimmer wanting to catch some warmth. She stretched as far as her small limbs would reach to no avail. The moon was farther and farther away with each breath leaving a numb, cold in her fingers and chest. Penny blinked back tears. Her legs carried her as far as they could go until, muscles quivering and exhaustion seeping in to her bones, she could run no more. The moon in its ethereal radiance was always too far away. She would never reach it.

It was the same dream and she was forced to repeat it over and over for as long as she could remember. The bitter nausea lingered following her sleep. It was pungent and raw, twisting her nerves and she couldn’t stay in bed any longer. With the efficiency of one who had no time to themselves in the mornings, Penny made her bed.

She had to pinch herself on entering the bathroom. If such things could induce delirium this one would take the cake. Penny just stood there for a moment. There was a sink and bathtub and toilet. All to herself. It was beyond anything she had ever seen before. Midtown being built long before she was born and being poor only had a set of outhouses shared with other tenements shared. She didn’t have to wait in line or splash herself with freezing water. This was a few steps away from where she had slept.

Penny made sure to be quick and not waste any unnecessary water despite the temptation to stay in there all day. Ablutions done, Penny stuck her head out the door of her room, looked both ways, and stepped into out. The hall was quiet in a way that Midtown never was. The absence of noise held a restful energy here. There was no lurking danger or cowed children to signify anything was wrong.

While she readied herself that morning, she brainstormed ways she could do to repay Ms. Potts and everyone else. Penny didn’t have money for gifts or materials to make them anything, not that she was crafty enough for something homemade anyway, so in the end, she figured the one thing to offer was herself. If Midtown was good for anything it was honing the domestic skills of its residents. Her thanks given in a more concrete form and her keep earned for the time she was staying. Two birds with one stone, Ned used to say. She missed him so much.

Nodding to herself and setting a brisk pace to distract from the tug on her heartstring thinking of Ned always gave, she set off to find someone who could direct her to supplies. Hallway after hallway passed. Finally, she saw someone wearing an apron. The woman glanced up at the sudden noise of her feet. Her eyes widened at Penny.

“Good morning!” Penny called out with a smile before ducking her head.

“Good morning, Miss.” The woman said.

“I was wondering where…” The question was how to phrase her query in a way she wouldn’t get in trouble. “I was wondering where I could find the cle-”

“Kitchen! Oh, you poor thing. I know just what you need. Follow these stairs down and turn left to go to the stairs. Everything should be there.”

“Thank you.” Penny said. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted but she was sure there would be something to clean there. Her growling stomach was more than happy for the miscommunication.

Penny arrived as instructed and pushed two large swinging doors open. First to look for any cleaning materials. The large kitchen was empty besides the pots and pans hanging from a rack above the counter. A large sink, almost deep as a tub sat in the middle of the counter. She smiled at the plates resting in the basin. She could scrub pans like the best of them.

The ceramic ledge of the sink was too tall for her. She couldn’t reach up and see into the sink. Penny looked around and, after a moment, found a large pot she could use as a stepstool. Carting the heavy thing over strained the muscles in her arms but once on top, she was the perfect height. The water was freezing but it was more a temperature she was used too.

Penny repeated to herself over the soreness of her arms that it was better than Midtown. It was better because she chose this and her pruney fingers would just have to deal with it. It was better because Penny was thanking someone not fearing retribution. She couldn’t quite manage to make the argument stick and there was a part, infinitely small but still there, that wished she lived with a normal family. The solid soap sat at the edge of the counter. Penny itched the reddening skin of her hands and got lost in her work.

The doors swung open without a sound. In shuffled a woman yawning. She wore a large apron and her hair was tied back with a bonnet covering most of it. Her cherry smile, strained a bit because of the early hours widened when she spotted Penny across the kitchen.

“Now what do we have here? Is this the little kit I heard took a liking to my cookies? Miss Penny was it?”

Penny ducked her head to hide the heat creeping onto her face. The woman clucked her teeth and continued over to her.

“Just Penny is fine, Ma’am.”

“Can’t say you’re the first to fall to their flavor, if I say so myself, Penny. Now, can I ask what a little thing like you is doing up so early? Barely anyone else starts the day so early. You may call me Mrs. Vern. No need for all those formalities here, dearie.”

Penny opened her mouth to explain and realized how strange it sounded. How Mrs. Delores would be angry if she spoke about her time at Midtown. Instead she scrubbed harder, determined to finish the pot she was working on. Her stomach rolled as the lady grew closer. She had thought Mrs. Delores’s rosy cheeks were friendly at first and she was proven quite wrong soon after. Mrs. Vern appeared gentle enough but Penny couldn’t help the weary droop in her shoulders. Maybe if she saw her working hard, she wouldn’t get in as much trouble?

Mrs. Vern came around to stand beside her. Penny held her breath. The woman clucked her teeth again and gently took the pot out of her hands, setting it on the counter to dry. She smoothed her hands over Penny’s palms careful of the angered red patches.

“I expect an answer.” The woman said in a kind but stern tone.

“I’m used to getting up and working.”

Penny couldn’t help the slight heat gathering on her cheeks but there was no pity in the woman’s eyes. Just a vague sparkle turned to understanding.

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you for helping. Now, I appreciate you helping my washers but leave the rest to them. Do you want to go back and rest?”

Penny shook her head.

“I expected as much. Well, I can put you to work but no complaints, you here?”  She smiled down at Penny who, when beckoned, moved her makeshift stool over to the counter where Mrs. Vern was setting up.

“Mr. Stark isn’t here this morning but Ms. Potts is set to awake early. She normally likes a simple breakfast but I was thinking we could spice it up with some cinnamon rolls this morning. What do you say?”

“I’ve never made cinnamon rolls before, but I would like to help.”

Mrs. Vern paused for a moment. Her eyes missed nothing as Penny drug the pot into place and stepped up. Penny’s sleeve slipped down from her wrist. The woman next to her tutted and motioned to Penny. She tried to ignore it and hid her arm but Mrs. Vern left no room for argument. Penny hesitated a moment more, the pervading fear left from years of hiding presenting, and then brought her arm forward. Not daring to look up.

She winced as Mrs. Vern’s hand brushed against her skin and knew, even without looking, the discoloration was faded but still visible. Penny could feel Mrs. Delores’s hot breath against her neck and winced at the image of her tight scowl and the ticking vein on the temple of her forehead.

Waiting for a reaction left her sweat ladden but Mrs. Vern just shook her head and finished folding her sleeve in neat pleats.

“Alright, child. Let’s get to work.” Her voice was quieter than before but nothing else was different. Penny exhaled. She didn’t want to tip her off something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. It was too much hope to say she didn’t notice, but maybe she would keep it to herself. That’s what other people at Midtown had done.

“First we need to measure the sugar. Grab that bag over there.”

Baking wasn’t much different than the usual cooking, though precision was way more important. Mrs. Vern chided her for her wandering mind and it was only by the wet ingredients Penny began to understand how the materials went together, though how Mrs. Vern knew to add less milk because of the lack of humidity was beyond her.

Penny stood in front of the stove in vigilance. Mrs. Vern commanded the kitchen bouncing between each counter; slicing bread and plating different fruits. She arranged everything in a way far to elaborate for a breakfast meal. The timer went off ringing in her face and Penny jumped up.

“They’re ready!” She squeaked. Mrs. Vern chuckled. She grabbed the oven mitts and, with Penny watching over her shoulder, grabbed the pan out of the oven. Steaming hot buns wafted their delicious scent into the room. With her tongue sticking out, Penny picked up the spoon full of icing and brought it over the buns. Thick, white frosting drizzled over them, melting in with the cinnamon, cloves, and a touch of nutmeg. Her mouth watered at the sight.

The swinging doors burst open. Penny and Mrs. Vern froze holding the spoon with an additional scoop of frosting over the rolls. The former with a wince and the latter with a slight scowl. Mr. Friday straightened the lapels on his jacket and continued into the room. Penny noticed he was slightly breathless.

“Good morning Mrs. Vern, Miss Penny. We hadn’t expected you to be up yet.”



“You old worry wort. This here is a tough one, I can tell. I bet you were running around, stressing yourself trying to find her?” She said with a laugh and nudged Penny’s shoulder.

Mr. Friday’s left eye twitched but he didn’t deny the accusation. The two razzed each other with good humor. Mr. Friday held onto his stoic demeanor despite Mrs. Vern threatening a ban of her fine cooking.

“Were you looking for me, Mr. Friday?” Penny intervened before they really started up. She slid the pan over to Mrs. Vern before climbing down from her stool.

“Indeed, Ms. Potts will be shortly. Come with me and I will show you to the breakfast room.”

Penny pulled the stool back to the shelf and hefted it up. She heard Mrs. Vern talking in low, quick tones but felt uneasy eavesdropping.

She almost hadn’t believed Ms. Potts would be back. That the woman’s radiant smile was no more than the gleams of moonlight she reached for but could never touch in her dream.

Mrs. Vern beckoned her over. Penny glanced at Mr. Friday, who nodded that they had time before they had to leave. The woman wiped her hands off on a towel.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vern, for letting me help.” She smiled down at Penny.

“Come back anytime, Penny. I can always use more help down here and you’re better than most of the poor excuses for help plus you don’t try and steal a bite as we’re cooking.” Mrs. Vern looked over Penny’s shoulder to Mr. Friday. She had a hard time thinking the man would try and steal any goodies while cooking. Penny strained her neck to look back. His mustache twitched under the dual stare and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. It seemed he had some sticky fingers and not just from all the sugar.

“Come on, Miss Penny.” He said and she thanked Mrs. Vern one more time before leaving the kitchen.

“I’ll be taking the cinnamon rolls up soon so you won’t have to wait!” She called after them.

Penny followed a step behind Mr. Friday. He glanced behind him and, noting she was struggling to keep up, slowed his walk so he was next to her.

“Did you really run around?” She asked to break the silence.  

“I never run.” He said with a smirk. “Mrs. Vern exaggerates.”

Penny giggled. Their eyes met and both broke into a smile.

“It appears that Ms. Potts is already here,” He said before they turned a corner. He opened the doors to let them into the room. Sure enough, Ms. Potts was sitting at the head of the table, a cup of tea raised to her mouth.

“How did you know?” She asked with a start bordering on a whine. There was a hint of admiration in her voice she hadn’t expected. Mr. Friday just smirked and tapped his head. Penny was about to ask what that meant but Ms. Potts smiled as she spied them enter. Her earlier worry, the tight knot in her chest, eased as Ms. Potts spoke to her like there wasn’t a worry in the world.

“Penny! Good morning. Come and have some breakfast.”

“Thank you, Mr. Friday.” She said to the butler who after placing some newspapers on the table left.

Hope you're all doing well. This story (and my others) are not abandoned just more slow going at the moment because of life.

Next Chapter Eight: 

[bibliocratic]

Jonmartin prompt: Jon wants to cuddle Martin very badly and is also super awkward about it, like "how do I touch you without my elbows crushing something"

(post 160, jonmartin)(this is… well, it’s sort of what you were after? hope it’s ok!)

It’s not easy, the slapdash and imprecise art of communication. Martin’s never been particularly adept. His words trip over footholds of his own making on their way out of his mouth. He has a stammer he’s never quite rid himself of, his words too earnest or too anxious to showcase any finesse at the skill.

And Jon…

Well. Jon.

It wasn’t simple before, twisting the tape back to the start of all this, Jon talking like a car trying to jump start when things felt too personal, his indelicate sincerity that struck with all the tenderness of an anvil. And Martin likes to think they were both getting better, before. They had three weeks of stumbling, artless practise, their amateur declarations witnessed by no-one but the wind and evening-dappled fields that stretched like lazy days for miles around.

And now.

Martin wouldn’t say Jon’s up to managing much talking now.

Oh, he’s not silent. Chatty in his own way, and the conversations they have are tug-of-wars, teasing, testing to find the edges their pieces slot into.

Easy isn’t the word for it though. Martin supposes, it was never going to be.

They’ve stopped for a few days to gather themselves. They’ve made it as far south as Melrose on the borders, and it would have been a pretty market town, antique fairs and village fetes and a eye-catching ruin of a fourteenth century monastery, if the Hunt hadn’t passed this way, maybe the Spiral too. There isn’t much left here in the way of civilisation, and little to nothing in the way of humanity. There are shadows like the imprints on wall after the outpouring shock of a bomb, but their limbs do not concede to the shape of limbs. They sway as leaves on a branch, like they’re hanging from where their feet are stuck to the ground, and Martin tugs them clear of their gathering places.

They’ve managed to let themselves into the half-unhinged door of a little high street shop that used to sell fancy card and stationary. They had tried an art gallery further up the road, but the Dark had started to take root there like black mould, and it’d eaten away the ground floor to yawning inky nothing.

Martin asks Jon if they’ll be safe here, and Jon rallies himself  wearily, Looks. He replies that nothing will come for them, and that’s as much as they can ask for these days.

Above the shop, accessed via a back-room still plugged up and packed with unopened boxes, up carpeted stairs on which bundles of unopened notebooks and special occasion cards balance committedly against the will of gravity, there’s a small flat.  The decoration in the flat is… interesting. It’s more something one of Tim’s friends would have had, the few times Tim got Martin to go out with him for one of his ‘de-stress Friday’ sessions.  Martin would laugh at the wall-hangings like indoor curtains, the posters of the zodiac and some tie-dye hippy representation of chakras, the bong even still on the coffee table in the poky living room, except his attention is slightly more taken up by Jon at the moment. Leant against him like a downed tree, his eyes drooping closed and his legs fast failing him, shuddering from the effort of taking the stairs.

The way here was treacherous. There’s a town further north about forty miles swallowed by the Vast.  Jon tries to avoid Seeing as much as possible, of course he does, and Martin will never ask that of him outright, never, but they’ve had to check if the way is safe a number of times. And each time he opens the door or whatever metaphor Jon uses to understand it, it drains something from him it takes a long time to claw back.

Martin drops his backpack by the entrance. Divests Jon of his. Jon sways and blinks with lidded eyes, and his gestures are sloppy, poorly formed. Martin ends up carrying him to single bed off to the right of the staircase, the room still wreathed in the old stale smell of tobacco and weed.

Once Jon’s out for the count, Martin checks the doors, the windows, their rations and supplies with the religious militancy of a man who knows what happens when they don’t. He counts out rations, makes careful notations in his notebook with a stubby pencil sharpened by his pen-knife. The cupboards of the flat are mostly a bust, but there’s a few cans of baked beans, tinned peaches, and the delight of finding a single can of tinned custard, which Martin stashes to surprise Jon with later.

There’s a billy bookcase next to the non-functioning TV, crowded full of precarious piles of console game boxes and disordered books and back issues of the Fortean Times. Martin peruses through a number of books on mysticism, the paranormal and how one can access their inner self before he finds a glossy hardback on origami to entertain himself.

The sky outside is dark and scratched with an ugly bruising colour,  but it’s likely to be only mid afternoon. Martin ventures back down the staircase and grabs some coloured card before he settles back into the spring-less corner of a battered settee draped with a brightly adorned throw blanket. There’s another, equally obnoxiously shaded blanket of clashing colours, and he places it over himself and gets comfortable.

It’s a few hours later when he hears the bed squeak.  A clearing of a throat, the unsteady padded steps of someone who hasn’t found their equilibrium just yet.

Jon pushes the door open with a sighing squeak and peers blearily around.

The nap hasn’t helped at all by the look of it. Martin turns mid-fold and gets to see a crime scene of disturbed sleep evidenced on Jon’s body. One of Martin’s long-sleeve t-shirts rucked up, the under arms and ring around his neck patched damp. His skin rippled with a thick sweat, hair coming wildly and carelessly from the band he’d tied it back in. He’s rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s still following the motion of running, and his eyes as he stares at Martin are unnaturally dilated, unnervingly steady even as he scrubs his face with his hand.  

“Hey,” Martin says carefully. Knowing to keep his voice pitched low, calmer than Jon feels right now. “Are you… everything ok?”

Jon pauses, blinks just too slowly to seem natural, and shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asks. “If you can… if you want to say, that it.”

Jon pauses. It’s habit now. A nervous tic. Mulling over what he wants to say and how he’ll say it.

He has to be so careful with how he says things.

Martin’s expecting a truncated gesture or two. A stumbling sign that Martin will have to parse, backed up by a thousand other signifiers of meaning in their home-spun language. But unusually, Jon clears his throat, bites his top lip anxiously before he opens his mouth.

Like tuning in a radio station mid-programme, someone else’s words ring out.

“I allowed myself some brief hope,” Jon’s voice sloshes out of his mouth with a South American cadence. “that maybe he’d just left me, maybe he’d escaped with just a divorce. But no. One call to the housing association confirmed that, as far as they were concerned, I’d always lived alone.”

Most of the statements Martin doesn’t recognise. He’s not been cursed with an encyclopaedic knowledge of them after all, a forced and unwilling archive now capable of speaking in every voice but his own. They’re all the same anyway. The recycling of other people’s tragedies and miseries, their worst days committed for posterity and recited dutifully by the archive Jonah Magnus created to house them.

Jon usually doesn’t share the content of his dreams.

“Nightmare?” Martin says, deliberately lightly. He puts down his truly butchered attempt to make a swan and watches as Jon swallows, brings a hand to his mouth to gnaw at a nail.

He wonders if that’s the right word, knows in his heart it isn’t, not really. Because nightmares are a twisting of things that both are and aren’t, a plaited deceitful recollection of an unkind brain. Jon’s dreams are a hideous witnessing, with no hope of challenge of change.

Jon jerkily nods, before he says in that awful ventriloquism:

“… regarding a series of misplaced objects lost over the course of three months.”

Jon’s started to rub his arms. His lips firmly closed again, as though embarrassed he’s shared the history he’s been watching in his dreams. But he did share it. And that’s notable.

Martin holds up a corner of the blanket on the settee, and chides “Get in here, or you’ll catch your death”, and Jon’s crossing the distance as though he was waiting for the signal.

They don’t say anything for the while. Jon folds himself up against Martin’s side like a gangly greetings card, like one of his obviously failed origami projects. Martin puts an arm around his shoulder and consigns himself to the rather shocking robbery of body heat that’s rapidly occurring. Jon accepts the arm, but the tension is still wound through his marrow, and he doesn’t calm like he usually does.

“This one really bothered you, didn’t it?” Martin says.

A twitchy up-down motion.

“How come?” Martin asks, before:  “If you want to talk about it. If not, well, I can tell you all about my grand adventures in paper folding. A wild ride, I can promise.”

Jon raises an eyebrow at the truly dazzling menagerie of wobbly animals, and huffs a stale laugh.

He brings out his hands from where he’d buried them in the furnace of Martin’s space, and makes a sign, a twisting hooked hand motion  - Spiral. And then, shakier, flatter, his fingers closed like shutters – Lonely.

“As far as they were concerned,” he repeats with a mournful and stolen tongue, “I’d always lived alone.”

He makes a sign again, and meets Martin’s eye like he’s been trying not to – Lonely.

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

“You’ve not lost me,” Martin says, reading in between the lines of Jon’s gestures. “I’m here, yeah? Alright. And we’re together. I’m not lost.”

Jon makes a grunt of acknowledgement, inclining his head in agreement, impatiently, as though he knows all this, like he begrudges being reminded. But clearly this knowledge hasn’t stained every part of his waking yet, because there are tears slipping unwanted from his eyes and his hand grips Martin harder.

His gaze flickers like a camera shutter from the floor and its foot-scuffed rug to Martin, back and forth. Martin wishes, not for the first time, that Jon could just ask for what he wants. Could stop feeling like he needs to justify every out-reaching motion to himself, approaching physical affection like he’s trying to do the cryptic bloody crossword.

He’s learning. They both are.

“What do you want me to do?” Martin asks instead.

Jon’s eyes finally linger on him. Cheeks damp, eyes red. He removes his hand from Martin’s grip like he’s unmooring a ship from port. His next movements being planned behind his eyes. A methodical consideration of angle, of intent, of reciprocation that’s as much caution as it is overthinking. Martin wonders sometimes whether this is the Jon he always was, or the Jon that’s been made by this world and all that’s been laid against him. Maybe it’s one or the other or both, or maybe it doesn’t matter much any more. This is Martin’s Jon, the Jon that is, the one that is thinking about how he’s going to place his limbs as though there’s a wrong way to it, who will steady himself before he’ll reach out. But who always does, eventually, in his own time.

His arms encircle Martin’s neck now. A pause, a release of air, before he’s pulling back, fretting like something hasn’t worked. But he clearly wants something, enough to push through his dissatisfaction, face folded in on itself unhappily before it sets in determination and then he goes for around Martin’s chest, fingers steadying, finding their own bony handholds in the material of Martin’s jumper. The right angles of his elbows, the washboard of his ribs felt under his shirt, they don’t have any give and Martin shifts a little to ease the hard sensation of it, try and reorient them better. Jon picks up on this, already trying to shift again or perhaps even move away, and if his tongue could still form apologies, he’d be making them.

Martin’s arms come round decisively, closing the circuit of them.

“Stop fussing,” he murmurs, and Jon quietens. Face against the round of Martin’s chest, the hand that’s not still gripped vice-like carefully combining through his damp hair.

“This ok?” Martin says finally, wanting to know, wanting Jon to feel like he can tell him.

Jon lifts his head. Nods, brings their lips together for a skimming kiss, like he’s sealing the sentiment.

He shuffles his body so he’s wedged next to Martin, taking up any crevice he finds. After a moment, pulling and positioning Martin’s arm back over his shoulder, so it drapes heavy and solid and present. A lightness on his face that sleep couldn’t achieve but a victory Martin likes to claim as his own every time.

It is no hardship for Martin to understand every one of these expressions just fine.

[timelinefancomic]

What happens when I connect non-existent dots between two of my favorite things? Well in this situation, I put them together. So I gave the JJBA: Stardust Crusaders main characters dice sets!

Jotaro:

Top Imprint, untitled set (Reminds me of Star Plat)

Metallic Dice Games, Midnight Fantasy set (it looks liek it has a bunch of stardust in it!!)

Metallic Dice Games, Purple Haze set (gotta get some smoky dice in for him, idk why tho XD fits his overall look)

Metallic Dice Games, Violet Infusion set (again, Star Plat or a really pretty galaxy)

Kraken Dice, Tahiti Twilight (got that purple layer, plus the blue makes me thing of the ocean)

Kakyoin:

Lucky Hand Dice, Necromancer set (this is mostly me just really liking this set and company, but this looks beautiful and matches his outfit)

Chessex, Jade Scarab set (I LOVE this set, i want it XD again, looks like the color of Kak’s uniform)

Chessex, Spring Nebula set (this looks like Emerald Splash and you can’t convince me otherwise)

Avdol:

Bescon, Magical Stone-Aura Stone set (looks a lot like Magician’s Red!!)

Metallic Dice Games, Phoenix Ash set (It’s the name. Come on.)

Metallic Dice Games, Mystic Embers set (The black looks like charred remains of something like wood, fitting for Avdol’s flames)

Polnareff:

Phoenix Dice, Blue Shimmer-Gold Foil set (it’s a fancy-looking set, feel like it would fit the baguette man)

Black Oak Workshop, Dragon set (a nice, darker D20 to match Silver Chariot!)

Cozy Gamer, Cornflower Petal set (makes me thing about how she’d leave flowers for his sister,,, and now I think I made this sad-)

Lucky Hand Dice, Holographic set (Again, fitting for Silver Chariot)

Metallic Dice Games, Blue Flash set (If they got reinked to have silver numbers, that would be just perfect)

Joseph:

Metallic Dice Games, Royal Sunset set (it has his P3 color palette with wisps of color, looking like Hermit Purple! It’s the perfect set!!)

Black Oak Workshop, Dracolich set (looks like old bone in a way, making me think about how Joseph’s older than the others)

T&G Dice, Pinwheel Galaxy set (this is a callback to P2, with Kars being thrown into LITERAL SPACE. Good times.)

And lastly, Dio:

Lucky Hand Dice, Deep Space set (the shimmer makes me think about a nice, velvety carpet)

Chessex, Red Nebula set (looks like wisps of blood in water)

Little Dragon Corp, Garnet Nebula set (such a deep red, again makes me think about blood)

HDDice, Vampire set (can you really blame me? It literally has VAMPIRE as the name XD I also personally own this set, although with a different name)

Lucky Hand Dice, Sunbeam Gold set (Callback to The World, with the pretty gold)

Well, that’s it! I don’t know why I made this list, but it was fun and I can show off my actual obsession with dice XD Might make one with Johna, Rowena, and Addilynn later ^^

[deniigi]

Last Mike piece kind of combining a handful of different requests.

It’s a long one and is under the cut.

(Note, contains some stereotyping--I love Mike but I don’t imagine him as a super sensitive or culturally aware type of guy.)

Thanks to everyone who sent in asks!! And who has read and commented on stories up until this point.

You’re all darlings and stars and I appreciate you immensely. Truly immensely. It is a pleasure to read your comments and reactions and to have met so many lovely humans through the work.

---

keeping brothers

Mike comes to SF to demand retribution for not being invited to Matt and Foggy’s wedding. He crashes into Sam and finds in him a challenge that is perhaps even too great for even Mike Murdock to overcome.

---

Foggy was not presently receptive to advances.

This was unfortunate. Especially since revenge was needing to be taken here over dear, dear Matthew going forth with a wedding without even inviting his only, humble brother to sit in the pews.

Mike had picked out a suit and everything.

It was yellow.

Everyone loved yellow.

He’d gotten a hat to go with it.

Everyone loved hats.

Matt, however, seemed to have other ideas and went on and on about how he was planning on an August wedding and he’d tell Mike in the next month or so what the decided date was and what the color scheme was, and so on and so on. And yet, somehow, by the time May was rolling to a close, with months left until the auspicious August date, Mike got a furious call from the Sister who, for once, had found it in herself to contact him first and who was also offended on Matt’s and Dad’s behalf that Mike had failed to show up to his own twin’s wedding.

She didn’t yell. No of course she didn’t. But she told Mike that God was watching him and that he should consider how he was going to make it up to his brother.

His brother.

Hmph.

More like his little shit wombmate.

Oh, Mike would make it up to him alright.

--

Dearest, darling Matthew lived in San Francisco these days and while Foggy was not receptive to Mike’s usual charm and wit, he did say that Mike was welcome to stay at the happily married couple’s house for the night.

Foggy felt guilty when Mike explained the phone call from Mom and the whole unworn suit situation. He said that it was wrong of Matt to have lied to him and that an apology would be forthcoming, but in the meantime, if Mike could keep an eye on the dogs and the apprentice while he went out to find his beloved husband, that would be great.

Mike, of course, promised he would.

He chose not to mention that dogs were the foul scum of the earth on his personal hierarchy of creatures and things.

He also chose not to mention that children were right below dogs on said hierarchy. After all, not everyone in the world needed to know his business.

--

Matt’s dogs were…disgusting.

Mike didn’t get it.

The number of times Mike had moved Matt to the other side of the pavement to keep him away from dogs (out of brotherly love and fear of the neighborhood kids knowing that his little bro was a crybaby) had long passed countable means.

And yet.

These things.

Hazel was alright. Mike got why Matt was obsessed with her. She was ginger. They were ginger. There was an unbreakable bond there.  

But Tuesday?

Just why?

She was old. She was pale. She looked sad all the fucking time.

Mike tried to throw a tennis ball for her, but after he’d pried the wet, nasty thing out of her mouth, she just watched it bounce and roll onto the living room carpet before looking back up at him like he’d just shot Bugs Bunny dead on the carpet and tried to feed him to her.

“You ever considered therapy?” he asked her. “Maybe anti-depressants?”

She said nothing.

She just looked sad.

“How about a walk?” he asked.

Hazel flung herself out of the kitchen and crashed into the bottom of the island on her way.

Mike could appreciate that level of enthusiasm. Tuesday watched her and the slowly looked back up at him. Her tail swung exactly once.

“That’s it?” Mike asked her.

The tail drooped.

Fuckin’ A.

Look who’s Sandra D., huh?

The door rattled open and both dogs suddenly leap into action. Mike threw hands over his ears at the sudden explosion of barking.

“HEY,” he snapped at them.

They carried on yowling and bustling, racing each other down the stairs. Mike stood up and begrudgingly accepted that he was gonna have to chase these slobbering idiots out into the street, but froze.

A person was down there at the bottom of the stairs with bags slipping off their shoulders. They were laughing and petting the dogs. Cooing to them.

Mike decided that he wasn’t in the mood for housecleaner chatting. He was here for the express purpose of shaming Matthew in his own home.

He took a step back, but not soon enough. The black hair down there snapped up and made eye contact.

“Oh, hey Boss,” the cleaner said. “You’re home early.”

How to respond? How to respond?

This appeared to be an opportunity.

“Wasn’t busy,” he said in his best, stiff, huffy Matthew impression.

The kid cocked his head to the side a little.

“Really?” he asked. “Huh. Wild. Did you already take the girls out?”

Housecleaner and dogwalker? Come on, Matt. You ain’t that busy.

“Negative,” Mike said.

“Oh. Okay, I’ll take them then,” the kid said. “Jia and Chunhua want to meet them, is that cool?”

Um.

But

Like

Why.

“No can do,” Mike said.  “They’ve been poorly behaved.”

The kid stopped with his hand on the downstairs closet door. He turned his head slowly back up the stairs, this time frowning.

Mike decided that he was going to make a drink.

You know. A “drink.” For protection. Against suspicion.

“You feeling okay, Bossman?” the kid called up the stairs.

“Just fine, thanks,” Mike called back from the kitchen. He found a safe place behind the counter and hunkered with the muzzle of his piece over its edge.

Surely, this guy knew Matt’s ‘leave me alone’ tone. Mike had it imprinted across his heart and his impression of it, he knew, was flawless.

The sound of rustling eased downstairs for a moment, and the creak of a door opening followed it. The dogs did not come back up the stairs. Mike started to stand up.

Perhaps the suspicion had passed?

The sound of a door opening downstairs destroyed that dream and the sound of the kid hiking upstairs with intention followed the shattered its remaining fragments.

And like.

Damn.

There were two ways to go about this.

Way 1) Shoot the kid, hide the body, hire new household help for the brother.

Way 2) Engage full and complete Matthew impersonation.

Tricky, tricky, tricky.

One of those involved paperwork and speed interviewing. Mike stowed his piece and made a show of picking through the cabinets for a glass. He was careful to feel around at the bottom of the glasswares’ stems.

He heard the footsteps stop behind him and could practically feel the kid’s eyes burning holes into his back.

“You need a Tylenol or somethin’, Teach?” the kid rumbled.

The hair on the back of Mike’s neck stood up.

He’d fucked up.

He didn’t know how he’d fucked up, but he’d fucked up.

Damn.

Poor little shit. Dyin’ on a kitchen floor was just one step above dying on the toilet.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said to the cabinet contents.

“Are you?” the kid asked.

Pushy.

Stop asking questions, boy, and start prayin’.

“I am,” Mike said, closing the cabinet firmly. “Is there a reason—”

He turned around.

Blue, glowing eyes stared right through him.

“What’s the matter, Teach?” the kid asked sweetly. “Never seen me before?”

Oh.

Shit.

--

 Mike never claimed to be Matty.

Ever.

He wasn’t there for the whole cult-training thing. He only became aware of it after the fact. Of course he’d noticed the change in behavior and the personality shift and yadda yadda yadda. But he couldn’t have done anything about it. He’d just been a kid himself, not to mention that he’d been busy being shipped out to a thousand different foster families and group homes while Matty had been shuffled through a series of special needs placements. They were broken apart and thrown back together all the fucking time while every social worker and home and institute claimed to be trying to ‘keep the twins together.’

As a result, one day Mike woke up and learned from the paper that his twin was secretly a devil in disguise.

It had been kind of neat, actually. Matty’s devil fought crime and Mike’s devil did crime.

What a pair!

The contrast! The tension!

Delicious, all of it.

And while that was very good aesthetic-wise, it unfortunately meant that Mike was woefully unprepared to fight a dog-walking, house-cleaning marital artist on kitchen tile.

The kid was strong. And fast. And fuck, could he land a punch. Or eight.

He’d snatched Mike’s gun and chucked it in the sink within seconds of this conflict beginning, and while Mike had a height and weight advantage on him, someone had taught him how to go for the kidneys and the knees.

Christ.

Mike was going to have to knock him out.

He didn’t want to.

Matt’s kitchen was already a disaster. Adding blood to that had not been part of the shaming plan.

Welp.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

He managed to get the kid locked into an elbow and pulled up with the intention of giving him a head start in the napping arena, when the front door slammed open. The kid simultaneously sunk his teeth down into Mike’s forearm.

Mike shouted before he knew he was and suddenly there were dogs everywhere and people talking over each other and one second, Mike was reestablishing his grip on that mangey little mutt, and the next the kid was gone and he was staring into Matt’s furious grimace.

A glass rolled around on the counter by the sink.

“Oh,” Mike said. “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

“Sensei,” the kid cried, trying to push past Matt’s side to get in front of him.

“That’s enough,” Matt said to Mike’s face, but really to the room at large. The kid stopped.

Sensei, he’d said.

Oho.

Ohohoho.

Mike might have misjudged things here.

“Go clean yourself up,” Matt ordered him, pulling back out of his braced form and catching the kid when he tried to get in front of him again.

“Righty-o,” Mike told him pleasantly. “Just one question—”

A muscle in Matt’s jaw jumped. Mike decided that that was permission.

“Does your little whelp there got all his shots?” Mike asked him.

 --

Sam.

This kid’s name was Sam. And he was not household help. He was apprentice and employee and he was fucking sharp.

Matt kept grabbing him and forcibly manhandling him back onto the couch to keep him from lunging at Mike with intent to kill.

Mike didn’t know what to make of any of this.

When Foggy had said ‘apprentice,’ Mike had assumed that some 14 year old would be arriving for lessons in MMA in the garage or something.

He had not expected this guy.

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped at Mike when Matt told him in hushed tones to settle down or go downstairs until he could.

Wow.

Mike was almost…impressed?

“Samuel,” Matt said in a voice that gave Mike shivers because it sounded exactly like Dad.

Holy shit.

Sam and his glowing blue eyes jerked and then stared up at Matt in hurt betrayal. Matt sensed it somehow and softened.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Thank you for protecting the house. There’s just a misunderstanding here.”

Boy, was that an understatement.

“He’s impersonating you,” Sam told his teacher. “He was cursing Tuesday.”

Eh?

Oh.

That.

“He’s not impersonating me,” Matt said calmly while Foggy made aggravated sounds at the state of his kitchen. “He’s my twin.”

Samuel went slack and stared up into Matt’s sunglasses. He swiveled his head back to Mike. Mike tapped his own glasses down and winked.

Sam bared teeth at him.

Hm.

Unfriendly.

Yes. Like the dog.

Why did Matty collect such things?

“Sam,” Matt said, apparently aware that this type of Sam-silence was not a benevolent one.

Cowed by the warning, Sam’s new tactic for dealing with Mike abruptly became hiding from him. He wriggled out of Matt’s hold and tucked himself up against his back instead, peeking out to squint severely at Mike as though daring him to come any closer.

Matt sighed.

“What do you want, Michael?” he asked, holding his head in his hands while the sound of glass being swept rang out from the kitchen.

Mike hummed and leaned his chin on his palm.

“I think we both know what I want,” he said.

Matt took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

 --

“Hostile,” Mike noted disapprovingly at the now-empty doorframe.

“He’s not always this way,” Foggy assured him.

Mike scoffed.

“Little shit bites,” he said.

“Where do you think he learned that from?” Foggy asked.

Ah.

Matty.

Mike saw now.

“Matt’s not even trying to include me in his life anymore,” Mike sighed. Foggy matched his posture on the other side of the now-clean kitchen counter.

“Sam is a soft spot,” he said.

“Psh. He shouldn’t be. If Matty wanted a nephew, all he had to do was say so. I’m sure I’ve gotten some broad or ten knocked up over the last twenty years,” Mike pointed out.

Foggy’s silence was judgmental. He was lookin’ kind of thin.

“Bad timing?” Mike asked him.

“More like tasteless,” Foggy told him.

“Maybe tasteless, but not untrue,” Mike volleyed back with a winning smile.

Foggy pursed his lips at him.

“Matt and Sam are already bonded, Michael,” he said. “It’s going to be far easier for you to accept Sammy than it is to get Matt to accept one of your eight thousand love children.”

Mike huffed.

Always a double-standard in this family.

 --

So Sam was definitely trying to kill him. Or at least run him out of this place.

There was broken glass in the guest bathroom. There was a rug suddenly on the stairs in the middle of the night. There were wet, disgusting tennis balls waiting to be stepped on in the house’s hallways.

Sam allegedly slept downstairs, but Mike didn’t think he was sleeping.

“You’re accusing my apprentice of sabotage, now?” Matt deadpanned to him over breakfast.

“He’s jealous. He doesn’t like the idea of there being two of you,” Mike told him reliably.

Matt reached out and felt around for Mike’s forehead. He held his hand there like the fucking dick he was.

“Hm,” he said.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Mike told him.

“Hm,” Matt said again, taking his hand back to stuff a piece of toast in his mouth.

Mike heard a door open downstairs and then a burst of babytalk towards one of the dogs.

It cut off abruptly.

Mike looked over his shoulder towards the staircase and sure enough, the most favored blue-eyed boy of the household was down there, glaring up at him. He waved. Sam gave him the finger and hauled the dogs off with him to go make his own breakfast in the downstairs kitchen.

“He’s adorable, Matty,” Mike said without intonation.

“I am aware,” Matt said. “I like to keep him around. Really draws in the ladies.”

Hm.

 --

Sam hid. Mike became aware of this on the third day of staying over that he managed to wrangle out of Matt and Foggy in return for their inhospitality over the weekend and the whole wedding situation.

The boy was always in his room or going or coming from the house. He did not touch the stairs.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” he asked Matt.

Matt didn’t even turn his way while he brushed Hazel’s fur.

“I mean, he doesn’t love to come up here in general,” he said, “But yeah, no. He especially doesn’t love you.”

Hm.

“I’m gonna bond with him,” Mike decided.

“Please don’t,” Matt said immediately.

“I’m gonna,” Mike said.

 --

Sam blinked slowly at him once and then twice.

Then he picked up his plate and mug and made to leave for his room.

“Hold on now, partner,” Mike said, blocking the doorway with an arm. Sam’s eyes flicked up to the arm, then back to his face. Then up to the arm again.

“I think we both want the same thing here,” Mike continued. “You clearly love my brother. I appreciate that. I love my brother too. And if you’re gonna be stickin’ around, me and you should get onto more even footing, no?”

Sam turned his head to the side and ducked right under Mike’s arm into the hall. His bedroom door closed with a thunk.

It locked.

Mike blinked at the window he had been standing in front of.

Little shit.

This kid was a little shit.

 --

“Mike, he’s just not about you,” Matt sighed. “It took him months to warm up to me. He’s not that kind of person.”

Bullshit.

He was what? 18?

18 year olds could be bought.

Matt’s lip twitched.

“He’s 24,” he said.

Oh.

Well.

Same difference. 24 year olds could be bought too.

Matt smirked.

“Alright, do your worst then,” he said.

 --

He invited Samuel out for Vietnamese coffee. There was a place close by. It seemed to be quiet enough.

Sam stared at him and informed him that he was Chinese, thanks, not Vietnamese and all Asians weren’t the same, by the way.

Mike didn’t know what to say.

“Do you not like coffee?” he asked.

“I don’t like stereotypes,” Sam told him. “And I don’t like you.”

He shut his door.

 --

“If we do East Asian food, then we let Sammy pick where we get it,” Matt told Mike dutifully.

That was like, fine. But also wasn’t that equally presumptuous?

“He’s got much stronger opinions on it than we do,” Matt shrugged. “And certain places don’t have things that he likes that we don’t know very well.”

…right.

“So I should let him pick,” Mike translated.

“I think you should leave him alone,” Matt told him.

Well, they both knew that wasn’t happening, but it was a sweet thought, little brother.

“You have a compulsion to feel liked,” Matt said offhandedly.

“You have a need to be hated,” Mike sighed.

Matt glared.

The stalemate remained intact.

 --

Sammy. Samuel. Sam.

He told Mike to call him Mr. Chung or Blindspot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mike thought ‘Sammy’ was very cute.

It sounded nephew-like.

Sam told him that he wasn’t his nephew because Sensei wasn’t his dad because he already had a deadbeat, missing father, thanks. He wasn’t looking for another one.

Mike was getting the feeling that Sam was angry with him.

Matt wandered downstairs afterwards and knocked on Sam’s door and was allowed admission. For like. An hour.

Them double-standards, man.

 --

Matt announced that Mike was coming with him and Sam to walk the dogs. He bribed the kid with a promise of a bagel. Mike watched this happen.

Sam stared long and sad into Matt’s unseeing face exactly like Tuesday. Matt patted him on the head in consolation and he did not (did not) bite his hand (unlike the damn dog).

“Half an hour, kiddo,” Matt told him. “Then bagel.”

Sam was from New York, it turned out. Not Shanghai or Beijing or Hong Kong. And apparently it was rude to ask or assume the latter.

He liked bagels as much as any decent New Yorker did, and Matt knew this about him.

“Only for the bagel,” Sam told him.

“Only for the bagel,” Matt agreed. “I’ll buy and you can put whatever you want on it.”

“Egg,” Sam said definitively. “And peanut butter. And sriracha.”

Matt tried not to wince.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Sam was pleased with his submission.

“Is it cold outside?” he asked.

 --

Sam loved the dogs. Mike suddenly understood why he and Matt got on so well now.

This kid had little care for drool on his hands and had a killer arm. The dogs raced after his lobbed tennis balls like their lives depended on it—even the old lady.

Matt said nothing.

He was busy acting as a buffer. He elbowed Mike in the ribs after the fifth throw or so.

Mike remembered the mission.

“Where’d you learn to throw, Sammy?” he asked.

Matt clutched at his face with a hand.

Sam side-eyed Mike without moving.

“Sam,” he said firmly. “Or BT. Or Chung.”

“Sammy suits you,” Mike told him. “Where’d you learn to throw?”

Sam furrowed his brow.

“My mom,” he said.

Oh, nice.

“She play baseball?” Mike asked.

“Archer,” Sam said stiffly.

“Very cool. Very cool.”

Annnnd that was it. Hm.

“Teach, why’re you lettin’ this guy hang around?” Sam asked out of the blue.

“Familial obligation, minor guilt, fear of maternal retribution,” Matt listed out dutifully.

Sam picked up the proffered ball and with it, accepted this answer. He chucked the ball and watched the dogs run.

“Are you a devil too?” he asked the field.

Mike blinked then realized the question was for him.

“Sort of,” he said.

“Definitely,” Matt sighed.

“What’s your thing then?” Sam asked. “You carry. Why?”

Why?

Because Mike Murdock wasn’t being caught out in the cold, no siree.

“My choice of company relies on, how shall we say, some rather poor communication,” he went for.

Sam hummed.

“So you’re a crook,” he said.

Matt choked on a laugh.

“A crook? No, no, kid,” Mike said. “You got me all wrong. I’m what you call an opportunist.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Sure. Why’re you such a dick?”

Wow.

No respect for his elders, truly.

“It’s the trauma,” he deadpanned. “And the older sibling burden.”

“You don’t look older than Sensei,” Sam pointed out.

“Well, looks aren’t everything, sweetheart,” Mike told him kindly.

Sam frowned.

“Why do you wear a hat?” he asked.

“Because I’m fantastic,” Mike told him.

“Oh, I get it now,” Sam said.

Mike straightened his back.

“Do you?” he asked.

“You’re just a fuckin’ clown,” Sam said.

 --

Okay, so Mike might just have to throw this one.

Matt wouldn’t stop laughing at him and it was his job to make Matt miserable, not the other way around. Any more of this and Matt would forget his place.

“Your son is out of line,” he scolded Matthew. “Doesn’t respect his elders. Doesn’t play well with strangers. You need to socialize him.”

Matt found that even more comical.

He wouldn’t say why. Mike had to interrogate Foggy, but that was difficult because Kirsten showed up and was gorgeous and too good for Matthew, so that had to be addressed with full and complete attention.

Kirsten leaned over and took Mike’s hat and patted him on the shoulder and said, “Sam’s never been disrespectful for more than five minutes at a go the whole time we’ve known him, Mikey, we’re learning more and more about him each day that you’re here.”

Which was.

Hm.

Not sexy.

But he would deal with that once Sexy herself gave him his hat back.

 --

He got a job on in Miami that night and had to cut his visit short. Matt was not sorry to see him go. That was pretty typical.

Sam had no opinions on his leaving. He stuck his head upstairs and said bye, but nothing more than that.

Mike felt bitter.

It had been a long time since he’d left a job feeling unsatisfied.

No closure.

Matt wasn’t supposed to be better with people than he was. That was their trade off. He wasn’t allowed.

“I’ll be back, and I’ll crack him,” He threatened his brother on the way to the airport.

“I have no doubt that you will,” Matt said patronizingly. “And I am sure that he’ll be waiting for your return.”

Yeah, well.

He better.

[adrianhcndrix]

starter @finnoconnor where a vacant house

Adrian doesn’t know shit about houses. Not only that, but Adrian doesn’t even know why he’s here. A cynical part of him says Finn doesn’t trust him to be alone at his place. Which, if he’s honest? It’s not like Adrian can really blame him for that. But Finn’s been nice to him for the last few weeks, so he keeps his suspicions to himself and lets himself wander through the empty home.

The walls are a fresh stark white, like they’ve never been touched by human hands before. There’s something unnerving about the vacant fabrication of it all. Somewhere in the living room he can hear Finn talking to the realtor as he opens his doors and pretends to inspect the bedrooms. Another thought creeps, unwanted into his head as his boots leave imprints in the fresh beige carpet of the main bedroom.

The closer Finn gets to his dreams of adulthood and home ownership, the closer Adrian gets to losing the couch he crashes on. 

The bathroom in the main bedroom is bigger than any bathroom has any right to be. He wonders how many times he could fit the bathroom back at his old trailer in here. And the bathtub. It’s the kind with jets that Adrian has only ever seen in hotels. With some effort, his boots come off, discarded at the base and he lowers himself into the empty tub. Maybe he’s sulking a little, maybe he just wants his one shot to sit in a fancy bathtub he could practically sleep in. His legs stretch out in front of him, feet propped up on the side near the faucet as he takes in the luxury of his surroundings.

[perfecttimeseleven]

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 5 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE NINE

REMINGTON

I can’t believe Jay eats pizza with a fork. I man, I can’t believe we seriously just ate the HP-delivered pizza, either — but there’s just a lot to process here.

(DAISY takes another bite of her slice.)

DAISY

Free pizza’s free pizza, my dude.

REMINGTON

Cheers to that.

(REMINGTON raises her glass of lemonade and clinks it against DAISY’s glass of juice. JAY, feeling a little apologetic, hesitantly raises her glass of milk towards DAISY’s glass, but DAISY puts her glass down, making a face at JAY.)

DAISY

Milk-drinkers need to be oppressed.

JAY

(sipping from her glass of milk, before putting it down)

Our bones are stronger than yours.

DAISY

Hey, uhh, guess what? You’re a cuck.

REMINGTON

(changing the subject)

Um, so you all didn’t find anything outside?

DR. MORELLO

The man you claim to have seen —

REMINGTON

The man I most definitely saw.

DR. MORELLO

— seems to have vanished without a trace.

(pauses)

But now that we’re aware this hypothetical man —

REMINGTON

This very real man —

DR. MORELLO

— knows of our — your whereabouts, we must remain incredibly vigilant.

REMINGTON

Well, is there anything you can tell me about the, ah, bad people? You see, I can’t help but worry a little about...well, anyone going after my life.

DR. MORELLO

All you need to know about the threat is how to keep yourself safe.

DAISY

The classic “keep your doors and windows locked, stay off your phone, don’t talk to strangers who say they’ve stabbed pizza guys” kinda deal.

REMINGTON

Okay, but —

DR. MORELLO

Now, Remington, I’ve been talking with Jay.

REMINGTON

Uh —

DR. MORELLO

She’s already agreed to this, but...essentially, I think it would be beneficial, tomorrow morning, to try to recreate the possession incident from today. Under close guidance, of course. It’s in all ways extraordinary, and I think this soulmate bond holds a lot of mystery and possibility. Tomorrow’s a big day. Accordingly, I want you both to get some sleep as soon as possible. Meaning, now.

REMINGTON

What —

DAISY

Wait, c’mon! I still need to show Remy embarrassing videos of Jay on my phone!

JAY

(splutters, almost choking on her pizza)

The what?

DR. MORELLO

Daisy, go show Remington to her room.

DAISY

Ugh, fine.

(DAISY and REMINGTON get up and exit.)

DR. MORELLO

Take the plates, Daisy.

(DAISY enters.)

DAISY

Ugh, fine.

(DAISY picks up her plate and REMINGTON’s plate, before exiting.)

DR. MORELLO

Jay...

JAY

You’ve gotta be kidding.

(pauses)

Me, too?

DR. MORELLO

Yes.

(With a dramatic rolling of her eyes, JAY grudgingly picks up her plate and exits. DR. MORELLO picks up the now-empty pizza box and his own plate, before exiting the other way.)

ACT ONE

SCENE TEN

REMINGTON

Okay, why the fuck are there so many Jay Mazziottas on Instagram?

(scrolls a bit more)

I give up.

(tosses the phone onto the carpet)

Goodnight!

(then, to herself)

Goodnight!

(REMINGTON puts her phone on the table and turns off the lamp, before crawling into her blankets and falling asleep. Cricket chirps, birdsong, and noises of traffic fill the air. REMINGTON bolts upright in her bed.)

REMINGTON

(looking around)

The fuck kinda dream is this?

HP

Hello, Remington Long!

(REMINGTON turns around, seeing HP)

REMINGTON

(initially shocked)

Ack!

(hopping off the bed)

Hey, sexy printer man! I’m in my jammies!

HP

I see! I am not a fan of the Jeff man on your shirt. Dinosaur man.

REMINGTON

You don’t like Jeff Goldblum? The fuck is wrong with this dream?

(looking around)

Whatever. Uh, I don’t know why we’re in Central Park but let’s not question my subconscious. There’s a bed here and we both know where this dream is going to go so come down here and let’s just get to it.

HP

What?

REMINGTON

(to self)

Shit, are my lucid dream powers not working? Do I need to eat more almonds?

HP

Silly Remington, I am not a figment of your imagination!

REMINGTON

You see, that’s exactly what a figment of my imagination would say.

HP

I’m here to finish our little chit-chat from earlier. Chit-chat fun times. Okay?

REMINGTON

Uh, I’m not supposed to talk to you, figment of imagination or otherwise, all righty? “Perfectionist” is a slur or something, and you’ve stabbed a pizza man, and…yeah. So if this dream isn’t going in the, uh, desirable direction, I’m not too interested. I’m gonna wake up now.

HP

You can’t.

REMINGTON

Watch me!

HP

Silly Remington, I am really here. Don’t you understand that?

(REMINGTON pauses.)

REMINGTON

Well, shit.

(pauses)

Did you make us appear in Central Park too?

HP

No, no, silly, that’s your imagination. As is that scantily clad person in your dream who has been trying to get our attention —

REMINGTON

Is that Jay?

DREAM JAY

(waving)

Yoo-hoo, hot stuff!

REMINGTON

No, no, don’t go —

HP

I’m just crashing your regularly scheduled dream; that’s a thing I can do. And a thing you can too.

REMINGTON

First, huge invasion of my privacy. Wait, what? I can — ?

HP

You can do all sorts of fun shit if you put your mind to it, baby! That’s why Dr. Morello’s scared of you. He wants to lock you up in his cottage forever like his other pets so you never learn shit.

REMINGTON

Okay, but what’s “shit?” And, uh, make this quick.

(furtively looks offstage for DREAM JAY)

I have dream business to attend to.

HP

Anything you put your mind to. You’re an Eleven, Remington. We’re “high numbers”.

(gestures dramatically)

With the imprints of more lifetimes, more history, more knowledge, and more potential.

(There’s a pause. HP freezes in his dramatic gesture, waiting for a response.)

REMINGTON

You’re gonna have to dumb this down a lot more for me, buddy.

HP

Ahh, let’s say every Perfectionist has a little tear in the wall in the back of their mind, okay? And what’s behind that is shiny cool stuff. Well, for high numbers, the tears are wider and more fragile. To get to the shiny cool stuff, you just have to break the wall entirely!

REMINGTON

Uhh, okay. And how do you do that?

HP

You stay away from the kind of old artifacts that keep your voices out.

REMINGTON

You mean, you’ve got no accessory on? You’re just living 24/7 with your voices? Damn. No wonder you’re a little out of it.

HP

Yes! They’re here now, actually. They’re just staying quiet until I need some fancy backing vocals.

REMINGTON

Some what?

HP

Is that bracelet the accessory you use?

REMINGTON

Uh, yeah.

(HP grabs REMINGTON’s wrist, lifting it up and gazing at it. He hisses at the bracelet.)

REMINGTON

You good?

(HP lets go of REMINGTON, suddenly backing up. 9. Welcome to Your Mind.)

HP

THAT THING KILLS THE VOICES, AND ALONG WITH THEM, EVERYTHING ELSE!

IT TRAINS YOUR BRAIN TO MORPH INTO A BUNCH OF JAIL CELLS.

BUT, OF COURSE, THAT BRACELET ISN’T SOMETHING YOU’VE QUESTIONED! OOOH,

BUT IT’S DOING WHAT HIPPIE MOTHERS THINK ANTIDEPRESSANTS DO!

YOU’RE NO ORDINARY HUMAN! YOU’RE A PERFECTIONIST!

SO FORGET ALL THE BULLSHIT YOU’VE BEEN FED BY YOUR LITTLE THERAPIST!

IF YOU OPEN UP TO YOUR SOUL AND DITCH THAT NASTY AND TRAGIC

BRACELET, YOU’LL FIND YOU’VE GOT A TYPE OF ALMOST…MAGIC!

Just like what you thought HP stood for.

(in a terrible fake British accent, with hand motions)

“Harry Potter.”

(suddenly loud)

Yer a wizard, bitch! Ha!

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

JUST GIVE A SHOUT! KNOCK ON THE DOOR! RING THE LITTLE BELL — “DING DONG!”

CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO SEE WHAT LIES INSIDE!

CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO SEE WHAT LIES THEY HIDE!

OH, WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME TO YOUR MIND.

CENTURIES OF LIFETIMES IN THERE! ON THAT, WE CAN AGREE,

BUT MILLENNIUMS OF KNOWLEDGE IS WHAT YOU DON’T YET SEE!

WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO LEARN TO SET FIRES WITH JUST ONE THOUGHT

(motioning behind him as a tree bursts into flame)

OR TO HOP FROM DREAM TO DREAM? Like now! I’m in your head! Ha!

HP/HP’S VOICES

AREN’T YOU PISSED

HP

THAT NO ONE TELLS YOU ANYTHING AT ALL?

IT’S BECAUSE, WITH A SNAP OF YOUR FINGERS, THEY’LL ALL FALL

AT YOUR KNEES! AND THEY’LL BEG, “OH, PLEASE, LET ME GO!”

YOU’LL LEARN IT’S FUN AS SHIT WHEN YOU CAN JUST TELL ‘EM “NO.”

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

SURE, THE VOICES HURT AT FIRST, BUT “WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU”…MAKES YOU STRONG!

CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO MEET ALL OF YOU!

‘CAUSE WHEN YOU’RE LIKE US, IT’S THE THING TO DO!

OH, WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

(The ground below HP’s feet starts rising up into the air until he’s a few feet above the ground.)

HP’S VOICES

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

HP

STUPID HUMANS CONTROL NOTHING IN THEIR LIVES,

THOUGH THEY MIGHT TRY TO BY BUYING SOME GUNS OR SOME KNIVES.

YOU’VE SPENT YOUR WHOLE LIFE FEELING LIKE A PAWN.

I’VE BEEN THERE TOO, BUT NOW, THIS FEELING IS GONE!

WE’RE MORE THAN HUMAN, SO WHY NOT EMBRACE OUR POWER?

INFLICT THE PAIN YOU FEEL! MAKE THIS YOUR FINEST HOUR!

WHEN YOU’RE IN CONTROL, THERE’S NO VIRTUE OR SIN!

GOD ISN’T REAL, BUT IF HE WAS, WE COULD FIGHT HIM. AND WIN!

(A tree near HP explodes. There’s a chittering noise and a squirrel comes sailing out of the debris. HP catches it with one hand.)

HP

OH, LOOK AT THIS! A SQUIRREL! I CAN MAKE IT EXPLODE!

(throws the squirrel upwards and it explodes in mid-air)

BABY, YOU’VE GOT NO CLUE ALL THE POWER THAT’S STOWED

IN YOUR MIND! YOU WILL FIND WONDER!

(making a bolt of lightning appear behind him, accompanied by a crash of thunder)

LIGHTNING! THUNDER!

TAKE CONTROL AND TAKE A STROLL DOWN YOUR TRUE DESTINED ROAD!

I FIND MOST PROBLEMS TEND TO DISAPPEAR

WHEN I SET THEM ON FIRE!

(making his hands light up with flames)

SO TRY THAT, MY DEAR!

THE PEOPLE AND THE ANIMALS INSIDE YOUR HEAD

CAN AND WILL TEACH YOU EVERYTHING THE WEAKLINGS DREAD!

(jumps down to the ground)

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

WHEN YOU CAN’T TELL GOOD FROM BAD, THAN CAN YOU REALLY DO ANY WRONG?

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND!

WELCOME TO YOUR MIND, REMINGTON LONG!

HP

Interested? Meet me here.

(HP gives REMINGTON a small piece of paper.)

Until then…try it out!

(HP reaches both hands towards REMINGTON’s wrist.)

REMINGTON

Wait —

(It’s too late. HP’s removed her bracelet and is now holding it in one hand.)

ACT ONE

SCENE ELEVEN

REMINGTON’S VOICES

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS.

(HP runs off, dropping REMINGTON’s bracelet discreetly onto her bed. He exits.)

REMINGTON

(thinking HP took her bracelet)

Shit! Shit! Bitch, you took my bracelet!

REMINGTON’S VOICES

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…

REMINGTON

No. No. Not Clara! No!

(Around REMINGTON and his bed, the set starts changing again.)

REMINGTON’S VOICES

JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…JOYCE…

(REMINGTON’s surroundings have faded into the all-too-familiar living room. It’s dimly lit in warm yellow light. DR. MORELLO’s sitting on the couch, alone and typing on a computer he’s rested on his lap.)

REMINGTON

Hey! Dr. Morello!

(DR. MORELLO doesn’t react.)

REMINGTON

Dr. Morello? Can you hear me? Guess not. Huh.

(REMINGTON moves away from DR. MORELLO, inspecting the room. JAY enters.)

REMINGTON

Oh, yeah. Jaaaay! About time!

(REMINGTON approaches her, but JAY doesn’t acknowledge her presence. In fact, she walks right past her.)

REMINGTON

Jay! No! Pay attention to me!

DR. MORELLO

(closing his laptop)

Jay. Couldn’t sleep?

JAY

Nope.

REMINGTON

Uh, hello?

(JAY sits on the couch.)

JAY

This…soulmate thing.

REMINGTON

Oh, shit, they’re gonna talk about me.

JAY

I…don’t know how…

DR. MORELLO

(chuckling)

The girl physically repulses you? That’s understandable.

REMINGTON

Hey! Asshole!

(JAY pauses, standing up. She walks towards the TV.)

JAY

As much as I wish that were it...

(picking up the cover of the Just Dance 3 disc and looking at it)

it’s…leaning towards the opposite, actually.

REMINGTON

Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s a good dream!

JAY

(turning back to face DR. MORELLO)

D’you think this…this all...

(JAY lifts up the disc cover silently. DR. MORELLO exhales.)

DR. MORELLO

(solemnly)

Will be another Mark situation? Jay, what happened back then was not…and never will be…your fault. The only one blaming you for that day is you.

JAY

Who’s blaming myself? I…I don’t blame myself. I blame him.

(tightening her grip on the disc cover, fingers digging into the plastic)

Fucking hate his guts!

REMINGTON

(whispered, to self)

Not the Just Dance 3 disc cover!

(There’s a loud crack of plastic. JAY’s broken the disc cover in her fist. DR. MORELLO sighs and gets up. Slowly, he takes the broken disc cover away from her and sets it down gently next to the TV. Meanwhile, REMINGTON’s making her way around her bed to edge in closer to the conversation.)

DR. MORELLO

Calm down, Jay. Go to bed.

JAY

I’m…it just all feels too familiar. Me. Her. An Eleven.

REMINGTON

(noticing her bracelet on the bed)

Oh my god, is that my bracelet? Thank God.

JAY

I don’t know if I —

[mingiswow]

Soulmate!au Series | Jooheon

Pairing: Jooheon x Reader

Summary: Everyone got their entire life to get ready for the day they were going to meet their soulmate, except for you, whose soul clock has been reset since you were born.

Words: +1,9k

Every morning you woke up with the sunlight in your eyes, the yellow-ish strings touching and warming your skin. Eyes slowly opening and, as soon as they focus, meeting the big frame on your wall.

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” Lao Tzu

Those words soothed your soul and mind for a while, until you looked to the little red numbers on your skin. Where it was supposed to be marking the time until you meet your soulmate were a bunch of zeros.

Is your soulmate dead? Do you even have one? Did you already met them and haven’t noticed? 

The questions filled your mind every day since you can remember. And ashamed of your “condition”, you hid the soulmate mark under a large real watch.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the soft and fluffy tail of your cat touch your skin as feathery as the winter wind.

“‘Morning, lollipop” you played with his ears, caressing his soft fur and earning a loud and soothing purr. “Are you hungry?” he meowed and you laughed. “C’mon, moma will feed you” another shiver went up your spine as your warm feet touched the cold tiles of your room, and you cursed yourself for not having bought a carpet yet.

The grey cat followed you along to the kitchen, waiting for you to fill his bowl with the food so you could finally do something for yourself. You decided on your usual egg roll and black coffee, taking your time before falling on the rush of Seoul.

You entered the Starship building greeting your coworkers as well as some trainees and idols that were there and walking straight up to your office.

“Good morning people” you smiled to the people there, that greeted you back, your best friend hugging you.

“Good morning, Y/N” Sooyoung said happily, her smile wide in the thin lips of her. “Boss said he’ll be coming over for a meeting at 10 am”.

“I don’t know why you keep calling him boss” your bags thudded on your table. “He’ll be your husband in a few months” she shrugged. “And I still don’t know why you’re still my PA when you can literally be one of the bosses of our department”.

“I like working with you. Besides, if I went to boss things up, you’d go with me-”

“And this department needs you” your boss arrived and ruffled your hair, it was incredible how he loved to treat like a kid even though you were already 24. “How’s the brainstorm?” he asked you, sitting in your chair and the you noticed three of the seven Monsta X members. You waved at them happily, after so many years working there, you grew a soft spot for them.

You, your boss, Shownu, Kihyun, Changkyun and other people from your team spent the whole morning and good part of the afternoon discussing the concept and the visuals for their up and coming comeback, only stopping to eat the takeovers Sooyoung brought.

“I think that we should mix it up a little bit” Changkyun spoke, holding two of the concept boards. “I don’t know, maybe make it a little more urban and edgy rather than dark”.

“Like the one we did for our last Japanese comeback?” Kihyun asked and the maknae nodded. You analysed the boards in front of you as well as the lyrics and meanings. “Call Jooheon and Wonho, they helped produce the album” the boy nodded and sent a message in his phone.”

In a matter of minutes, the two known faces arrived and took their parts in the discussion, expressing their thoughts over the ideas.

Your eyes tried to concentrate on that creative mess in front of you but they unconsciously traveled over the face of the so well-known boy. You and Jooheon were born in the same day, the same hospital, with a difference of seconds, making him older than you - which was enough for him make fun of you and try to piss you off.

Ever since then, your parents became friends, consequently, you two too. Jooheon has been in the most importants parts of your life and you on his. When he became a trainee, when he took part in the survival show, the debut, every single bit of his life you were there. It was more than clichè to tell you’d fall for him, but can someone blame the heart? 

Yes, you can. And you did. Every single day of your existence.

Because while you were there, with your soulmate clock stopped, his was counting. He had someone. And it wasn’t you.

“Y/N? Y/N~ah!” you woke from your daydreams with Sooyoung shaking you angrily. “Are you okay? What do you think of this?” you nodded and smiled, just letting an  I think that’s great almost inaudible. “Then that’ll be!” the woman clapped her hands excitedly, being followed by the others in the room.

Everyone started to either dissipate from the room or talk to each other about the work to be done from then on. You just wanted to go home, put your feet in a nice and warm bucket of water and stuff your face with pasta and wine, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t have to look to know to who that gripped belonged to.

“You. Me. My place. Movies and food.” he said excitedly pointing from you to him. His brown eyes shining galaxies that made you never wanted to stop looking at it. “Oh! And I won’t accept a no as an answer” you rolled your eyes and sighed. You could be 50, 60, and still would act like kids with each other. “Yah! C’mon, Y/N! I’ve finished everything for the comeback, I’m finally free and I want to spend some quality time with my bestie”.

“Kyunnie! I think Jooheon is talking to you” you called the youngster, earning a laugh from the boy in front of you. “Are you serious right now?” he nodded and nudged to your sides, basically cuddling you. He always did that when he wanted attention. “Ok. But I’ll go home first and take a shower and change” he nodded and kissed the tip of your nose, running away from somewhere you didn’t know. “He’s nuts”.

It was almost 8 pm when you parked your car in front of the condominium, giving it to the car keeper of the fancy place.

“Hey!” Jooheon greeted you with a hug, even before you rang the bell. “I saw you coming from the cameras” you giggled at him. You absolutely loved this silly and caring way he had. After all, that’s one of the reasons that made you fall for that man.

Stopping to analyze all the situation, the main reason that you fell for Jooheon is that you allowed yourself too. You never had anyone to wait for, never spend your days dreaming about how your soulmate would look or how they’d be. You had enough time to pay attention to the tiny details of the man you trusted and cared the most. The little things that made Jooheon himself. 

You only wished you could understand why you were different from everybody else and why your soulmate couldn’t be your true soulmate, the one you chose.

“What will we do tonight?” he asked pulling you to the couch perfectly placed in the center of the room.

“You were the one who invited me. You decide” his arms hugged your waist and pulled you to snuggle on his chest, which you gladly did, hugging him back and hearing his fast heartbeat. “Are you okay, Joo?” he only nodded, his hands caressing your hair like the rarest feather from a phoenix.

“Y/N…” his voice came as a whisper, loud enough only to travel slowly to your ears.

“Jooheon” 

“I have something to tell you” the chill that ran down your spine the day you saw him shirtless was nothing compared to the one you felt that moment. Every single pore of your body was awaken. Those simple words made your heart to beat at the same pace his own and, only then, you could tell it was because he was nervous. 

You nodded after a while, waiting for him to say something. The boy lifted his and your body, eyes meeting too close for comfort. His right hand pulled his left sleeve, revealing his soulmate clock, the remaining time almost ending. 

“Joo-” you could feel your heart traveling from your chest to your mouth then coming back. With a swift movement, he took his clock out. revealing another one underneath. Your eyes blinked quickly, trying to assimilate everything. “What’s… What the fuck, Lee Jooheon?” you screamed, louder than you wanted.

“The company gave me a fake clock the moment I entered so I could figure it out what was wrong with me and my soulmate” you listened carefully to the boy in front of you. “I never really cared about it, I didn't have time for it after all. But the fake clock was running and time getting tighter, so I had to figure it out what to do, especially with monbebes already knowing about my clock” he sighed, holding your hands on his. 

“That means you already met your soulmate?” the question was low, the pain in your heart being too much. His clock was reseted. The zeros adorning his arm.

“My clock always showed zeros. I can’t remember one day it had numbers on it. I didn’t know what was the problem until my mom realized. My clock never worked because I already knew my soulmate. I always did. Our clocks didn’t work because we met each other the moment we were born” you blinked a few times, too much information to handle. 

“So… Me and you are…” he nodded.

“I guess, but there’s only one way to know for sure” his body came closer than already was, chests close, knees brushing each other, foreheads touching and the hot breaths mixing it with each other. You closed your eyes and waited. His soft lips ever so gently touched yours, just enough to tickle the muscle and make your body shiver even more than it already was. You were the one who closed the space between your bodies, hand holding the back of his neck and pushing his head torwards yours.

As soon as your lips finally met, an eletric wave ran from your lips to your wrists. The numbers burning your skin, the forms changing to become each other's name. Your fingers gently touched the red-ish name imprinted in his skin. The tears threatening to scape your eyes as you felt your whole body warm up.

“I love you” the words came so easily out of his lips, like they were waiting on the tip of his tongue for so long to be spelled out. “I’m more than happy to know that you are my soulmate” his nose caressed yours, arms wrapping you up in a tight hug. “I love you so much, Y/N”.

“I love you too, Joo” it felt so good saying those words with the real meaning. “The only bad part is that we won’t have all that cute fluff shit of getting to know each other” you pouted.

“Says who?” he left your embrace and got on his feet, you following along. “Hi, I’m Lee Jooheon. Your soulmate” you laughed at his silliness. “Nice to meet you”.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you too” you shooke his hand, but quickly enough he pulled to another kiss.

And another.

And another.

Shownu | Wonho | Minhyuk | Kihyun | Hyungwon | Jooheon | I.M

Requests are open

Masterlist

[cricket-scribbles]

Luke Alvez Imagine

Luke Alvez x Gender Neutral Reader. Some sexy alphabet fun under the cut or read on Ao3 Masterlist

A: Aftercare (What are they like after sex?)

Luke is so attentive during aftercare. He loves running a bath for you after sex and he’ll wash your hair, smooth a warm wet washcloth over your skin, peppering little kisses in his wake. When you head back to bed, it’s skin-to-skin, full body contact with you draped over Luke’s chest, your head beneath his chin.

B: Body part (Favorite body part - on themselves and their partner)

On himself, he doesn’t have one. As a ranger, his body was only a machine - keep it in good working order to stay on top of the job.

On you, however, he has several favorite body parts. It’s hard to choose just one.

He loves your hips, curving his hands over them when you ride him, or just resting his fingertips there when he stands next to you as a reminder - to you as well as him - that you’re safe.

He loves your eyes and how expressive they are. Even when you’re trying to hold it together and not fall apart in front of him, one look in your eyes and Luke can tell. And when you’re happy, your eyes light up and he can’t look away.

He also loves your mouth, for many reasons. Your sarcasm when you’re comfortable around him. Te way you kiss him like you’re starved for him. And God, when you smile, he loses his mind every damn time.

C: Cum

Luke doesn’t like the mess of cumming on you. He has mixed feelings about cumming in your mouth, too. It’s not necessarily a turn on. Too much extra baggage from the horrors he sees at work. If you insist that you want it, then he gradually opens up to the idea.

If you’re okay with it, he prefers to cum inside you, mostly because he hates being separated from you. Buried inside of you is as close to you as he can possibly get.

D: Dirty talk (Do they engage in it? Do they like it?)

It takes a while for Luke to warm up to the dirty talk aspect of your relationship. He makes sure that you want it first. Then he eases into it with compliments, telling you how gorgeous and perfect you are. Once the two of you are familiar, then he pushes the boundaries a little more, being very vocal about how you feel so good when he fucks you.

When you talk dirty to him, it always takes him a little by surprise, like he’s hearing you say it for the first time. But he’s 100% on board with it and melts in your hands.

E: Experience (How experienced are they?)

Luke has had a few partners in the past, more one night stands than long-term relationships, due to the nature of his work keeping him on the move. He’s not interested in holding a running tally of his previous partners, but he does remember details about them that are stuck in his head and he can’t forget.

F: Favorite position

(None that produce ugly babies)

Face to face, you sitting in his lap, your legs around his waist. His hand at the nape of your neck, the other hand at the small of your back or on your ass, pulling you tight against him as he thrusts up into you.

Spooning. 9 times out of 10 it leads to slow, sleepy sex. Luke can wrap his arms around you and envelope you with his body, claiming you as his and protecting you from the rest of the world.

G: Goofy (Sense of humor during sex or not?)

Most of the time, sex is very playful with Luke. He thinks the sexiest thing about you is your laugh and your smile and his favorite thing in the world is to see you happy. He’ll smother your face in kisses, tickle you, and generally screw around, being a total dork to make you laugh.

But sometimes, after a long absence or a bad case where the victim(s) were too much like you, Luke comes home, takes you to bed, and he’s dead serious about making love to you until every inch of you is imprinted in his memory.

H: Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Luke keeps himself trimmed and neat but not bare. He doesn’t expect that for you either.

I: Intimacy (What are they like in the moment? Are they romantic or not?)

Luke definitely has his romantic moments, when he’s not too caught up with work. Sometimes he forgets things like birthdays and Valentine’s Day, mostly because he’s too tired.

But he does make an effort on occasion, because he wants you to know that he appreciates you. He likes making dinner for you and surprises you with flowers or a vacation when you least expect it, just because he’s happy to have you in his life.

He also likes to physically be in contact with you as often as possible outside of sex. When he sits next to you, he’ll push his knee against yours. Or he’ll drape an arm over your chair and brush his fingers along your shoulder.

During sex, his fingers are usually intertwined with yours. Depending on the position, he is always making eye contact. And if he can’t make eye contact, he whispers in your ear or kisses anywhere he can reach.

J: Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

Luke doesn’t get fancy with masturbation. It’s just blowing off some steam real quick in the shower.

When he’s on a case, away from you for days/weeks/months at a time, he masturbates more often and takes his time, imagining you’re the one with fingers wrapped around his shaft.

K: Kink(s)

Lingerie - anything lacy and silky.

Lap dance/strip tease, especially if you instigate it or surprise him when he comes home from work.

Food play. Licking whipped cream or chocolate off of you is about as close to heaven as Luke can get.

L: Location (Favorite places to have sex)

Bedroom. He doesn’t like to be interrupted, even though interruptions happen all too often.

In a pinch, a bathroom or utility closet will work when he needs you. Right. Now.

Luke claims shower sex is too hazardous. But if you like it, he’ll oblige your fantasies.

And kitchen sex. Plenty of kitchen sex. In the morning over breakfast. In the middle of the night over a midnight snack. In the evening before and/or after dinner. It just sort of happens. One minute, you’re cooking together and he reaches past you for a utensil or he offers you a bite of food. The next minute, clothes are on the floor and Luke clears the counter with one hand as he picks you up.

M: Motivation (What turns them on?)

Your confidence. Nothing gets Luke going faster than seeing you take charge of a situation or overcome an insecurity that you’ve wrestled with in the past.

Also seeing how well you fit into his life. Watching you play with Roxy. Watching you wander around his apartment in one of his hoodies. You’ve adjusted to a lot with him - he’s rarely home, his job is loaded with risks for him as well as you. But you’ve rolled with the punches, and he’s proud of you for that. It usually leads to surprise sex out of nowhere - you’re just going about your daily life and suddenly, Luke is looking at you like that.

If you’re being a brat, it flips a switch in Luke. He CANNOT keep his hands to himself when you mouth off to him.

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do. Turn offs.)

Breath play. It scares the shit out of Luke. He’s seen too many victims choked/strangled/suffocated to find any pleasure in breath play. He can’t stand his hand around your throat, let alone go any further than that.

O: Oral (Giver or receiver? No go altogether?)

Luke doesn’t put any pressure on you for oral. But he does appreciate a good blow job, if you’re willing.

If you allow him to go down on you, Luke will go all in. He doesn’t hold back or hesitate and since he’s so detail-oriented in his job, he pays close attention to the signals your body gives. He knows every sweet spot you have and he uses them to his advantage, bringing you to the edge over and over. He keeps one hand locked with yours while the other hand caresses your body - hips, nipples, ass, stomach, etc.

P: Pace (Fast or slow?)

If Luke has a choice, he will always choose slow and sensual. When he finally gets uninterrupted time with you, he wants to make every second last as long as possible.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies)

Luke does NOT like quickies but, at the same time, they’re necessary on occasion, especially if he’s about to leave on a case for an extended period of time. He’d rather have a quickie than nothing at all.

R: Risk (Do they experiment? Or not?)

Luke thrives off of an adrenaline rush. He’s willing to experiment but only after a long conversation with you first to see how you feel about it. He wants to make sure the two of you are on the same page about what’s going to happen and when to stop.

And if you’re the one who proposes to test the waters in some new territory, Luke will 99% of the time say yes to whatever you want. Unless it hits too close to home with a case he’s working.

S: Stamina (How long can they last?)

Generally, Luke has mind-blowing stamina. There are times you have to tap out before he does.

Unless you’ve been teasing him all day. Then Luke doesn’t last more than a few minutes.

T: Toys (Do they own any? Do they use any on their partner? etc.)

Luke has always traveled light in his life, so he doesn’t own toys, let alone use them. But if you use toys, he is ready and willing to play with you.

If you have a toy collection, he will dedicate entire nights to using them on you, finding out which ones you like.

If you are curious about toys but you’ve never used them before, he’ll do a ton of research beforehand and help you shop around to see what you might like.  

U: Unfair (How much do they tease?)

Luke is mostly middle-range when it comes to teasing. He loves to leave you right on the edge, watching you tremble with that need for release, but he doesn’t have the heart to make you stay there for long.

V: Volume (How loud are they?)

Luke doesn’t get *really* loud. But he does whisper to you, tell you how good you feel, how much he’s missed you, how perfect you look when you come.

W: Wild card (Random headcanon)

Luke doesn’t like to share you. If you ask him to try a threesome or a polyamorous relationship, it’s a flat-out no at first. If it’s something you really want to try, he’ll consider it because he’s just that crazy about you. But he will really have to trust the other person(s) involved.

You still have to repeatedly remind him to play nice with others.

X: X-ray (What’s going on down below?)

Luke’s cock is a little over 6.5 inches but it’s the girth of him that was intimidating for you the first time you had sex together. Your fingers don’t quite wrap all the way around his shaft.

When Luke noticed your concern and hesitancy, he kissed your forehead and cupped your cheek gently in his hand. “We’ll take it slow and stop as soon as you say the word, baby.”

Luke was so careful with you (and prepared with plenty of lube) that you were completely relaxed when he slid inside of you so smoothly that there wasn’t a hint of pain.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

On the higher range of average. Luke has a military background, he knows how to keep himself in check (even though you can certainly make it challenging sometimes).

Luke craves your physical presence the most. Just having you near, hearing your voice, that’s all he wants 24/7.

...but if you show up at his apartment in the middle of the night in his favorite flirty-pink lingerie and an overcoat, neither of you will make it to the bedroom. If you’re lucky, you’ll make it to the couch. Most likely, Luke will be fucking you against the wall ASAP.

Z: Zzz... (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

Luke doesn’t usually fall asleep right away. He takes care of you first and he likes holding you, having you close, with the smell of your hair and the feel of your skin against him. He wants to be awake for that as much as possible since he’s not around so often for other things.

After you’ve been asleep for a while, he’ll doze off with his arms around you and his nose buried in your hair.

[supeson]

Nervous Heart

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine , part ten  (is this an annoying way of adding up all the parts??? i’m not used to actually DOING multipart fics so like oshjgikjng please Inform Me)

“I have to go,” Bruce tells you as he locks his phone again.

You look up, eyes a bit sad. You’re trying to hide it better these days, and you think you’re succeeding, getting more adept at hiding your feelings, Of course, you don’t know that you’re somewhat-friends with the World’s Greatest Detective. You give a straight-lipped look and shrug. “That’s the life, I guess.”

He nods and turns to head out. You don’t mention that he’s only been here for ten minutes, that you had other things to talk about, that you wanted to show him. You always feel a bit childish around him, like you’re not enough for billionaire (fake) playboy Bruce Wayne, so you try to rein in your emotions. 

The door shuts behind him with a heavy click, and you’re alone. Again. It’s the one thing you hate about living in Gotham. You’re always alone, at home, at work, even on the goddamn street. It’s lonely living in Gotham. You’re jut about to resign yourself to a moody night in when you spot them. On your coffee table, are a pair of maroon leather gloves, with the initials B.W. imprinted on them in a fancy font. Fuck, you think, a new worry to think constantly obsess about.

It’s been a week and a half and you haven’t heard anything from him. You’d texted him, of course, telling him you had his gloves. No response. Is he avoiding you? For what? You really want the damn things out of your house. Every time you lay eyes on them they seem to mock you. You’re sitting at home, staring at them. Fuck it. You get up and grab the gloves, stuffing them into your hoodie pocket. You grab your keys and wallet and head out the door. 

Two hours, three bus transfers, and one Uber later, you’re walking up the massive driveway to Wayne Manor. Your driver had refused to take you to the door, saying he’d fulfilled his part: getting you to the address. You already had a nasty one star review brewing for him. The door isn’t comically massive, but it’s still pretty big: a solid, dark wood, about seven or eight feet tall. You knock a couple of times and stand, looking away from the door. You don’t want to be immediately staring at whoever answered. It takes a couple of minutes, but an older gentleman with slicked back hair answers the door. “May I help you?” He asks, tone bored. The accent really adds another layer to the condescension, you think. 

“Yea! Hi,” You give him your name and start fumbling around in your pocket. “So, um, Bruce left these at my house? I just wanted to return them. I tried to text him but he never responded so I just thought I’d return them? They don’t go with my whole look at home,” You joke. You finally pull the gloves from your pocket and hold them out to the butler. 

He takes them, then opens the door wider. “Please, do come in. I’m sure Master Wayne will want to thank you.”

Your eyes widen a little. “No! I’m good! Just came to return those, so!” You pat the gloves laying in his hands. “I’m just gonna walk down the driveway and call another Uber. Have a nice night!” 

You robotically turn around and start walking. You can feel Alfred’s eyes on you as you start walking. Luck just isn’t on your side tonight, it seems. Halfway down the driveway, the sky seems to open up. It starts as a light drizzle, which you know you can keep going in, no big deal. But with every step you take, it rains harder. You finally stop and sigh heavily. You turn around, ready to grovel a little, when you see Alfred in the doorway, towel in hand. You let out a guttural yell as you trudge back up the driveway. 

“Coming in?” He asks, the towel being handed to you. You give him an annoyed look and take the towel, pressing it to your face first. You let out a small scream as the butler walks away. “You may sit in the lounge while I fetch Master Bruce. Please leave your wet clothes in the bathroom just ahead. I’ll make sure they are dried before you leave.”

You grumble as you walk into the bathroom. Joke’s on you, only my hoodie got wet you old fucker. You take off the soaking wet top layer, empty your pockets into you your pajama pants’ pocket,  and straighten out the tank top you have on underneath. You dry your feet on the bath carpet in front of the sink and thank god you were wearing flip flops. You feel bad just leaving the towel and hoodie just sitting on the counter, so you try folding them. You wring out the hoodie a little and fold the still wet article as best as you can before laying it on top of the towel. 

Wandering out of the bathroom, you go back to the lounge that Alfred mentioned. You have no desire to snoop through Bruce’s things; that’s his business. You are, at least in your own view, a temporary interloper into his world. It would be best if you leave as many stones unturned as possible, so you won’t be as upset when he finally breaks it off with you. You sit down and lean your head against the back of the plush couch, eyes closing. The whole ordeal has been...exhausting. The fireplace is pulling you in, calling you.

Just as you think you’re about to fall asleep, a man in his mid-twenties walks in, loudly calling for Alfred. “Hey! Where is-”

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, seeing you jolt up from the couch. His mind goes straight into overdrive, trying to figure out who you are, how you got in, ho-

“Jesus!” You exclaim, rubbing your calf. You had hit it on the coffee table when the man had walked in. You turn around and take a minute to consider him. Mildly attractive, at least, with black hair down to his neck and blue eyes. “You’re one of the sons,” You deduce.

“Perceptive,” He says. He walks over and holds out a hand. “Dick Grayson, the original orphan kid.”

You snort, give him your name, and shake his hand. “Current insignificant blip on your dad’s radar. You’re much more amiable than Damian was.”

“Well, at least you survived meeting him. That’s more than I can say for my dad’s other partners,” Dick says. He likes you, he decides. You’re pretty funny.

“Partner? Hah! I’m a mistake. A fluke, on Bruce’s part. I’m hoping someday soon he realizes this and forgets about me. If I’m honest, this is all a little, well, mind-boggling. I-” You stop yourself as you realize what’s coming out of your mouth. You look at his son with wide eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Don’t tell your dad I said that. It’s fine. This is fine.”

Dick eyes you carefully, a slight pitying look on his face. “Look-”

“Thank you for keeping them company, Dick,” Bruce says from the top of the stairs, taking each step with a certain speed and candor you’re positive is just a little practice. “I’ll take it from here.”

Dick flashes you a reassuring smile and walks off, nodding to his father as he starts the trek upstairs himself. Bruce comes to stand in front of you, hands in the pockets of his black slacks. He’s wearing a black turtleneck as well. “What brings you to the Manor?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gloves sitting on the table. “Fucking butler,” You mutter, swiping them from their spot. You hold them out to him. “Remember when you were at my place a couple of weeks ago? Well, you kinda left these there, and I tried to text you, but you didn’t answer, so I thought maybe I could just drop them off? And be on my way, but then it started raining, and Alfred, that was Alfred, right? Was standing there with a towel and-” 

He gently takes the gloves from you and smiles gently. “Thank you for bringing these back. Truthfully, they’re my second favorite pair. And I’m sorry I never texted you back. I’ve been a little busy lately.”

You finally look up and take him in. He’s got a cut on his cheek, which looks pretty deep, but is being held together by butterfly bandages. “What happened?” 

“I tripped,” He say dismissively. You sit down at one end of the couch and Bruce sits at the other, crossing his legs. 

“You’re lying.”

He smiles again. “Very good. How could you tell?”

“Your pupils dilated and you blinked immediately afterwards. That’s kind of your tell. To the outside observer it would seem innocuous, but after watching you for a while, I can tell now.” You feel more comfortable, stable, talking like this. It’s easier to state facts and be analytical around Bruce. Talking about literally anything else makes you feel weak. 

“Dick and I were sparring and he got a little too rough. It’s nothing some peroxide and Alfred’s careful hands weren’t able to patch up.” He’s still lying, you can sense it, but you say nothing. You don’t want to ruin this moment. He sighs, then pats his thighs. “Here, let me drive you home. It’s just getting worse, and I don’t want you spending thirty dollars for some jerk to drive you.”

You want to argue, to refuse, but you can’t. You just nod and follow him to his garage. Your hoodie is sitting folded up, all dry, next to one of his cars, and he motions for you to put it on. You empty your pockets onto the hood and slip it on. You miss the way Bruce’s eyes travel to where your tank top rides up and exposes some skin. Once everything is on, and stuff is back in it’s place, you hop into the passenger’s seat of a slim black sports car. 

The ride back is silent. It isn’t until he pulls up to your building and you’re about to get out that he says something, laying a hand on your arm. “Listen. I don’t know why you think so lowly of yourself, but you’re not as insignificant to me as you think. I value and appreciate you as a person. I haven’t been very...direct with my approach because, to be honest, I don’t know how to handle you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever tried to pursue. You’re not rich, you’re not society. Hell, you’re not even in my normal wheelhouse.” You flinch at his words, but he barrels through. “I don’t know how to handle you, but I’d like to try. You don’t have to answer right now, or even next week. But, when you’re ready, if you think you’re ready, give me a call.” 

He releases you and you scramble out of the car as if you’ve been burned. Holy fucking shit. You stand on the sidewalk, dazed.

[pluchionlinestore]

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The sight of the new slipcover on your hand-me-down couch makes you feel a little fancy, and generally speaking, there is a place for everything and everything in its place.