#Decorative Concrete Plaster | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghettogirly · 9 months ago

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𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

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-> synopsis: Being held captive by a cartel leader is a law enforcement worker’s worst nightmare, especially when you’ve been sold out by people from your side. Your fate lies in the hands of a ruthless cartel leader, what would be the consequences?

-> format: imagine

-> theme: angst.

-> warnings: mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violent scenes, mentions of childhood trauma, mature language, armando has a lot of trauma to him.

-> authors note: sorry for the lack of updates! i’ve been sooo busy. hope you all enjoy! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! 💗

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Dust coated the desolate, concrete floor below as a cast of cold air swept through the room. It being an open space due to the lack of rooms, walls were knocked down as you saw the rubble not too far from you. Your eyes were heavy as a pain then boomed through, clearly the consequence of it being bruised.

The question being how and why?

Looking down, the lack of movement was prominent as your feet and hands were bound to each other. Purple and pink blotches were plotted on your hands as a tension line formed due to the rigid surface of the rope, branded your skin. The uncomfortable feeling of the wooden chair not making the situation any better as grunts escape your mouth as you try wiggle you way out of the ties, to no avail. Huffing in frustration, you give up.

Graffiti was plastered on the walls, a multitude of colours and signatures decorated them as it made it clear that this place was abandoned. A free zone where people come in and practice their artwork. Moving over to the left, two chairs were aligned next to you. One chair had a man sitting in it, bound just like you but with his head now lying back. His eye was swole and coloured with blue and purple marks due to the fluid built up behind it, the result of a pretty clear beat down. His head had blood leaking from it, cascading down his face into the floor as red marks also plastered his body.

He was practically half dead.

The other chair next to him was empty, the rope loose at the bottom of the chair as blood trailed from it. Understanding the gravity of the situation, you then start to panic, wrestling the ropes. Clearly these people were not here to play. “No tiene sentido tratar de escapar de Mami, no lo vas a lograr.”

The voice erupting from somewhere in the building made you stop dead in your tracks as you quickly look around to see where that echo came from. Your brown eyes moved frantically as you desperately search for answers. Suddenly, 3 men walk in front of you, dressed in full black from head to toe.

More footsteps could be heard which causes the men to stand to the side, revealing the man.

A shadow casted over you due to the height of the apparent, hispanic man. His knuckles were rough, slight roots of hair covered his arms yet his skin was relatively smooth. A glint of a neutral tan covered the man’s body, demonstrating his mexican heritage.

Slowly glancing up to his face, a medial size scar was apparent on the right side of his face and a scar in his eyebrow.

He was fairly groomed. His facial hair freshly trimmed as well as his hair being freshly done. Yet, his dark, pink lips formed into a scowl, looking down upon you.

“Armando Aretas..” you thought.

“what do you want with me?” Croaking out, your throat running dry and raspy due to the dusty conditions.

"No puedes hacer las preguntas, nena. You came here on my territory, snooping around my business. I want to know what you’re doing here so far away from your homeland.” Armando calmly suggests, walking circles around your chair as the two other men stared down at you, evoking some psychological strategy.

“How did you-“

“How did I know? ¿Es esa la pregunta principal que te estás haciendo en este momento?” He scoffed, clapping his hands in disbelief.

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“Boss, there’s something you need to look at.”

Peering over at the picture that was slid on his marble desk, Armando lifted up the sheet, slighting creasing the corner due to his carelessness. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at worker with hesitation in his eyes. “¿Es cierto?”

The former nodded causing the man to sigh. Casting his eyes over the tablet the man just gave him , a picture was presented to Armando causing the former to squint. Eyebrows furrowed and lips curled, he sat back and looked at his worker in silence.

His tongue slid over his bottom lip as the male sat there, contemplating.

“Armando-“

“¿Me ibas a decir que teníamos a un estadounidense en nuestro equipo?”

The double doors opened revealing a caucasian male who slowly strolled in. The sheer arrogance exuding off of him due to his wealth and status. Dressed in designer branded clothes and accessories from head to toe, the blonde male raised his eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

A quick head nod was exchanged and the tablet was exchanged.

“Fuck. I know her.”

“No shit. Don’t fuck around with me Louis.”

A sigh came from the male standing in front of Armando.

“Listen, all I know is that she’s in the legal profession. I don’t know anything else. She’s a rat though.”

A loud sound of glass shattering was heard as pieces of debris flew throughout the office, causing the other two men to duck in attempts of protecting themselves.

“Fuck!!!”

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A scoff reverberated off of the walls. “Querías saberlo. Ahora ya lo sabes.”

“Why are you doing this.. We’ve hardly spoken. Just kill me.”

“I’ve saw you. I’ve saw you talking to the other women in the kitchen. Helping out the little ones in the community. We had a good conversation, remember?”

“It was one conversation-“

"Uno. Significaba todo para mí. La única persona que me escuchó fuiste tú".

“Armando, i do care about you. ¿Esa conversación sobre tu madre? Lo recuerdo.” A slight whisper falls out of your mouth, you clasp onto the wooden bars of the chair in desperation.

“But you was going to do the exact same thing she did to me. Lie.”

“I wasn’t lying!”

“¡Pero tú lo estabas!" Armando shouts, kicking the chair next to you.

“Armando-“

“No. It’s fucking over. No hay ratas en el negocio de los cárteles.”

A bang was heard throughout the room as the woman’s head slumped down due to the trajectory and power of the shot. Blood splattered on the hispanic’s shirt and the concrete floor below.

Heading towards the door, Armando looked at the workers, the sight of a tear daring to show itself by leaving the corner of his eye.

“Get this cleaned up.”

Footsteps faintly turned away.

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[🌱] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“No tiene sentido tratar de escapar de Mami, no lo vas a lograr.” - there’s no point in trying to escape mami, you not going to make it.

“No puedes hacer las preguntas, nena.” - "You can't ask the questions, baby"

“¿Es esa la pregunta principal que te estás haciendo en este momento?” - is that the main question you’re asking right now?

“¿Me ibas a decir que teníamos a un estadounidense en nuestro equipo?” - Were you going to tell me we had an American in our team?

“Querías saberlo. Ahora ya lo sabes.” - You wanted to know, now you know.

"Uno. Significaba todo para mí. La única persona que me escuchó fuiste tú". - One. It meant everything to me. The only person who listened to me, was you.

“¿Esa conversación sobre tu madre? Lo recuerdo". - That conversation about your mother? I remember it.

“¡Pero tú lo estabas!" - But you was!

“No hay ratas en el negocio de los cárteles” - there’s no rats in cartel business.

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[🎀] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @5tarlan7 @yeahnohoneybye @dyttomori @dyttomori02 @milliumizoomi @shurisgf @tyneshaaa @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @thedarkworldofhananerea @sarcasticbitchsblog @armandosbabymama @believeinthefireflies95 @twinklestarslight

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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 2 days ago

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3: The House - Jack Abbot x reader (Life imitates art Series)

Summary: 5.6k words. Domestic moments & milestones in Jack’s happily ever after ❤️ Life imitates art Series masterlist

The Art: “My House” (1938) is an oil painting by Johanna W. Hailman (1871-1958), an artist from Pittsburgh, PA. The Carnegie Museum of Art houses several of her works. I really enjoyed researching Pittsburgh art and artists for this series. I highly recommend checking out her body of work.

Warnings: 18+ish content. Nothing too explicit, but mdni anyway please :) Age gap,, gen X, millennials, and gen Z are all catching strays. sorry :) colorful language, angst, fluff, everything in between.

a/n: So this might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written. I took my time with her and I maybe waxed poetic at certain points, but I really love this. I listened to “Unknown / Nth” by Hozier while writing this. do with that information what you please. Divider credit!

It isn’t long before you take the liberty of adding some zest to Doctor Abbot’s apartment. It looked like a barren bachelor pad. If it weren’t for the larger than necessary flat screen TV and luxe sofa, you might’ve compared it to a prison cell. It was bare bones, with an exposed ceiling and concrete floors—that was part of the appeal of the “historic” building Jack moved into. "Rustic”, the realtor had called it. Unfinished, Jack corrected in his mind. Nevertheless, Abbot moved in and paid more money than he ought’ve.

You start small. A throw blanket laid across the back of the couch. You claim it was one from your smaller apartment that you just happened to bring along. You don’t admit that you bought the blanket at a recent art market from a local knitting vendor with the specific intention of bringing it into Jack’s space.

Things really snowballed when Jack gave you a key to his apartment. He liked coming home to you and often invited you to sleep at his place when he worked. His apartment was in a safer neighborhood and he felt better knowing you weren’t sleeping alone at your apartment—despite the door chain, two comically large and loud locks, and the doorbell camera he installed for you.

A singular knitted throw blanket turned into multiple decorative pillows on his couch and king bed. One morning he came home to see a coffee and tea bar cart had been assembled in his kitchen, complete with more ornate mugs than either of you needed.

During a night shift, he got a text from you that made him pause.

23:14 How emotionally attached are you to the sanctity of your bare walls?

Oscillating bubbles danced at the bottom of his phone screen as you typed out another text.

23:15 Follow up question: If I were to have hypothetically nailed multiple holes in some hypothetical drywall and studs to hang some art on a hypothetical whim, would you be opposed? Should I patch it up with some plaster and paint and we can pretend we never had this conversation? Hypothetically?

Jack chuckled and received a not-so-subtle stare from the charge nurse. Since when is Doctor Abbot the type to look smitten at his phone so late on a weeknight?

The one thing you don’t touch in your decorating crusade is Jack’s medical journals. The organization system—or perhaps lack thereof—is beyond you. It makes no sense, and you’re honestly not sure if there is any rhyme or reason to it. You don’t want to add anymore chaos to Abbot’s life, even in the minute form of shuffled journals. Instead, you wordlessly placed thrifted book ends and trinkets on his book shelf, thinking he might take it upon himself to migrate the medical journals to the shelf himself.

He does, after you’ve gone to bed. There is an order to it, a method to the madness that is the array of journals, however not even Doctor King is likely to decipher it.

Jack eventually slipped under the covers next to you and pulled you close to his chest. He kissed your forehead and muttered a soft “thank you.” You don’t hear him in your deep slumber, but you did nuzzle closer to his warm body. Even in sleep, you gravitate toward his safe and steady figure.

One night, Robby came over to Abbot’s apartment for a post-shift beer when Pittsburgh’s winter made it too cold to sit outside in the park.

Robby eyed his surroundings. You’d clearly been here, blessing the walls with your touch as you went.

There’s a framed photo of Abbot and Robby displayed on the couch’s end table. Based on the frame’s ornate details, Michael seriously doubts that Jack had anything to do with it. Abbot has a good sense of humor, but he’s often otherwise cool and clinical. His style is… utilitarian. It was only recently that Robby noticed something other than a spare set of scrubs and some Advil in the night shift attending’s locker. A single 4x6 photo of Abbot and his girlfriend, taped to the inside of the cold metal door alongside a polaroid picture of you painting.

Robby smiles warmly at the framed photo in Abbot’s living room. You weren’t decorating to transform Jack’s apartment into your place, but rather, you hoped to make it a place that felt like home for him, complete with pictures of his closest friend.

It was a good look, both on the apartment and Doctor Abbot. The night shift attending was the happiest Robby had seen him in a long time.

You arrive at Jack’s apartment following an after hours private tour at the museum. It’s a few minutes past 8 when you show up. Jack and Robby are resting their weary bones in the couch’s plush cushions watching the puck drop of a Penguin’s hockey game when you waltz through the door. A few tiny snowflakes linger on your parka, the rest have since melted in your hair. Despite the below freezing temperature outside, you refuse to abandon your dresses, so you compromise with thermal flannel leggings underneath to preserve your warmth (at Jack’s gentle behest). Your boots aren’t nearly as functional as they are fashionable, but they get the job done until you strain to remove them at the door. Jack is just about to get up and help you before you resolutely tug the last one off, settling to your feet a few inches shorter than you were with the boots on.

“Hi Robby!” you greet as you round the back of the sofa, wordlessly pressing a soft kiss to Jack’s curls. You continue through the apartment toward the kitchen, mindlessly lighting a candle as you go.

“Tea, anyone?” you ask, pouring water into the kettle. You’re considerate not to distract from the game, even though you know Jack would’ve turned the TV off completely at the drop of a hat to give you his undivided attention.

“No, thank you,” Robby responds, your name warm and kind on his lips. “What a nice host.” His voice is soft, the compliment about you directed to Abbot. “Unlike someone…” he jokes, dodging a piece of popcorn Jack aimed at his head. There were many years Michael was left to fend for himself whenever he visited Jack’s apartment.

“You have two legs, you can walk to the damn fridge and get your own beer,” Abbot says pointedly, his eyes not leaving the flat screen TV.

“Touché,” Robby ceeds.

Jack left your apartment with no time to spare before his night shift. What was supposed to be a nap in your bed quickly evolved into something much more stimulating. He did eventually get some shut-eye with your naked form pulled against his after he took care of your worn-out body in the shower. Abbot supported your weight on his sturdy form when your legs were too shaky under the hot stream of water.

He was pleasantly aroused from his sleep when your featherlight touch morphed into your legs straddling his hips, challenging the “old man” to round 2. Unfortunately, quickies with Jack were never really quick. Hence, why he was tying the drawstrings of his pants as he jogged into the Pitt at 18:59.

You laid in bed, satiated after the evening’s activities. Just like you had left your mark on Jack’s apartment, evidence of him lingered in every room of yours. A quarter of the closet had been cleared out to make room for his stuff, though he insisted he really didn’t need that much space. Two drawers in your bedroom dresser served as the permanent residence of his essentials. Scrubs, socks, underwear, and his watch.

His watch.

Abbot never worked a shift and seldom left home without it. The tactical watch was set to 24-hour time and was outfitted with a 3-axis compass, LED flashlight, precise GPS coordination, and biometric tracking. It was a little over the top, in your opinion. There were very few situations you could fathom him needing a compass in the ED, as if he couldn’t navigate the halls blindfolded.

Jack didn’t really need the watch to get through this one shift. There’s large digital clocks in each trauma bay, and the nurses and residents around him are bound to have watches of their own. The med students would jump at the opportunity to tell him the time if needed.

Abbot doesn’t need much to survive. As long as he had a few MREs and his police scanner, he was set. His watch, though, was far up on the list of essentials.

You don’t think twice before getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes and fixing your hair; you want to at least look semi-presentable when you show up at the Pitt—not like you’d been freshly fucked within an inch of your life.

Jack didn’t have time to eat or pack food when he stumbled out of your apartment with his pants barely pulled up to his hips. You’re not sure what he calls the meal he scarfs down at 3 a.m., but the cafeteria certainly isn’t serving it at that hour. The food you whip up for him is a simple, quick dish. The sooner you and his watch get to him, the better. The food gets packed into pink tupperware and you slip a handwritten note alongside it in his lunch box. His watch is carefully tucked into your tote bag for safe keeping before you set off.

19:47 I’m on my way to the ER

In retrospect, you could have worded that text much better. Especially since your phone died right after you sent it to Jack.

Abbot doesn’t see the message until ten minutes after you sent it. He would’ve seen it sooner if the notification came through on his watch, he gripes internally. His blood runs cold when he squints enough to decipher the small text on his phone’s screen. Jack immediately calls you, but it goes straight to voicemail. Shit.

He’s instantly on edge, to the point where he brushes past an otherwise innocent med student who begins to ask him a question before they clam up at his shift in demeanor. Abbot’s head starts spinning as his mind goes to worst case scenarios. He’s an attending trauma physician, for Christ’s sake, but a seven word text has him ready to spin out.

Jack’s tunnel vision shifts to the Pitt’s internal lobby doors, where the triage RN calls his name as she leads someone toward him. He’s breathing heavily and he’s not masking his panic nearly as well as he hoped when you emerge from behind the nurse. The smile on your face quickly drops and turns to concern. Jack looks… unwell, for lack of a better term.

“Hey, honey,” you tread lightly. Abbot’s shoulders rise and fall unsteadily as his eyes rapidly dart over your unharmed body. The doctor grips your hand and drags you to a private area in the ED where he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You squeak in surprise but ease into his hold nonetheless.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mumbles into your hair, showing no signs of letting go soon.

“I- what?” you’re confused, eyebrows scrunched together as you lean back to assess him. Jack begrudgingly allows some distance, but his hands never leave your hips.

“I’m on my way to the ER?” He parrots back at you.

Oh. You wince. Poor choice of words is an understatement. You frown apologetically, before shifting your weight to your tip-toes, pressing a lingering kiss to his firm-lined lips and assuring him you’re okay. Jack sighs heavily and pulls you back into him, resting his chin atop your head. His breathing evens, syncing with yours, and you both relish in the quiet, though neither of you dares to utter the Q word out loud.

When Jack is back to his baseline—when he’s okay because he knows you’re okay—you clear your throat and poke at his taught obliques to get his attention.

“Before you get whisked away to a trauma, I brought you something.” You hold up the black lunchbox into his view and dig the watch out of your tote bag.

Jack smiles despite his settling anxiety.

To be loved is to be known.

He accepts both gratefully, securing the watch around his wrist in a few swift moments. He’s still not ready to let go of you, though he knows the tide of the Pitt will drag him back any minute now.

“You know, I much prefer it when you come here, not in a gurney,” Jack half-teases. You scoff.

“Funny you should say that, because I also like not experiencing a medical malfunction,” you poke back.

Two residents come running around the corner, searching for Doctor Abbot. He hesitates with you still loosely tucked into his side, but you gently push him toward the action with the promise that you’ll put his lunchbox in the employee lounge and you’ll see him at home.

A few weeks later, it’s Jack’s unscheduled turn to visit you at work. You meant to lend your copy of The French Revolution as Blasphemy to a coworker, Beth, in the thick of their masters program. Frustrated rifling through your tote bag proved that you had left the book at home. You begin to apologize to the woman, offering to bring it to her after work tonight, when Jack appears in your periphery. He smiles that boyish grin as he walks towards you. His limp is infinitesimal, barely noticeable to anyone but you. Hypocritically, you wonder when the last time he took a break from his prosthetic was.

Jack comes to a stop beside you with a paper bag of aromatic Union takeout in one hand and the exact art history book you left at home in the other. The doctor offers your coworker a polite smile and nod before his attention is back on you like a gravitational pull.

You’ve told him a few times that he has a staring problem.

“I saw it on the entryway table and I knew you meant to bring it in today,” Jack explains, raising the book in his hand as if it’s featherlight. “Besides, I was in the neighborhood,” he finishes with a kiss to your forehead and you lean into him instinctively. Your eyes flutter shut briefly before his words register and you pin him with a disbelieving look.

“No, you weren’t,” you call him on his bluff immediately. You know him, and you know that he should be sleeping right now after working a night shift.

“No, I wasn’t,” Jack admits quietly, a soft smile gracing his leathered, weathered face. “But I missed you, so who am I to pass up an opportunity,” (read: excuse) “to visit my beautiful girlfriend.” He seals the statement with another kiss to the crown of your head.

Beth looks on in awe. She doesn’t mean to intrude on a private moment, but she’s dumbfounded at the stunning specimen before her. You’ve mentioned your boyfriend, multiple times in fact, but she’d never actually seen him in the flesh, despite his frequent visits to the museum. Beth thinks that you also never mentioned that he’s a devilishly handsome silver fox that could make any woman with a competency kink weak in the knees.

A quiet cough from Beth pulls you back to your senses and manners. You introduce the two.

“Beth, this is Jack, my boyfriend. Jack, this is Beth, future museum director and my lovely coworker,” you smile kindly at the younger woman.

Beth sputters something that sounds like nice to meet you with a blush. You get it, you were her once too. Jack pretends not to notice her bashfulness and instead reaches out his hand to shake. He doesn’t comment on how clammy her palm is.

You can’t remember the last time you slept alone when Jack wasn’t working. The one year dating anniversary flew by and you looked forward to all the years with Jack to come. During one of your visits to the Pitt, a new nurse called you Mrs. Abbot and you didn’t correct her. It felt right.

Not too long after your anniversary, Jake mentioned going to some open houses.

“Like… real estate open houses? Like residential homes?” You laid the book you’d been immersed in for hours down on your lap, memorizing the page number and turning your full attention to your boyfriend.

Jack stood at the kitchen counter fidgeting with a mug of hot black coffee.

“Mmmhmm,” he confirmed around a sip. He’s trying to act casual, but you can sense the underlying hint of unease in his body language. He might be the doctor, but you had an unparalleled skill for assessing him. Abbot’s shoulders are tight, like he’s preparing for a rejection. As if his taut muscles will soften the blow. Your face softens and you patiently wait for him to continue.

“You and me. Looking at houses. To live in. Together.” He’s walking toward you now and he never breaks eye contact. That damn staring problem again. Jack has his plain coffee in one hand and a glass of your fancy iced latte in the other. He’s no barista, but he’s pretty damn close to perfecting your favorite home coffee recipe. You smiled wide at Jack. He thinks your cheeks might crack if they stay in that position much longer. Thankfully, you narrowly avoid it when you gently grip the collar of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Balancing two cups of coffee with his eyes closed as he leans into your sweet lips is a bit harrowing, but this isn’t his first rodeo, and he’s certain it won’t be the last.

“I’d love to,” you say it against his lips like a promise. When he reluctantly pulls away, he passes the iced latte to you and you take a sip, appraising his work. It’s perfect.

Two months later, you and Jack move into a two bed, two and a half bath home equidistant from the hospital and art museum. It’s a quaint brick home built in the 1960s; modernized enough for comfortable living with the home’s original character still preserved. Abbot doesn’t bat an eye when the real estate agent shares the list price. Meanwhile, you nearly sprayed a mouthful of water everywhere. The only place you’d personally seen a dollar amount so large was on your cancer treatment bills. It’s a significant change from Jack’s apartment’s open concept floor plan and vaulted ceilings, but as long as he got to share a bed with you, surrounded by nearly a dozen decorative pillows that you handpicked, he would be happy. It would feel like home.

When you first toured the home, it was more square feet than you knew what to do with—three times the footprint of your current “shoebox” apartment, as Jack called it. You quickly warm up to the layout when you note the abundant wall space, perfect for displaying art work.

The first order of business upon moving in—besides christening every surface—is building a new bookshelf to accommodate all the medical journals and art publications you could ever dream of owning. You and Jack were neck and neck tying for who had the most items of your respective academic interests claiming residence on the stained wooden shelves. The new ornate bookshelf proudly erected in the living room dwarfs the original one in your old apartment. It comfortably houses all of the reading material with room to grow.

Aside from your contributions to Jack’s previously bare bones bachelor pad, he doesn’t have much to contribute to the home’s interior. Before you, he didn’t spend much time there anyway; it was just a place to crash and bide time in between the borderline unhealthy amount of overtime shifts he picked up to keep himself busy. Abbot’s therapist informed him that simply not sleeping to avoid night terrors was not a healthy adaptive coping strategy.

The spare room of the new home is turned into your art studio. Robby and Abbot are careful to not disturb your supplies when they install a Murphy bed along the wall for when Michael inevitably stays over.

“Gone are the days when I can just cuddle up with you in bed after too many beers, brother,” Robby jokes as he passes a power drill to Abbot. Jack doesn’t find it funny nor does he laugh, but the deadpan look on his face makes you snicker as you walk past the room.

Real Housewives plays at a low volume on the TV opposite the foot of the master bedroom’s king bed at the end of the night. The his and hers closet doors had been removed from their hinges. A stained glass-inspired upcycle door project came to you in a fever dream, or maybe a targeted ad on pinterest. The two were one in the same, lately. Inside the closets your prosthetic leg stands side by side with Jack’s. The appendage with floral designs and pastel details contrasts Jack’s monotone prosthetic.

Abbot felt out of place in the big brand jewelry store. Most of the men in the store wore gaudy Rolex watches and flashy cufflinks, a far cry from his laidback style for a day date with you. This store is the first stop of however many it takes to find your engagement ring.

Apparently, there were taboos about a woman being directly involved in shopping for her own engagement ring. Reddit and Facebook users had a lot to say about the dos and don’ts of proposals, rings, and every other topic under the sun. None of the noise mattered to Jack though. Ultimately, he knew you would marry him regardless of what ring he proposed with, but he wanted it to be perfect. You deserve nothing less.

A sleazy salesman with greased back hair and a superiority complex approached the couple with a wolfish grin. As you spoke about ring styles you were interested in looking at, the man’s eyes never met yours. Instead, his gaze burned on your body, staring at places only Jack could touch.

You had to repeat yourself twice now to the salesman. Words were going in one dense ear, bouncing around his empty skull, and straight out the other. Abbot’s breaking point was when you leaned over the glass display case to look at a ring and the salesman used it as an opportunity to view your cleavage, complete with a pervy lip bite. Jack’s balled up fists remained steady by his side

The sharp click of Abbot’s tongue from the roof of his mouth got the salesman’s attention. The satisfied smirk on his face dropped at the deadly cold glare he received from Abbot. The two of you don’t stay in that store much longer.

“It’s a shame they didn’t have that many marquise cuts,” you said passively while looking up directions for the next jewelry store, not that Jack even needed them.

“Yeah. Shame.” Abbot’s jaw is clenched, but you know he’s not frustrated with you. You pressed a series of short and sweet kisses along his jawline, your fingers’ grip on his chin gentle but firm. You felt the tension leave his body in waves as you continued your ministrations. Your soft eyes meet his hard ones and he melts toward you in the middle. Jack understands all your unspoken words.

The next store offers better luck with the staff, but they don’t quite have what you’re looking for. Jack thinks he knows what you want. He’s seen your pinterest boards; he notices styles you eye curiously and others that you disregard. He knows you.

The third place is a bit of a hole in the wall. The antique store wasn’t on Jack’s mental itinerary of Pittsburgh’s jewelry store offerings, but your gasp at the eye-catching OPEN sign had Jack pulling a u-turn and parking the truck before you could even ask to stop.

“Maggie’s” is a local mom-and-pop vintage shop, owned by a husband and wife nearing retirement. You float through the aisles with Jack on your tail. The treasure trove of homewares and art long forgotten made you forget why you walked into the store in the first place until you came upon a glass jewelry case. In the very center sat an elegant ring—a sturdy but simple gold band supporting a two carat marquise diamond surrounded by smaller colorful stones—perfectly illuminated by the store’s sparse soft yellow lighting. It looks like a spotlight and feels like a sign.

Jack feels you squeeze his palm and he knows this is your ring before his eyes even meet the kind, tender gaze you share with him.

Doctor Abbot takes some uncharacteristic PTO and whisks you away to Nowhere, Pennsylvania for New Year’s weekend. The quiet rural cabin is far from fireworks that might trigger Abbot. It’s a picturesque place where the two of you can just be. The stars have never looked brighter.

There’s no cell service or GPS way out yonder. Halfway into the drive, when four bars of cell service dwindle to one, Jack pulls an atlas and a handful of folded paper maps from the truck’s glove box in front of you. His eyes flicker between the two lane road traveled only by the two of you and the stack of maps until he finds the one he needs.

CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA. One of the map’s edges has curled into itself. Symmetrical scored indents from the map’s folded position expand across the surface. The ink isn’t as vivid as when it was first printed, faded by time and use, but it still gets the job done.

“Honey… what’s this?” You ask, eyeing the materials splayed on your lap.

“A map.” Jack states it matter of factly, offering no further explanation before returning his calloused palm to your inner thigh.

“What, like from the 1900s?” Your side-eye becomes a full body rotation to stare at Jack across the truck’s bench seat. He pinches the skin of your thigh and you yelp, not expecting the harmless sting.

“Don’t act like your birth year doesn’t also start with ‘19’,” Abbot pokes, placing emphasis on the number. At this point in your relationship, he’s long gotten over any insecurity about the age gap, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still going to have fun calling him archaic.

“Barely,” you mutter with your face scrunched. Caught in between millennials and gen z, you’re equally intrigued and disturbed by whatever the fuck is wrong with both generations.

The winter weather is forgiving enough to allow you to enjoy fireside s’mores under the stars as the clock winds closer to midnight.

Your head rests on Jack’s lap beside the campfire he built by hand. Your mind drifts to visions of him that afternoon prepping. You offered to help him carry the firewood, but Abbot scoffed at the insinuation, as if he was offended you suggested lifting a finger. You can give it as good as you can take it, so he compromises by allowing you to carry the box of matches. In retrospect, it’s a good thing you weren’t holding 20 pounds of firewood anyway, because you can’t tear your eyes away from how Jack’s arms flex as he carries the load from the cabin’s shed to the stone firepit. Watching Jack build the fire was hot, even with the windchill. Your man was good with his hands—something you were well aware of, but it didn’t hurt to see it in action. Abbot positioned the firewood to a tipi position over kindling interwoven between the larger blocks before gratefully accepting a few matches from you. Jack was an eagle scout before he entered the military, but both ensured his fires were flawless. You’re certain you’ll smell the smoke in your hair tomorrow morning, but it will have been well worth it.

At 23:57, Jack’s thigh twitches and shifts underneath you. You hum softly, eyes still trained on the sky with Jack’s warm hand still encapsulating your smaller, colder fingers. Out here, there’s no light pollution—just you and Jack, endless trees, the aromatic expertly-built fire, and stars. So many stars. You see constellations that otherwise could’ve been disregarded as fictional if you’d never seen them like this.

Abbot clears his throat and says your name. Not honey, or love, or sweetheart, or baby. The depth of love in Jack’s eyes, his tender stare and gentle hold of your bundled body let you know that this is it.

You knew the proposal was coming, obviously. You picked the ring out yourself.

As the holiday season winded to a close, you never pushed Jack or asked him when he’d finally pop the question. Abbot would ask when the time was right. You trusted him implicitly, and this was no exception.

Once, he came home to you watching a Hallmark movie, half-asleep with an empty mug of peppermint hot chocolate balanced on your abdomen. The first of many throw blankets you introduced to his home was draped over you, pulled down just far enough to offer a view of your festive sweater. Doctor Abbot’s night shift nurses kindly gifted you a custom pullover for the Pitt’s ugly holiday sweater party. The deep navy blue sweatshirt was covered in multicolor snowflakes with cut-outs of Abbot’s face sprinkled across the fabric. Jack isn’t even sure where they got the picture from, but it quickly became your favorite piece in your ever-expanding wardrobe.

The film played on a low volume as the predictable corny ending scene wrapped up. The ridiculously attractive lumberjack proposed to the business woman who swore she’d never leave the city, in front of a Christmas tree farm with a beautiful ring. Not as beautiful as yours, though.

Abbot admired the scene for a minute—the film, you sleeping soundly, and his winter wonderland of a living room—before he carefully scooped you up and carried you to bed where he knew you’d rest much more comfortably.

Soon, he promised with a kiss to your temple.

Jack carefully shifts you off his leg, cradling your head with care. He supports you to stand, and you hold his hands while he settles down on one knee. Jack’s eyes are watery before he’s even begun his speech. They match the happy tears on your waterline. Your smile is wobbly, and you’re trying your hardest to be patient. Abbot worked on his speech for a long time; like the ring, it needed to be perfect.

Abbot’s speech is beautiful. For a moment, you forget how cold it is. You can only focus on Jack, handsome as ever, kneeling on one knee, extending the ring you picked out together as the winter’s wind blows embers through the night.

The fire illuminates the marquise stone and the jewelry box’s soft light highlights the smaller complementing stones. On the inside of the gold band, there’s a date engraved on the ring that wasn’t there before at Maggie’s. In small script, the day of your first date is followed by a heart. It looks exactly like Jack’s scrawly handwriting.

When you say yes—because of course you do. Yes a million times over, in every universe and lifetime with Jack—he wastes no time slipping the band on your left ring finger. The fit is perfect, and it clings to your finger like it has always belonged there, like it just found its home.

It’s midnight now. A new year, a new ring, embraced with a kiss.

Abbot would be more than happy to find Nowhere, Pennsylvania’s nearest courthouse on New Year’s day and get married right then and there, but he knows you dream of something different.

A late Spring wedding with a small ceremony at the botanical gardens. The Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens wedding venues are booked out over a year in advance, but you know a guy who does event planning for the Carnegie Museum of Art and Phipps.

In May, you walk down the aisle in an elegant white gown that drapes just shy of kissing the nearby florals. Detached ornate tulle sleeves match your veil; the veil’s dainty beaded edges complement the dress’s embroidered bust and train.

Jack has never been happier, he thinks as a tear streams down his cheek before you’ve even met him at the altar. On his wedding day, he traded his black scrubs for a light navy blue three-piece suit. Doctor Jack Abbot is your something blue.

For the wedding reception, you host close family and friends in the house’s backyard.

Abbot was on a first name basis with many local hardware and home improvement store employees after his numerous trips in early Spring to revive the yard from Pittsburgh’s winter. Thriving raised garden beds lined the back perimeter of the yard, serving as a picturesque backdrop for the stone fire pit Jack built. You helped by ogling him as he worked from the porch with a glass of lemonade in hand.

The stringed lights above the garden illuminate your loved ones, along with the blazing fire, built with ashes from New Year’s eve. The first dance flows into several songs played by a string quartet (your biggest splurge for the wedding). Jack holds you in his arms like you’re the center of his universe while you sway together as husband and wife.

The next day, you and Jack are on a flight to Europe for a three week honeymoon. Jack handed a gate agent boarding passes with your new last name on it and you couldn’t help but smile.

Abbot looks pretty damn good on your passport.

a/n 2: Growing up, my Girl Scout troop had this campfire tradition; We saved ashes from each campfire and would dump them into the next one, so each fire burned with ashes of all the ones that came before it. I like to think that Jack and his wife have that tradition with the ashes from their New Year’s Eve fire.

Comments, asks, reblogs, feedback, etc. mean the world to me!! Please share your thoughts & feelings mwah ❤️

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#The Pitt #Jack Abbot x Reader #dr. abbot x reader #Jack Abbot #Dr. Abbot

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lqfiles · 1 year ago

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SCORE THAT GOAL! — 28. winter wonders with you

(wc: 1.701)

perhaps, jisung should've considered your offer a few more times. maybe he shouldn't have given into your insisting pleas so easily, because the 4 sets of eyes that were watching his every move since he arrived in front of the festival entrance made him want to escape right then and there. it was.. awkward for sure. why was no one saying anything?

"okay! enough of this awkwardness. jisung, you've met chenle before." you interjected from beside jisung and he thanked the heavens that you were here to break the ice between everyone. had it not been for your presence, he was convinced the whole night would've been a staring contest between all of them. you motioned your hand towards chenle who stood across the both of you, before your pointed to left.

"that is ningning, next to her is sungchan, and that's mark on chenle's right. should we go have fun now?" your attempt at breaking the ice between your friends and jisung was met with a few murmurs and an excited ningning. "did everyone bring their money?" she asked the group and all of you hummed back in response, following her as you finally entered the fest after minutes.

you gasped at your surrounding. all your thoughts could form at that moment was the word stunning. bright colourful lightings were decorated everywhere, warm-cozy food stands stood at all corners of the place with it’s aromas spreading everywhere. different attractions were luring you towards them with the sound of ecstatic people as loud music blared in the background. snow was covering the concrete you stood on, and for a second you wondered if this was the definition of winter.

you felt a nudge on your upper arm and snapped your head to your right. “are you sure this is.. okay?” jisung’s soft and deep voice was muffled by the scarf placed around his neck. you could barely understand him, but the look of unease displayed on his face said enough. you reached your hand up, patting his shoulder. “don’t worry too much about them, aren’t they the ones who agreed to let you join?” you spoke loudly and the two of you had slowed your pace, walking a few steps behind the rest.

“i guess you’re right.” jisung smiled at you, though you couldn’t see it. “let’s go and enjoy our holiday then!” you exclaimed in excitement, walking ahead of him towards the rest.

as expected, the afternoon was fun and lively. “i heard there is a ice rink somewhere, let’s go?” ningning suggested, looking between all of you for confirmation. no one protested, which made her smile widely as she guided you to the spot that supposedly had the ice rink. much to your luck, you were able to immediately get in as the next batch of people were entering. “have you ever done this?” you aimed the question at jisung while simultaneously putting on your skates. he nodded.

“yeah, as a child.” he laughed and finished tightening his own skates. “me too, only once.” you smiled his way and stood on your skates before walking towards the entrance of the rink. the vibes were perfect you thought. fairy lights were hung everywhere, lighting up the pink sky you stood under. the sound of screaming and joy filled the air, sending a warm feeling to your body. or maybe the warm feeling came from how close you stood next to jisung.

“wait mark! help me.” ningning pleaded while she desperately held onto the rails. mark’s laugh was loud and genuine as he turned on his skates and made his way back towards the girl. sungchan and chenle on the other hand were racing their way through the rink, a sincere smile plastered on their face. you couldn’t remember the last time you saw sungchan so happy.

“be careful!” jisung warned from behind you, placing a hand on the small of your back. you didn’t even notice that you had stoped moving, totally oblivious to jisung who was moving right behind you. you snapped right out of it, sucking in a breath as jisung’s hand lingered there for a few more seconds until he passed you. “you okay there?” he turned and asked. you nodded, scared that you’d make a fool out of yourself if you used words.

“chenle, you’re the basketball player here. please win that for me?” the five of you found yourself stood in front of a basketball rim stand. ningning’s finger pointed towards a pokémon plushy, and chenle chuckled. “30 scores in a minute? light work.” he boasted, handing the worker a few coins before the timer went off.

the worker scoffed lowly at chenle’s cocky behaviour, pressing the timer for a minute. lo and behold, chenle did manage to get 30 in a minute, baffling the worker who stared wide eyed. what surprised the rest of you was the score of 47 he managed to get. even jisung stared in awe. “he gets serious about basketball.” you explained with a chuckle. chenle handed ningning the plushie and she thanked him with a hug.

“can i try?” jisung placed out a few coins on the counter, waiting for his turn and all of you exchanged a shocked look. the worker nodded and let jisung prepare before pressing the timer again.

jisung wasn’t too sure why he was doing this, but the plushies looked cute and if he could win at least one he’d be more than happy. much to everyone’s surprise , jisung managed to score an amount of 32 in under a minute. his shy smile was hidden under his scarf as he took ahold of the duck plushie and turned to look at all of you.

“watch out sungchan, he might take your spot.” ningning joked, and jisung felt relieved to see all of you laugh. heaving out a sigh of relief, he decided to stand next to you. “you never told me you could play basketball.” you grinned at him and he shook his head. “not really, just pure luck.”

the evening had turned into night, and the pinkish sky had darkened. all of you had decided to grab something to eat before heading back home. the awkwardness had been taken over by a comfortable and fun conversation as all of you shared your hot food. a content smile was present on your face while you looked all around the table. everyone looked happy. you were happy.

“your food will get cold.” jisung spoke from beside you. you flinched out of your thoughts, turning to look to your left. jisung’s scarf was loosened from his neck and you could finally see the rest of his hidden face. he had a soft smile placed on his lips, nudging your elbow with his own. “are you not going to eat?” he whispered this time. “o-oh, yeah of course.” you stammered. his gaze stayed on you for a few more seconds before he turned to his own food.

“you’re shivering.” jisung noted. you weren’t even aware yourself that you were, too occupied admiring everything around you to care. you looked back at jisung, ready to respond, but swallowed your words back immediately as you felt a woollen texture wrap around you. it happened so quick that you weren’t even sure it was real. jisung had retracted himself already, not sparing you another glance.

“don’t get sick.” he smiled to himself and your heart was ready to jump out of your rib cage. you could hear giggling from beside you and quickly moved your head, looking at mark and ningning who had a wide grin on both their faces. even sungchan scoffed, a hint of a smile on his face while chenle made a gagging noise.

“did you have fun today?” was the question that occupied your mind the whole day. once again, you and jisung were walking far behind everyone, in your own conversation. you don’t exactly know when, but halfway through your meal it had started to snow. the white flakes that dazzled on the ground made you smile. jisung hadn’t asked for his scarf back, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to give it back.

“i did. thank you for letting me join all of you.” jisung’s voice boomed from besides like it had the whole day. you realised that the two of you had stuck near each other almost every minute and wondered if it was intentional on his behalf. “your friends are.. nice.” jisung admitted. his perception of them before hadn’t been anything negative, but he underestimated how welcoming all of them would be. even chenle had made small talk with him.

“do you want your scarf back?” you asked before you could even register what you said. regret formed inside of you and you hoped jisung didn’t hear you. “you can keep it. i still got your jacket, now you have something of mine too.” if you had turned to look jisung’s way you would’ve caught onto the small hint of a blush that was threatening to grow on his face.

you did eventually look, and found yourself struck in awe. the snow had puddled onto the top of his dark hair, and his eyes glimmered as they stared back at you. a small trail of smoke escaped his lips as he blew air out and you wondered if the pink hue on his cheeks was from the cold or something else.

just like you, jisung couldn’t help but think you looked abnormally pretty under the lanterns. the snow had covered you too and you had hidden your face into the material of his scarf- though, a trail of smoke went through it and it made jisung awe silently. were you always this pretty or was it this particular setting that made you look so ethereal?

“are you two coming or what?” ningning shouted at the two of you, snapping you out of your moment of admiration. you could see the teasing smile on her face from afar and rolled your eyes back. you turned back to jisung and sent him a warm smile before running off to the rest.

jisung went home thinking of how nice of a smile you had.

previous — master list — next

notes ; this is the start of jisung realising that MAYYYBEEEE he likes her sorta kinda (he does 🤫)

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simstorian-blog · 10 months ago

Text

Residential Floorplan Suggestions

New York City: TWO

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Waterside Warble

Lot Size: 30 x 30

Capacity:

A Dive Bar

An Internet Café

A Pizzeria

A Tattoo Parlor

Bonus: 6 residential rental units floorplans completed – not assigned

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

City Living

Discover University

For Rent

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Dream Home Decorator

Jungle Adventure

Outdoor Retreat

Parenthood

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Crystal Creations

Home chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Moschino

Kits

Castle Estate

Courtyard Oasis

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

Carl’s Dine Out Reloaded

City Vibes Lot Traits

Functional Tattoo Parlor

Functional Venue Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Spawn Refresh

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots & Create Multi-Purpose Community Lots

Build Mode

CharlyPancakes

Chalk Pt.2 (Tiles)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 1 (Stone Foundation)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Doors, Metal Pieces, Tiles, Walls)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Fence 2, Plaster Foundation 2, Railing 2)

Florence Pt. 1 (Fresco Mural)

Grove Pt. 4 (Plaster Column, Plaster Floor)

London Interior (Dining Chair, Stool, Walls)

Paris (Cartouche Large, Corbel, Swag)

Schwerin (Terracotta Female)

SOHO Pt. 2

SOHO Pt. 3

SOHO Pt. 4

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Door Frame – Med, Traditional Door – Med, Traditional Window 2 - Med)

Coastal Pt. 2 (Column)

Klean Pt. 3 (Concrete Floor, Painted Walls)

Kwatei Pt. 1 (3x1 BiFold, Double Arch, Single Interior Door)

Mutske

Stairs Add-on

Lijoue

Louer Collection (Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Bistro Expanded (Awning 1x1)

Graffiti Mural 01

Pierisim

Winter Garden Pt. 2 (Double Door High, High Window w Bottom x2)

Sooky88

Checkered Marble Floor

English Country Wall Set (Subway Tiles, Subway Tiles w Wallpaper)

Scandinavian Wall Set (Plain w Tiles)

Syboubou

Neighborly 1 (Ceiling Outdoor Light, Mailbox)

Neighborly 2 (Interphone)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Seating x3 – Metal Base)

Tattoo Parlor (First Aid Kits, Gloves, Ink, Ink Display, Light, Saddle Stool, Tattoo Gun)

Cepzid

Functional Tattoo Chair

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 1 (Curtain – Tall)

SOHO Pt. 1

Harlix

Baysic (Coffee Table, container, End Table, Kitchen Cabinet, Kitchen Counter, Kitchen Island, Kitchen Sink, Kitchen Trolley, Kitchen Accent Counter 1-3, Sofa)

Jardane (Leather Pouffe)

Kichen (Cabinet, Cups, Glasses, Plant, Shelf)

Kichen 2.0 Pt. 2 (Glasses 2 & 4)

Harrie

Shop The Look 1 (Armchair, Coffee Table)

Shop The Look 2 (Ceramic Side Table)

Shop The Look 3 (Circular Cushion)

Spoons Pt. 2 (2 Tile Glass Pedastal- Short & Tall, Counters, Espresso Bar, Island, Pastry Platter, Pizza Board, Shelving)

Kiwisims4

Blockhouse Dining (Booth Seating)

KKB

The Chilling Home (Module Bar Stool)

LittlleDica

Greasy Foods (Napkins, Salt Shaker, Stalls Door, Stalls Wall, Vents, Wet Floor Sign)

Modern Kitchen Stuff (Soft Breeze)

Rise & Grind (Décor Mural 2, Décor Syrup Bottle, Décor Wall Painting Menu, Dining Tables – All, Wastebun Counter)

Max20

Happily Ever After (Sign of Attention)

NANDO

Fashion Store (Ceiling Lamp)

Pierisim

Coldbrew Coffee Shop Pt. 3 (Menu, Paper Cup, Tea Box, Tips Jar)

MCM Pt. 1 (Simstudio Display)

MCM Pt. 4 (Kitchen Island)

Ravasheen

Shake and Shimmy Dance Floor

Shop Chef (Drink Dispenser)

Severinka

Industrial Light II

Simkoos

Clutter Dump Pt. 2 (Boba Notepad, Boba Stacked Cups V1, Cafeteria Straw Dispenser)

SimspirationBuilds

Toffee Pt. 1 (Art)

Syboubou

Catherine Sushi Restaurant (Wall Shelf 1 & 3)

Contemporary Haven (Armchair, Artworks, End Table, Sofa 3P Left)

Macaron (Counter Display)

TaurusDesign

Lilith Chilling Area Pt. 1 (Bartender Kit, All Drinks, SulSul Sign)

Tuds

Cave (Panel Light 2 x 4)

IND 01

IND 03

Turn Couch

Wondymoon

Fraxinus AIO Computer (DL on Patreon)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

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fligniuz · 3 months ago

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hi flig! cant stop thinking about lazy sunday with our sweet boy.

maybe going to a flea market with sweet boy lu. he’s obviously the type to not buy unnecessary items and is very earth conscious so he likes to shop at small businesses. the different vendors knows you guys bc of the handful of times you guys come around to buy necessities like food/fruits and even some household necessities.

he’ll always make sure to buy you flowers and even lets you sneak in some little trinkets that you find cute! then coming home unloading all the things you bought. already munching on the fruits and snack you guys bought.

then he’s like “babe, why don’t we do some D.I.Y./ arts and craft?” bc he doesn’t want the fun to end of just doing random shit with you. maybe you guys are coloring some coloring books while smoking a joint or even just making friendship bracelets, its endless with his mind honestly.

stooooop this is the cutest☹️☹️would love to take him to a flea market or an antique mall, what you said about him prioritizing sustainability and liking small vendors as opposed to big business is so true and i think that would be a huge part of the appeal to him!! but yes going to a farmer’s market together to pick up some groceries and maybe looking at some home decor stuff together, since some people like to sell their handmade crafts💚coming home with a cute little wreath for the front door and some honeysuckle he bought for you

i would love to just get high and then do errands with him. he’s also probably super fun to do crafts with, i could see him wanting to somehow relate it to your relationship too. maybe you do one of those kits where you each put your handprint in concrete/plaster and decorate it? i could also see him loving to cook/bake with you!! because in his mind “things taste better when we make them together” :-) i truly think he would enjoy doing mundane things with you like putting together jigsaw puzzles or coloring or i could see him liking to build lego sets with you!! maybe he puts together a little display case for all the sets you’ve finished…

#flig’s thoughts #luigi mangione x reader

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vestaignis · 1 year ago

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Застывшие во времени люди и боги итальянского скульптора Арриго Минерби Феррары.

People and gods frozen in time by Italian sculptor Arrigo Minerbi Ferrara.

Арриго Минерби ( 10 февраля 1881 , Феррара — 9 мая 1960 , Падуя ) — итальянский скульптор . Родился 10 февраля 1881 года в еврейской семье в Ферраре , под руководством скульптора Луиджи Леньяни посещал курсы декоративно-прикладного искусства в Ферраре в школе Доссо Досси . Он работал керамистом, декоратором, тренером и штукатуром в Ферраре, во Флоренции (где он совершенствовал свое мастерство в Академии изящных искусств ) и в Генуе (из этого периода следует помнить гигантского Нептуна из железа и бетона 1910 года в Монтероссо ).

В возрасте 35 лет он переехал в Милан , где в 1919 году устроил для критиков и публики выставку своих работ в галерее Пезаро. Эта выставка также успешно гастролировала до 1920 года. Regionale di Ferrara, возвращение в Милан в 1922 году перед поездкой на Primaverile Fiorentina, и, наконец, его пригласили на Венецианскую биеннале , где он выставил свою серебряную группу «Тайная вечеря» (сейчас в Соборе Осло ). 14 июня 1925 года в Парко делле Римембранзе на Бондено он представил свой «Мадре» как памятник погибшим в Первой мировой войне. Он стал почетным гражданином Бондено, хотя это было отменено из-за фашистских расовых законов и повторно присвоено только в 2004 году. После Второй мировой войны Минерби работал в основном для католических церквей и кладбищ (в Милане, Риме, Рапалло , Пьяченце , Падуе , Коппаро).

Arrigo Minerbi (February 10, 1881, Ferrara - May 9, 1960, Padua) was an Italian sculptor. Born on 10 February 1881 into a Jewish family in Ferrara, under the guidance of the sculptor Luigi Legnani he attended arts and crafts courses in Ferrara at the Dosso Dossi school. He worked as a ceramist, decorator, trainer and plasterer in Ferrara, in Florence (where he perfected his skills at the Academy of Fine Arts) and in Genoa (from this period the giant iron and concrete Neptune of 1910 in Monterosso should be remembered).

At the age of 35, he moved to Milan, where in 1919 he staged an exhibition of his work for critics and the public at the Pesaro Gallery. This exhibition also toured successfully until 1920. Regionale di Ferrara, returning to Milan in 1922 before traveling to the Primaverile Fiorentina, and finally being invited to the Venice Biennale, where he exhibited his silver group The Last Supper (now in Oslo Cathedral). On 14 June 1925, in the Parco delle Rimembranze in Bondeno, he presented his Madre as a monument to those killed in the First World War. He became an honorary citizen of Bondeno, although this was revoked due to fascist racial laws and was only re-granted in 2004. After World War II, Minerbi worked mainly for Catholic churches and cemeteries (in Milan, Rome, Rapallo, Piacenza, Padua, Copparo).

Источник: :wiki5.ru,https://www.artearti.net/mostre/arrigo-minerbi-ritorno-alla-gloria, /it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arrigo_Minerbi, /vk.com/@bmpage-gigantskaya-statuya-neptuna-v-nebolshom-italyanskom-gorode, //www.artearti.net/mostre/arrigo-minerbi-ritorno-alla-gloria, /www.flickr.com/photos/pivari/21549242499, /www.finestresullarte.info/en/exhibition-reviews/arrigo-minerbi-sculptor-between-ferrara-and-the-italian-culture-of-the-early-twentieth-century.

#искусство #Италия #скульптор #Арриго Минерби #скульптура #Нептун #Тайная вечеря #Мадре #Italia #sculptor #Arrigo Minerbi #sculpture #statue #neptun #The Last Supper #Madre

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scrubbinn · 6 months ago

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Mimic memoirs: The Spa

HRT month 22

Searching for date spots with Abi

Checking out a supposed local therian hotspot

Mayday pulled the car into the near empty strip mall. The entire building was mostly empty, save for about three rooms. Midwestern death is the term she would use to describe a place like this. It seemed to have, unfortunately, creeped into Hyper city at some point. The door in front of her was plastered in flyers and menus. All of them are fairly worn over years of use. Directly above the door and screwed into the concrete building were big, red, metal letters that read “massage.” Only the last three had maintained their neon glow, showing the age of the place.

“You said they have spa stuff, right? Abi said, stepping out of the car.

“Yep.” Mayday called back. “The website also included something called Therian massage. So I absolutely have to see what that's like.”

She had heard about this place from a few of the clients that passed through Erian's office. Far from being called popular, but any rumors of a location good to therians ended up spreading like wildfire eventually. She had to see for herself if they were true.

The pair pushed open the door with the bell hanging above, letting out a soft ring-a-ding. The inside was bathed in a soothing orange light. Flowering plants of all kinds were placed perfectly around the room and somehow made it feel bigger than it actually was. The sounds of soothing music and the ambiance of running water babbling through a creek with song birds singing their melodies. The calm vibes could only be described as immaculate. A small, old, human woman stood at the front desk. She had the smile of a sweet grandma that had just baked her grandchildren a fresh batch of oatmeal raisin cookies on a spring evening and radiated an aura that could put a blood raged werewolf at peace.

“Oh, hello! How are you lovely folk today? Do the two of you have an appointment here with us?”

Abi spoke for Mayday, “Yes, I'm here for the full spa treatment, and she's here for a massage.”

“Any preference on your caretaker's gender?” She asked.

Abi looked at Mayday, who simply shrugged.

��Guess not.” She said.

Mayday didn't have anything to say. To be honest, she was stunned. Most humans, especially the older ones, tend to look at her with some form of fear, disgust, and apprehension. But right now, she was being looked at with kindness. She was snapped out from her stupor as the old woman spoke again.

“You listed your species as a mimic on our website, correct? You'll have to wait for Lee then, he's our therian specialist. I'll leave you some water and a snack in case you get hungry.”

The woman walks to Mayday, placing a decorated glass cup of water and a small bowl of rice crackers.

She then turns to Abi. “Alrighty! Follow me, I'll take you to the spa room.”

The two of them walk to the back of the room and soon out of sight as they turn a corner. Mayday can only sit down in a nearby chair. She stared off into space, trying to figure out how she got here without saying a single word. Getting completely swept up in the conversation and having it suddenly end was something she wasn't used to, but it wasn't unpleasant. A fanged tendril peels off her arm and begins to eat the rice crackers. They were tasty.

After ten minutes had passed, a large younger man walked into the room. He stood nearly seven feet, and his hobby was probably working out every single day. His hands, though, looked incredibly soft. He wore a loose-fitting t-shirt and sweats. Perfect to immediately go for a 5k as soon as his shift ends.

“Mayday, right? Mimic? Follow me, I'll have to ask a few questions about your species. You don't have to answer if it's uncomfortable.” He said in such a sweet voice.

He walked to the back, motioning for Mayday to follow. As the two motioned through the hallway to the massaging bed, Mayday couldn’t help but notice the oddities in some rooms. All the chairs and beds were built with holes for a tail, what looks to be a grooming station you'd find in a farm, and what looked to be a modified taffy puller. It dawned on her that the reason half of the strip mall had empty buildings was because this place had purchased all of them and knocked out the walls.

The man named Lee saw the mimic's curiosity and smiled. “Dad made the puller, it took us a while to figure out how you massage a slime, and you especially have to be careful if they have a core, that's why we made a cup in the center there to keep it safe and attached while the rest of the body is pulled, and if the machine gets broken, then I've found that tossing them around like a pizza is a pretty good substitute!”

He laughed as he spun an imaginary pizza above his head. There's an earnest joy in his face as he talks about his craft.

“Your dad made it? Is this a family run business?” Mayday asked inquisitively

His smile grew even bigger. A millimeter more, and it would have threatened to pop off his face. “Yeah! Mom runs the financials and the front desk. Dad's an engineer and builds a lot of tools we need to use. And I'm in charge of studying new massage techniques for clients.”

He pulls out a notepad and pen from his pocket and flips to a blank page. He begins to focus deeply on his writing before peering over to Mayday. “Do you have muscles? Bone structure? Organs?”

Mayday stammers out, “oh, uh… No but I could. No, but I could… Yes, but I could remove it, maybe. I haven't tried.”

She watches him eye the taffy massager, and she quickly speaks again. “If it's ok, I'd prefer a massage by hand.”

“Sure thing! Here's a standard room you can use. I'll be back later with some supplies. Is there anything you need right now before we start?”

Lee left the room at a lightning pace. Meanwhile, Mayday took the time to undress and get comfortable underneath the towel on the bed. A business run by a bunch of fast talking, fun having, family members. She almost felt a little dizzy with how fast things were moving. That, and she wasn't expecting them to be so nice. They seemed curious, yet kind. Despite ostensibly being completely human, they-

“Miss, are you ready for me to enter?” Lee called out from behind a curtain.

“Oh, yes, you can come in,” Mayday called back.

He entered the room with a bucket containing some heated rocks and warm oils. He pulled back the towel just a bit to examine what exactly he was working with. Fibrous strings that seem to shift and fold through itself. The consistency of soap. He writes down a few things in his notepad as he labels the top: Mimic, faux slime.

He sighs and talks in a reassuring voice. “I'm going to try a few things. Just let me know if anything feels too painful.”

Almost immediately, a sharp pain burts from Mayday’s back. She screams out, “STOP!”

Lee pulled his hands away as her back caved in and quickly closed like the mouth of some alien creature.

“Sorry! Sorry!” She spit out.

Mayday quickly turns her head around to make sure she didn't bite off a finger. She hoped no one else heard her. “I'm so sorry. It just really hurt.”

“No, don't worry. Believe it or not, this isn't the most dangerous thing I've done. Sorry for hurting you.” He spoke in a soft tone.

Mayday buried her face into the pillow in front of her and groaned, “Talk to me, please. I know that's not how you do things for massages, but I just need to keep my mind occupied. So that doesn't happen again.”

He looked surprised as the noise of his scribbling notes stopped. “Sure. I don't mind, really.”

He tried another massage method, and this time, it didn't cause Mayday to react badly. She can't help but let out a soft, positive groan that she quickly tries to cover up with a dialog. “So! What made you decide to come to Hyper city?”

He beams a stupid grin. “Family history, huh? Sure, I've been practicing my speech when we inevitably get written about in the papers. Our place used to be a lot smaller in America. The family line has always run the place since they first moved there from China. Me and my siblings were going to take over eventually. Though I originally wanted to become a veterinarian. We couldn't afford to run the place and pay for college. Then my sister told us about Hyper city. She heard about it from some online friends. She said we could live here and it'd make more money for the family. I probably should have guessed the other reason she wanted to move here when she chose her new name, Fang. Well, I have to give her credit. We'd probably lose the business if we didn't move here. That's basically it… You're sure this method is comfortable for you?”

Mayday takes a moment to compose herself and make sure she doesn't embarrass herself further. Soon enough, she spoke, “Yes it's fine. It honestly feels similar to when I used to be human getting a massage… Actually, that does make me think of another question. This place seems incredibly caring to therian needs. Is it because of Fang?”

He took a moment to structure his thoughts as he placed several heated stones on her. “Well, It's not like we haven't experienced our own discrimination living in America, and Fang is family. We listened when she explained what she was going through, and we loved her all the same when she started her own transition. It showed us all the accommodations therian aren't given yet… That's it.”

“That's it?” Mayday asked.

“Yep, that's your full body massage done!” He beamed.

“Oh. Right, sorry. Not used to it being over so quickly. But thank you. That was nice.”

“Of course! Customer satisfaction guaranteed! It's kind of like a puzzle if that's not rude to say. Finding the best ways to help each individual customer. I'm pretty good at it. We end up with a lot of therians as regulars. On one hand, it's good to keep this place afloat, but I can't help but be sad that they're probably only coming back because they have nowhere else to go for this sort of thing.”

For once, Lee's smile flips into a drooping frown, but only for a moment. Mayday couldn't help but see him as a buff golden retriever who didn't get his treat. But she wasn't here for sad stories and gave him a face asking if she could get some privacy.

He spoke after a bit. “Ack! You probably want to change. Sorry! I'll leave the room.”

Soon enough, Mayday was alone to dress back up. It really was short, but then again, it really was about as exhausting and pleasant as other massages she's had. Putting on her clothes, she met with the older woman and paid for her and Abi’s time here.

“Thank you for your time.” Mayday said.

“Anytime dear, here's your water.” The woman responded. “It will be a bit before your friend is done. Why don't you visit the tea store next door? It's run by my son.”

Mayday looked at Lee.

“My other son.”

Mayday shrugged. “Tea does sound nice. Thank you. This place seems nice. I'll have to come back here again.”

Mayday waved goodbye, mostly to Lee. He seemed like a really nice guy. Her wave continued as she walked out the parlor and turned to look for the tea shop. It wasn't difficult. The shop was so over decorated that one could be forgiven for not noticing the rest of the building attached to it. Was it just that the tea shop was doing so much better? Or perhaps the family was putting too much money into a passion project. The front was covered in vines with a patio right outside. The tables and door are surrounded by delightfully smelling plants. The large window revealed a massive series of shelves, all containing different spices and fruits for making custom blends. Mayday opened the door to get a better look inside.

The doorbell rang almost exactly the same way as the spa. The only person inside the store was definitely related to Lee. They might actually be twins, but where Lee was buff, tall, and had messy black hair. This person was a short bean pole with hair completely straight. He also wore a scowl so set in that imagining a smile on him was impossible. He turned to look at Mayday. He looked more closely at her than anyone else in the family.

On the table were only two objects besides the register. A framed picture and a morter and pestle. Inside it, Mayday found a color and smell that certainly didn't exist where she came from. It was incredibly calming, though.

“You here to order something?” He spoke in a grumpy tone.

Mayday sighed before putting on her customer face to deal with this sort of energy. “Just some earl grey and chamomile. I'd also take recommendations if you know any other good bedtime teas.”

She checked on the picture on the counter while the owner began sorting through bottles. It was a photo of Lee, what looks like a wolf therian and the tea shop owner. Carved into the wood frame were the names Lei, Fang, and Sheng. Mayday’s attention was placed on the wolf. The crude, almost fake looking fur and segmented lines moving down the body reminded her of something. No one but her would have been able to notice the distinct inaccuracies. The more she looked at it, the less it looked like a wolf. She turned her attention to Sheng.

“Is Fang a mimic?” She said with a sudden realization.

Sheng didn't say anything as he filled the tea packets. But his frown softened a bit. His mouth opened, but it took him a while to say anything.

“Y-yeah. She's gone now.”

“Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… it's just that we're both…”

“It's fine. It's been a while, and it's not anything bad. Just one day, she stopped being human and became herself. The crossroads, right? She passed it and after a while she disappeared from home. I'm not sure where she is, but she's scrappy. She'll survive. And she's happy out there. That thought keeps me going.”

Mayday started to reach out to comfort him, but she thought better of it and instead paid for her tea.

Eventually, she spoke, “thank you. I'm sure she's happy too. I expect I'll come back here again. Have a good day.”

He waved her out as she left. The bare hint of a smile moved across his face. Mayday made her way to her car and sat back in the driver seat as her untensed body finally caught up to her, and she nearly started to melt. Today, despite everything, was worth it, if only for this trip. Soon enough, her partner joined her.

Abi seemed to notice her partner's relaxation and grew a bit inquisitive as she spoke, “How do you get massaged?”

“I got pulled apart like a licorice.”

“...Huh?”

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#monster girl #animal hrt #species hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #therian #otherkin #fiction writing #original writing #creative writing #mimic hrt #mimic girl #mimic memoirs

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teflonfryingpan · 2 months ago

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Between a Rock and a Hard Place

A Vander x Reader x Benzo fic. (reader is FtM)

You can also read it on my A03

Chapter 2 - Thrift.

(In the first chapter the reader meets Benzo, the pawnbroker, and manages to secure a deal that ensures better living conditions for them in exchange for your found treasures. Today, Reader will interrupt perhaps the most important sale in the universe, and meet with the Bartender)

Three days feels like too many and too few at the same time. You don't want to appear over-eager, or more pathetic than you already feel. People's generosity down here is a precarious thing though, if you wait too long he may rescind the deal. And an evil little voice bickers in the back of your mind that maybe this ‘friend of a friend’ might not be as hospitable as you had hoped.

Your thoughts drift back to the shop owner, Benzo. He was hospitable, mostly, but only after puffing his chest and making you cry in his store. As shameful as it is, the interaction endeared you to him. You haven't been treated with kindness in.. no. that's not really the word you think. It was gentle. The feeling keeps passing over you like a ghost, his big warm hand on your shoulder, the subtle press of his thumb as it ventures to the nape of your neck in shy circles. It makes you shiver.

He's a far cry from the man you had hoped to wed. Piltover men had a vanity to them that was just another way to peacock wealth, an unspoken social rule that a ‘moderate’ weight was respectable, but anything deemed excess was a sign of a personal failing or greed. Crooked teeth are straightened, stained cloth replaced with fresh white linen and silk, skin clean and pure from washing themselves in untainted waters.

It was all taken for granted, and it all made your stomach turn now. Your would-be-fiancee was the embodiment of a piltie to the people of the lanes, and his image shone in your mind in blinding vile fluorescence.

But Benzo? Big, soft and dare you say fluffy Benzo? With his crooked bridge and chipped teeth, or his audacious, unkempt mutton chops. He was every bit as unique as his personality would ask, a balance of strength and softness. He was not a replication of a cities idea of a perfect image, just comfortably himself.

Regardless, you shake your head as your mind has once again dragged you back to thinking of him. Maybe it's a sign to bite the metaphorical bullet and go back already. Secure this ‘bag’.

Looking around your little home you consider all that you had put together here. Along the ceiling and walls spanned many pipes and valves you had decorated in your year, weathered oil lamps tied with wires, scraps of colored fabric, and patchy horrid soldering jobs to close up wide gaps that rats would climb in and out of.

Large wooden planks of varied length litter the floor overtop of green tinted concrete long before claimed by the moss, and the equally as unforgiving walls were plastered with posters from years before. Your bed was made of fabric scrap, pieces both big and small stitched together to make a sheet of fabric large enough to fold in half, sew along its edge, and stuff with dubious soft materials. Anything you could get your hands on really. Youd scavenged strips of foam from rotted couches and mattresses, more fabric scrap and sodden raw wool that you washed five times till it smelled less acrid.

Everything here was a necessity, but if this proposed spare room was good, you think you can be happy to leave this all behind. Let another wayward soul find respite in your ramshackle attempt at making a life for yourself.

The rest of the cache you had stowed away in this room, its crate stained darkly with scorch marks but miraculously still retained its integrity enough to carry it all the way home. You can fit the rest of this in your rucksack, save for a particularly long and strange construction of long flat brass plates and bolts, there were some hinged, hidden parts along it that suggested hidden compartments or blades. Carrying this out in the open will be a little bit of a hassle, so you roll it up in a stained bit of cloth and hope for the best.

It was still morning, but it will be midday by the time you climb some levels up to reach the shop. There is a lightness in your step as you trek away, at the very least, till you get deeper into the lanes. You clutch the odd object close under your arm and keep your head down, weaving around potholes, pipes and people, till you come to the same wide round window again.

There's some muffles inside and your skin tingles for a moment before you push open the door, almost excited to see the big guy.

But its not.

Inside was the child again. A mop of white hair tied in a curled type of topknot, his overalls a few sizes too big, he leans back in the stool counting through a sizable stack of paper notes, the type of money that hardly sees the world down here in the humid depths of the lanes. Across from the counter stood a tall broad man, a hooded cloak over his shoulders and the glint of a standard issue Enforcer respirator hung around his neck.

Piltie you thought without even realising it.

At what point did these people become so othered to you?

It was a thought you couldn't dwell on as the man seemed to almost panic, like he wasn't supposed to be here.

“Uh.Tha- Thank you then! I will be taking my leave good sir! I mean Young man?”

He had attempted to lower the pitch of his voice but it was clear that it's unnatural to his way of speaking. Hastily he gathered a collection of items that he had purchased and loaded them with clumsy hands into a small trolley he had with him, topping it off with a large black box that he gave the most care in its placement to. The child quirks a brow at him, and can hardly contain the smirk on his lips as he continues to flick through the notes just one more time to be sure. Some dodgy business was going on here that's for sure. But it's none of your business.

You awkwardly move around the room to give this stranger space as he retreated, taking with him almost half the shop's more eclectic wares. You didn't see his face too closely, just the strong line of his jaw and the jut of two misaligned front teeth. And his silly little cart, hardly concealing a Piltover family crest with a measly taped piece of paper.

When the door slammed shut with the sound of the bell's final rattle the room was silent for all of a few beats. Both you and the child staring at the swinging sign before turning to each other with incredulous looks.

You both begin to speak at the same time, tumbling over one another. “Um. is Benzo around-” “What you selling mister-”

It does nothing to alter the strange atmosphere, but he hufs a cheeky little laugh at you. “Hes out right now. But if you have more of those hairpins from last time I’ll give you everything in my pocket” He tells you smugly as he places the stack of bills inside something beneath the counter, closes a heavy sounding door, and spins a rattling dial. You glare at him just slightly. This isn't about what you bought for Benzo the other day, but the first time you had met this child months ago.

It seems he hasnt grown out of his snark.

“I'm not selling anything. I just needed to talk to Benzo”

“Well” the child shrugs, eyes sliding to the door again for a moment before setting back to you “I dunno when he will be back, you can come back a little later”

There wasn't anything you could think of to do in time in between, heading back to your little home would just give you another hour of walking with this heavy bag of trinketry weighing your shoulders down. Maybe you can waste a little time? Maybe Benzo is right around the corner and this tiny dweeb was just looking to shirk his responsibilities.

You slide the bag off your shoulder, as well as lower the mechanical piece, and dig around inside the rucksack for a remaining handful of the strange gears from last time, you place them on the counter and shrug back to him, parroting some of his body language back.

Almost rolling his eyes the child picks up some of the gears and turns them around, and instantly you see his brows furrow, flicking through a few, pinking out others, slotting some of them together and seeing what teeth fit comfortably amongst others.

“Are these from the same machine?” he questions you as more of the little pieces in his hands seemed to compliment each other. “I thought you said you weren't selling anything”

You corrected him “I'm not selling, I kind of already agreed to something with Benzo, you see. That's why I’m here”

The child leans overtop the counter to get a better look at your bag and your wrapped object, pointing at it with a gear he demands you “hand that big one over” so you do. Unwrapping the long armature and placing it longways in front of him, this kid seems to be as curious about it all as Benzo was, but where Benzo strong armed a client the child seemed to be more inclined to mischief.

“Robbing Pilties for the Old Man huh?” he asks with a grin. You falter just so.

Its a reminder that you probably avoided some serious problems by taking your things directly to Benzos the first time. Others would undercut you, or worse, just outright rob you of this well earned find.

You sounded exacerbated when you reiterated once again. “I didn't steal it”

“Heh. sure whatever”

If you were a true Zaunite you’d have bickered back with him, but you still can't find a place in you to be unkind to him, even if he was a bit of a dickdead. You watch as he tinkers away, adept with his tools and inquisitive mind, probably experienced in disassembling and reassembling a large manner of objects within the shop alone.

It's as if he’s seen one of these.. Things, before. But also, not. He knows what screws may do what, how a seam may lead to a compartment that leads to more intricate gearwork within, even managing to wedge open a spot that you swear one of those vial tubes could slot into. Very curious indeed.

He almost has the thing completely opened up when the door swings open with an audacious bang, the door rebounding off the crates stowed beside it and rattling with a creaking hinge. Damn near scared the shit out of you, making you jump in place and turn on your heel quickly to the sight of the store owner entering with a collection of rolled paper blueprints in his arms.

“Aah, that wretch at Geoff’s fucked up the measurement conversion again Ekko, You’d think they’d hire someone better at math by now” He huffs toward his.. Son? You assume.

But then his eyes fell on you, sitting on that little stool across from the counter, holding an odd gyroscopic ball that would glow so slightly when its inner mechanism turns fast enough. The way his face broke out into a wide grin comforted you, he wasn't cranky it took you three days to come back.

“There you are!” He chuckled “I was beginning to worry I scared ya off”

You can hardly keep away the little smile that pulls on your lips when you greet him. He hands the paper rolls to the child, Ekko, and waves him out of his chair for the man to take a seat himself. “Toyin’ around with it already” he muttered under his breath as he picked up the piece Ekko was working on. The child waits a moment to scrutinise the two of you before slipping into the room in the back to leave you alone.

You pick up your rucksack and place it on the countertop too, and begin to pull out every last piece you had left in there, more vials, gears, and four more of the small devices from the last visit. Benzo lets out a smooth low whistle surveying everything before him and seems to excitedly wring his hands before separating groups of the items, placing them in new little boxes for later use.

“I’m very glad you bought me the rest o’ this. It's not everyday someone comes in with long lost machines like this”

Watching curiously as he recloses the openings on the main piece. “Is it a weapon?” you ask.

Benzo gives a half-shrug. “It's not the whole machine, you got a little less than half of it. It is part of a charge amplifier from an older model of Enforcer Airships. I'd say this thing is maybe.. Thirty, Forty years old?”

You don't know the first thing about how airships are built or what a charge amplifier does. You were never one of Piltovers… best. While the town was swarmed by brilliant minds with the academy's generous grants and constant technological advancements, you were just lucky enough to be born into it. Maybe it made a little sense to you why your Ex had rejected your proposal, at the end of the day his family had a public image to uphold amongst their people, and you sure weren’t bringing anything special to their already overfull table of inventors and investors.

But alas. You did have things to offer here. A pile of Piltover relics that better put a damn good roof over your head. Considering that, you are unsure how to approach that subject with Benzo, not wanting to come across as disrespectful you simply watch him reorganise his things from where the child had misplaced and scattered things.

“Wheres the bloody… was here before I left… where’d he put-”

It seems the child has misplaced some of Benzos belongings. He stops himself from searching, and takes a cautious quick glance around the walls of his shop, then to you. His reddening cheeks and slightly flustered state making you equally as bashful in this awkward scene.

“Sorry, luv. I had put away somethin’ as an apology but…” he rubs a hand against his chin as he ponders “Guess I’ll have to find some more- sorry. More anticipation to a surprise I guess” You aren't sure why he’d need to apologise, trying to help you was more than enough, but he seemed keen to offer up more in humility.

“Oh thank you, It's fine really” You try to lessen his worry, and use the opening in the interaction to address this deal. “You are already going to improve my life here I can't ask for anything more”

“Think nothin’ of it! I was actually over at his this morning, but if i'm honest I told him ‘bout you the same night you were here”

Whoever this guy was had you hopeful and you felt yourself vibrate with anticipation. “What did he say?” you ask, earning another hearty grin from the man. “Of course he's open to the suggestion, gotta meet you first. As sorry a case as you are, he's still got his standards, but..” His eyes once again dip down your body and back to your face “I get the feelin’ you’ll tug on his strings just right”

You're unsure exactly what's insinuated here, but you flush anyway.

He adds in at the end “An’ if youre any good at cookin or cleanin who knows.. Might end up with a little coin”

Now that is a silver lining if you ever heard one.

“When do I get to meet this guy?”

Benzo straightens against the counter and flicks out a pocketwatch to check the time, despite the.. Seven, eight, nine clocks scattered around the store. Granted some dont seem to be ticking now that you focus. He purses his lips before closing it and stuffing it in his pocket.

“Well, He's probably a lil’ busy right now getting ready to open shop this evenin. Hows about lunch? Got anywhere to be?”

An invitation to a meal was again, unexpected, the hospitality of Benzo growing more and more grand every time he opens his mouth. You feel yourself melt into that comfort. You try to respectfully decline, not wanting to overindulge in his generosity lest it sours, but he insists upon it.

You relent easily, he didn't really need to pressure you much, as your stomach growls its own opinion on the matter.

He hops off his stool and you watch as he flips the door sign again, then reaching into his pocket to retrieve a ring of keys. Your skin prickles for a moment hearing the lock turn, not realising ‘Lunch’ meant eating here. You were curious now, did he have someone in the back who cooked? Was it himself? Or the child?

As Benzo steps up beside you you feel his hand on your body again, fingers smoothing from your shoulder in between the blades, he urges you up and out of the chair with his palm flat to your back. His heat permeates the thin weave of your layered shirts as you both walk towards the door to the back of his shop.

It opens with a creak, and he motions you in with the sweep of his arm. “After you, Luv"

═════════════

By Janna, the man can cook.

You can't even remember the last time in Piltover where you had eaten yourself into a food coma, but Benzo had just as much stowed away food as he did dangerous knick knacks in his store. And he knew exactly how to use them.

Apparently he had made a strange gamble a few years ago that really paid off in the form of a seemingly endless supply of canned preserves of many kinds. He tells you how he used to work odd jobs in kitchens when he was really young, learning by watching as the cooks tossed together their ingredients and teased the barely paid labourers with the delicious smells.

“-and the shelf life is at least three or four years after the printed use by date” He prattled to you as you sit opposite each other on his living space couch, “whats that sayin’ Ekko?” Benzo asks, having to throw his arm over the back of the couch to look behind him at his child, who was tipping his chair back in a lazy rocking motion at the table, His hand grips the fabrics surface firmly and is just a breadth away from being on your shoulder again. You stare at his fingers when you hear Ekko parrot something in unison with his caretaker

“Expiry dates are suggestions, not rules”

You find that dubious, but the way the two laugh with each other at least settles the worry of getting food poisoning. Only because you will have company in suffering.

“Unless its milk” the boy chimes in.

“Even spoiled milk can become yogurt or curds, lad”

His optimistic outlook is comforting, and you can tell by looking around his welcoming home that all things serve purpose, or have been repurposed like many things in the Underground were. The people of the Lanes were resourceful, his dinner table was clearly once a door, sanded down and fitted with three wooden legs of what might have been a bedframe once, paired with a single iron outlier. Not a single piece of cutlery or dinnerware matching. All pieces originating from somewhere else settling into this found home, not feeling disorganised, but that they belong.

You hope your next destination is just as welcoming.

The creak of Ekko’s wooden chair hitting the floorboards again signaled his rise and he begins to clear the table, and you too, feeling like you had something to give in return for the meal, also stand to assist him. Despite both of their complaints, that you were a guest, this time you insist, and there is little argument to it as the boy starts filling a washbasin with lukewarm soapy water.

Washing their dishes is the least you could do. In the back of your mind a talley of generous deeds between you fluctuates bit by bit, not with the intention to further ingratiate him to you, or you to him, but as a show of good faith. You want this man to like you a whole lot more for some reason.

As you are drying your hands off with a small towel Ekko is edging towards the door back to the shop with a glint in his eyes, but Benzo stops him. “Off to watch the shop for me?” He asks with a prodding humor before the boy had even gotten his hand on the doorknob. His skinny shoulders draw up, and when he turns his head there's an endearing pout in his expression.

“I was gonna go see my friends-”

“Ah, that works for us then. We were goin’ to head to the Last Drop ourselves anyway. We’ll all go together”

There's a little waver in the child's eyes that say he had some plans of his own in that respect, but he huffs in defeat, as he could never argue with his father really. He shrugs in acceptance and waits for the two of you to get off the couch and follow him.

Benzo guides you back through his house with a steady hand behind you again. It's so foreign to you to be touched so often by someone who was essentially a stranger, but nothing about that touch conveys intentions of harm. Maybe something different, something tender. You feel cared for.

There's a warmth that radiates right down to your bones as you disembark, a stomach full of food and heart full of friendly conversation, the three of you moving as a unit out through the front of the shop. Your rucksack slung over your shoulders was light once more, empty now save for your meagre belongings, a single change of clothes, a small knife, and a few notebooks you used to entertain yourself with little stories and doodles you come up with.

Ekko offers to carry it for you, but you laugh, “you have both done more than enough, I’ll be fine”

Traversing the Lanes feels so.. Different this time. Something about being with a group of people, not ones you are paid to work together with, but persons who would probably shove off any trouble that comes toward you. And the chat doesn't cease as you walk either. Benzo points out different buildings you pass and tells you who works out of what fronts, Mitula’s lockpickers, the knifesmith named Baros, a “rat bastard named Kev” who lived above a small grocery store, a good handful of brothels here and there too. It was quite evident that knowing people in the Lanes was very beneficial.

The pipes and tight alleys give way to a more open flat walk path of welded steel. No stone and dirt, as you make your way deeper into Zaun. Given the positioning, this spot was more or less considered the ‘city center’, deep beneath Piltover where the founders had built platforms descending into the Fissures.

You hadn't noticed Benzo and Ekko stop, continuing your pace as you look around at all the bright neon signage used to advertise the evening venues. Benzo has to reach out and grab your hand to stop you from walking away with a chuckle. “Nah luv, over here”

You wobble on the spot as you turn and look at them, then to the door you stand before, and then up to the large sign high above the building that you can't discern from this angle. This must be the place then. A.. bar? You consider it curiously, and cast another glance to Benzo as he steps forward and pushes open the door, walking in, then holding it open for you and his child.

Running in head first Ekko disappears into the building, already well familiar with this environment, and you follow behind while throwing cautious glances around. Bars were never your favorite place honestly, what Piltover had to offer had an atmosphere about them, that people sitting in their stools thought themselves too important to really be there sinking into the bottom of their mugs. When your Ex had taken you out you were no more than a decoration on his arm as he sat with others to drink.

This felt different. Whether it's a good difference will have to be seen.

Inside you are welcomed into warm lighting, the slow beat of a jukebox, and enough chatter in the early evening to set a low drone in the background that vibrated in your ears. Ekko was long gone, so Benzo strides his way directly up to the currently empty bar and takes a seat on one of the farther ends, you follow close behind him and take a seat beside him.

You look around for the Bartender, then at the collection of bottles and glasses lining the shelves behind.

“He’ll be around” He tells you as he turns in his seat to wave towards the room of patrons. “The place is nice though, innit? Ol’ Vander has been runnin’ this place for twenty odd years. Hes kinda’ the reason everyone plays nice around here”

You hum your acknowledgement and remain entrapped by the movement around you, though numbers were few, every second booth housed two to four people, and some tables were full. Everyone caught in their own little worlds, having conversation, making deals, the candlelight throwing sharp shadows across their features and highlighting their laughter, smirks and glowers. The clink of glass echoes every now and then, a chorus of life.

Then. Heavy footfalls. The creak of withered floorboard and the jangle of loose keys and coin in someones pocket. And then.. “The hell are you doin’ back here?” came a deep, jovial voice from behind the counter as a man steps back into his space.

Your heart hammers for just a moment as you set your eyes on him.

His eyes are on Benzo at first, who turns to him and barks his greeting, their hands coming together in a mock shake over the counter, before the larger man nods his head toward you.

“That lost lil’ cat I told you about”

And Oh, does his gaze burn. You thought Benzos charm made you simmer under the collar, but as those intense steel grey eyes lock on you you freeze in place, yet they pool fire in your belly like nothing else before. You almost forget to breathe when he cocks a little smirk and holds his hand out to you.

“Good to put a real face to a description. The names Vander” You tentatively put your smaller hand into his palm, his fingers close around yours and he gives it a gentle jostle.

“About time you showed up-” he continued, the baritone of his voice shook you “Benzo was beginning to fret thinkin’ you’d been plucked off by some gang for your coin”. The way Vander carried himself was intriguing, there was a pride to him, aware of his strength and stature, but the same underlying glint of gentleness in his expression that had endeared you to Benzo. You nod along with him, not knowing what to say, while Benzo tries to insist he wasn't “fretting” but simply “concerned for a fellow Zaunite doing it tough”

It makes Vander laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling and setting your heart aflutter. This was getting dangerous fast for you. This comfort, this attraction, hit like a sack of bricks, and you once again reflect on how the men of Piltover really didn't seem to compare.

After pulling out a bottle from under the counter and filling up Benzos cup he turns to you.

“You drink?”

You nod, somewhat of a lie, as alcohol hardly made its way to you after coming of age to do so. It was a social thing for you in a way, only enjoying it in the company of many. But you were no doubt in good company now, the kindness of these men amounting them to a room of people.

Whatever it is that he pours, you sniff and take a sip, and are pleasantly surprised to find it bubbly and sweet with a tinge of bitterness. A cider. “You like it?” he asks, smiling warm and curious. You reply “Yes, thank you”.

To your side, Benzo leans ever so slightly towards you, and a hand placed on the lowered back of the barstool all but cages you in between the metal and wood of the counter.

“Right then. Benzo here said you've been living out in the warrens for a year?”

You nod again. If the Warrens are what they call the abandoned and rotted structures to the east. He gives a tight shrug at that, and hums a disapproving note.

“Hm.. that's no place for someone so… foreign to take shelter, absolutely not. Surprised you're even breathing down here honestly”

“It took a little while to get used to” Your response comes with your own shy laughter which only deepens Vanders smile, liking that your walls were dropping in little increments for him.

“Well, our purifiers run during open hours, You’ll breathe easy here for the most part.. Ya know, If you wish to stay. Its nothin’ fancy, and maybe a little humid, but the old distilling cellar over there” he nods towards a wall on the opposite side of the establishment, an area noone was sitting and languishing in low candlelight, “it’s been sitting empty for a while save for some old boxes of barley I ain't usin’, I can get the girls to clear it out tomorrow”

A mention of “the girls” gives you slight trepidation, probably a man with many lovely ladies flocking around him and those stupid gorgeous eyes and smile of his. His charm was probably a blessing and curse all in one.

“I.. It's so generous, really, I feel like I shouldn't..” You begin, but he cuts your sentence off with a swat of his dishrag on the countertop beside you. “Ah-Ah! None of that young man” he chastises “You live in a dangerous place right now, without even knowin’ it. It's no loss to me to put a roof over someone's head when they need it”

It's almost as if some benevolent deity were watching over you, a patron of portly philanthropic men tossing these two in your direction to essentially save your life. Your eyes become wet, and though you sniffle a little bit, you don't let your waterworks overflow this time. You accept his offer with deep gratitude.

Benzos hand that had been resting behind you slips up to rest against your hip and you stiffen at the contact, but then he uses that hold to tip you towards him into a one armed hug. Raising his glass towards the Barkeep in a mock toast.

“To another new beginning, eh?”

You pick up your glass as well, and Vander tilts the bottle in hand to clink with the rim of your cups.

“To a better life”

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