#transitional desk design

[whoremccall]

Transitional Deck

Large transitional backyard deck photo with no cover

[vintagehomecollection]

House & Garden’s Best in Decoration, 1987

[bendover-productions]

Sorry if you've already been informed of this, but in case you haven't, I just want you to know that Sam still has the teal pom pom hat! He said on the podcast that he misplaced it almost immediately and thought he had lost it, but that he found it in his bag once he got back!

NO!!! no one told me!!! 😭😭 thank you so much, that teal hat is incredibly important to me and i am delighted he still has it

^^^sam in that hat. to me tbh <3

[idealfitnessdublin]

Dallas Traditional Home Office Study room - large traditional freestanding desk medium tone wood floor study room idea with beige walls

[jacob-allan]

Home Office Built-In Cleveland Mid-sized transitional built-in desk dark wood floor and brown floor study room photo with white walls and no fireplace

[your-miasma]

Home Office Denver Mid-sized transitional study room design example with a beige floor and carpeting, gray walls, and no fireplace.

[talesofthenine]

Contemporary Home Office Phoenix Study room - mid-sized contemporary freestanding desk light wood floor and beige floor study room idea with white walls and no fireplace

[mariesamuels]

Orange County Powder Room Bathroom ideas for a transitional bathroom

[mimi-sophie]

Vancouver Family Room Library Inspiration for a mid-sized contemporary open concept medium tone wood floor and gray floor family room library remodel with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a tile fireplace and no tv

[mariasont]

can you please write Spencer and shy!reader for valentine's day? 💕💝💖💖💞💝💖 I love them so much and I love you more

Lover Girl - S.R

summary: spencer has a hypothesis about love on vday & it’s not something you agree on pairing: post!prison!reid x shy!medialiaison!reader warnings: r going crazy over something spencer said hours ago (get a grip girl), r kinda goes out of character, spencer being the sassiest human alive wc: 1.9k a/n: thank u sm for requesting i love this and i love you even more ✨💖

The draft on your laptop was starting to look less like a press release and more and more like a psychological cry for help. Words sprawled like abandoned thoughts, entire sentences had been brutally sacrificed to the backspace key, and you'd rewritten the same transition phrase so many times it no longer felt like a real word. The whole thing read like the work of someone who had just sustained a minor head injury.

Objectively? It was bad.

Subjectively? It was an unmitigated disaster.

You blamed Spencer. Or maybe you blamed yourself for still thinking about it, for letting his words linger in your head like an incorrectly formatted footnote that you couldn't stop rereading.

You had never been a hopeless romantic, exactly, but you liked the idea of it, the structure of it. Believed it was more than a sum of its parts. More than just wires crossing in the brain and pattern recognition.

And yet, he had discarded the notion so easily, reducing love to a series of neurochemical reactions misinterpreted as emotional depth, something logical and completely stripped of any sort of real feeling.

He hadn't meant it cruelly, but his voice carried a kind of detachment that made you want to launch your coffee at his ridiculously well-structured face. It shouldn't bother you.

It really, genuinely, in no universe, should not bother you. It wasn't like you had a chance with him, so why did it matter what Spencer Reid, certified romance cynic, destroyer of sentimental ideals, and casual heartbreaker, thought about love?

If anything, his lack of belief should make it easier to kill this absurd crush before it spiraled into something unmanageable.

You squared your shoulders and looked back to the screen, back to the carefully worded Bureau-approved phrases meant to sound polished and agreeable.

Strengthening community trust. Bridging the gap between law enforcement and the public.

Meaningless, hollow, designed to be palatable without saying anything real. Blah. Blah.

I mean, did he really think that love was like an outdated scientific theory? It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud — if nothing else, wasn't that proof of its existence?

You had considered the possibility that he had stopped believing because he had to. That prison had stripped the softness of him, turned love into just another abstract concept that didn't hold up under scrutiny, like time, like trust, like freedom.

Or maybe (and this was the more infuriating possibility) he had always been like this, too pragmatic to believe in something he couldn't technically hold in his hands.

You groaned under your breath, rubbing at your temple like you could physically press the words out of your skull, like they were just another headache waiting to pass. Why were you still thinking about this? It was stupid. He was stupid. You were stupid of caring.

Except he wasn't stupid. He was obnoxiously brilliant, the kind of smart that made other geniuses insecure, and that was the problem. Because if someone that intelligent didn't believe in love the way you did.... did that mean you were in the wrong? Had you been naive this whole time, blindly buying into a romanticized fantasy while Spencer had long dissected it and found it lacking?

The knock on your office doorframe startled you so badly that your entire skeletal structure attempted to evacuate your body, knee jerking up, colliding with the underside of the desk with an unforgiving whack.

You barely had time to wonder if you'd just concussed your kneecap before you looked up and — Spencer. Standing in the doorway like some cosmic punishment for thinking about him too hard.

Heat flooded your face like an admission of guilt, because why, why, did it suddenly feel like you'd been caught red-handed?

"Hey," he said, tilting his head. "You okay?"

No, you wanted to say. Not at all. Because what were you supposed to do when they very subject of your over analysis materialized in your doorway, looking at you like he could see every freaking unspoken thought folded between your ribs?

You swallowed, forced yourself to look anywhere but directly at him, because everything about this, about him, felt like some kind of cruel irony.

"Uh, yeah," you croaked, voice pitching embarrassingly high. Great. Perfect. Totally normal human behavior.

Spencer's brow furrowed, his head doing that thing he did when something wasn't quite right. But miraculously, he didn't say anything about it.

"I was just...," You gestured to your laptop.

Spencer nodded slowly, either accepting your excuse at face value or deciding it wasn't worth the effort to call you out.

"Right. I was just going to ask if you had finalized the press release for me to proof."

Your stomach lurched, a sharp drop like missing a step in the dark. Finalized. Bold of him to assume you'd done anything besides stare blankly at your screen for the past fifteen minutes.

"Oh! Yeah, of course," you said, throwing out the words with a half-hearted smile as if that would seal the lie. "Almost done. Just... you know, making sure it's perfect."

Spencer stepped inside, moving just past the threshold. His expression changed. Less neutral. More aware.

"You're acting strange."

Which was unacceptable, because if anyone in this scenario should be acting strange, it was him, standing there like a walking contradiction.

"I — what?" The laugh escaped before you could trap it behind your teeth, jagged and surely unnatural.

"You're tense. And you don't usually second-guess yourself this much. If it was almost done, you'd just say so." His eyes flicked to the laptop. "Did something happen?"

Your face went nuclear, looking away, hyper focused on the edge of the desk like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. "I don't know what you mean. I'm acting normal."

Spencer made a thoughtful noise. "Denial first. Then contradiction."

"I —"

"Oh, and there's the hesitation. That usually happens when you're trying to figure out how to backpedal without making it obvious."

"Do you always do this?"

"Only when people are lying about something." He squinted at you. "And you're a very bad liar."

He tapped a finger a finger against his arm in a way that made your nerves itch, before stepping forward and sinking into the chair across from your desk.

"Huh."

You frowned. "What?"

"You're doing the same thing you did earlier," he said matter-of-factly. "Avoiding direct responses, looking everywhere but me, shifting in your seat."

His gaze lingered, and then — Gods, help you — his lips curved, just slightly.

"Almost like the conversation was bothering you then, too."

Oh. Oh, this was bad. He was trying to talk about the one topic you'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to erase from your brain.

"I just, well, it's not that I had thoughts or feelings on it or anything, I just didn't, well, I mean, I just didn't want to be in that conversation, you know? Not that it was bad. Just — not my thing."

Spencer's eyebrows lifted. "So you disagreed with me?"

"I — I did not say that."

"No, but you just said everything but that." He leaned forward. "So tell me. What was it?"

You finally look at him, actually looked at him, and immediately regretted it.

You tried to gauge if there was any chance you could turn this conversation in your favor.

Nope.

"I mean, I wouldn't say disagreed, per se, I just... thought maybe your take was a little—," you sighed, "dismissive."

"Oh? And what exactly am I dismissing?"

You hesitated. Not because you didn't have an answer, but because you had too many. Love wasn't just science, romance wasn't just a byproduct of biology, that it meant something. It's real. It matters. It's— "You're dismissing everything beyond your own reasoning."

You waited. For the rebuttal, the deconstruction, the inevitable moment Spencer laid your words bare and left you scrambling to rebuild them. But this time there was nothing. He just sat there. Looking at you. Like he was waiting for something else.

You fidgeted. Crossed your arms. Uncrossed them. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... thinking." A pause. "You clearly have an opinion on this, just trying to figure out what it is."

Your lips pressed together, your brain begging you to let it go, to shut up before you started. But the words were already forming, bubbling up too fast to stop.

"Okay, look. I get it. I get the science. I get that love can be explained in chemical terms."

Spencer nodded, like you were finally seeing his point.

"But that doesn't mean that's all it is," you said, sitting up straighter. "Love isn't just an instinct. If it was then why do people stay in love when it doesn't make sense? Why do people wait years for someone who might never come back? Why do people hold on to feelings they know won't be returned?"

You inhaled sharply, only to realize what you had said felt a little too personal. Heat flared to your toes. "I just, uh, you're looking at it like it's an equation when it's more like, like art. You can break down why a painting is visually appealing, but that doesn't explain why it moves people."

"So love is art then?" A small smirk tugged at his lips. "That would mean it's subjective. That one person's version of it isn't the same as another's."

"Well, yeah, that's my point." You nodded. "Everyone experiences it differently. That's why it can't be reduced to formulas. You can recreate the exact conditions of a moment, use the same words, set the same scene but it won't feel the same to someone else. Because love isn't about external factors, it's about who you're with, how they make you feel."

"That sounds dangerously close to saying it's entirely irrational."

You exhaled. "If it is, then I guess that means you'll never understand it."

Spencer pushed himself to his feet, adjusting his cuff like this was just another conversation and not something that had you actively fighting for oxygen.

Then, with an infuriating self-satisfied smile, he murmured, "Well, maybe I just need the right person to teach me."

You nearly choked on air.

And with one last glance, he grinned and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, lover girl."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[crushmeeren]

࿐ it’s kenma’s turn! eijirou’s version can be found here.

⋆ ⬪ happy halloween!!! that’s a wrap everyone! i hope you all enjoyed my kinktober event, although i am a little relieved it’s over. this one isn’t too long, i wanted to end it with some shortish and to the point.

࿐ master list link ࿐ kinktober master list

⋆ ⬪ KINKS/STUFF INCLUDED ࿐ choking, biting/marking, praise kink, rough sex, anal sex, kind of enemies to lovers? it’s a fast paced transition tho, reader is quite feisty in this.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ short summary ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Kenma, according to you, is the laziest and worst incubus you’ve ever worked with. As a succubus, you work twice as hard as he does and still he ends up wreaking more havoc and causing such an insane amount of psychological damage that it causes your blood to boil. When you confront him about it, Kenma’s apathetic as usual. Then he shows you why he wears the crown. What a fool you were.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Kenma this, Kenma that, fucking blah blah Kenma.

The name is seared into your memory, always falling from the mouth of your tight ass boss. “Oh, why can’t you be more like him?”, or “Kenma is our best incubus, why don’t you take notes on how he operates?”

How could you be expected to compete with someone who does no wrong? Who’s “perfect”?

You’ve come home with makeup smudged, body aching more times than you can count, but Kenma never has a hair out of place. The enticing image of your claws slicing through his face has your stomach squirming with bloodlust until a sharp snap close to your ear forces the daydream to drift away.

Returning to the present, you shift your bored expression towards your boss instead burning a hole in the wall. He’s pursing dry, cracked lips, clenching his fists tightly on top of a run down, shabby desk.

The interior design in hell is shit.

“Did you hear a word I said?”

“Nope.” The tap, tap of your nails on the metal chair rings out and your bosses eyebrow twitches. You’d tuned out all the nonsense he’d been spewing because, c’mon, you really don’t need another bullshit lecture on how to fuck someone and draw out their energy.

He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, visibly restraining himself from leaping over the desk to strangle you. His eyes flash open and they’re glowing.

“Why can’t you be more like Kenma?”

Red clouds your vision, expression thunderous. “Don’t you fucking dare say that to me!” Your tail coils up tight behind you as you slam a hand down onto his desk.

Your boss stares, unimpressed and unconcerned at the explosive outburst.

“Do we have to do this every single time?” He asks, the weight of the world seemingly pressing down on his shoulders. He sets his elbows on the desk and presses his face into his hands.

“Yes!” You hiss, baring sharp teeth and leaning forward. “You never fucking take me seriously! Stop telling me to be like Kenma! He’s lazy and an asshole!” You spit his name, fury burning brighter as your boss treats you like a child who needs to be scolded. A low rumble starts up in the back of his throat.

A knock on the door interrupts the one sided argument. Whoever it is doesn’t wait for a response before waltzing inside.

“Sure, yeah just come in,” your boss mutters, position unchanged. A prickle runs down your spine and stiffens when a familiar spicy cinnamon scent floods the room.

“I’m hurt,” Kenma says in a flat, if not slightly amused tone. “And I’m not an asshole.” He doesn’t attempt to defend himself against the lazy accusation and your blood boils.

Your boss perks up when he recognizes the voice and your razor like teeth grind themselves into dust. Of course he’d be happy the second his precious lap dog shows his face.

“Kenma! What can I do for you?”

You snort in disbelief, crossing your arms, and your boss shoots you a look of warning.

“I needed to speak with you about my next assignment.”

“Of course! Have a seat, we were just finishing up.”

The dismissal is obvious. You glare at your boss with the force of a thousand suns rising from your chair. The demon cowers underneath the heat of it. You scoff, whipping around with every muscle tensed.

Kenma’s posture is loose, casual, the tiniest smirk directed at you as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His attire suggests he hasn’t been out on assignment recently.

Typical.

You muster the iciest expression you’re capable of and send it towards Kenma, tail flicking in agitation as you stomp forward.

You refuse to speak to Kenma, shoulder checking him on the way to the door. Your boss calls out a reprimand, which falls on deaf ears, and you slam the door shut so hard the frame rattles.

Fucking Kenma.

The next time you see that pathetic excuse for an incubus, you’re tearing him a new asshole.

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Turns out you’ve got a bit of luck on your side.

Generally, you avoid Kenma when you’re both residing at the tower, not keen on running into him, but tonight you’ve spotted him at a bar.

You’d gone topside for the evening, desperate for a night of freedom. There’s been no chance to do so with your boss’s head shoved so far up your ass he can see out your mouth. You’re searching for someone, boy, girl, anyone in between to take home and drain dry of their sexual energy.

The bar you wandered into is on the popular side of town. The music is decent, and you’ve managed to dance with a few girls here and a few guys there, but none of them get your blood pumping.

You sigh through your nose, shoulders drooping, deciding it’s best to take a break and head for the bar. Despite what may swirl around the rumor mill, you can get a buzz if you drink enough. You’re loose limbed and relaxed when your body does a 360, shocks jolting down your spine when the absolute last person you want to see is nursing a beer at the bar.

Heat rushes through your body, the human disguise you’ve conjured threatening to shimmer and disappear, tail itching to break free. One steadying breath, then another, nails digging into your palms to keep calm. One more deep breath in, a long exhale, then you march towards the incubus.

You stop at the empty seat next to him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You bite.

Kenma’s gaze flickers over you from head to toe, returning to his drink. “The same as you, I suppose.” He takes another long sip of his beer. The bitter scent is overpowering, stomach rolling with disgust.

“Well fuck off. Do it somewhere else.”

He sets his drink down and raises a dark eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you owned the bar. Do you?”

“No,” you grind out, shoulders hiking to your ears. “I was here first.” It’s petty and childish, the urge to stomp your foot growing stronger by the second.

Kenma snorts. “Sure, but there’s enough room for both of us to play.”

His apathetic attitude infuriates you even further, hand lifting to point an angry finger at him. Your mouth opens to curse him to hell but he beats you to the punch.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He’s outright staring now, cat like eyes unwavering. His offer is so out of left field that your jaw snaps shut, lips pursing, mouth opening once more to try and form a response. Your hand drops lamely to your side, shifting from foot to foot.

“You, wait — a drink? What?”

“A drink,” he says slowly, as if talking to a child, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Can I buy you one?”

You blink a few times in shock, too confused to be angry by the patronization.

“Why?” You drag out the word. “We hate each other.”

“You hate me. Not the other way around.”

Okay, what the fuck?

“You don’t hate me?” You ask in disbelief, eyeing him with caution.

“Nope.” He pops the p and resumes drinking his beer. “So, do you want a drink or not? I can find someone else to offer it to, if you don’t want it.”

You stay silent a moment longer, unsure if he’s making fun of you or not. You wrack your brain to try remember a time he’s ever been outwardly rude to you, like you’ve done to him. There’s an anchor of dread in your stomach when you come up short.

Wordlessly, you slide into the stool next him and order a cocktail, chin raised high. You blame the three cocktails and two tequila shots you had earlier as to why you let your guard drop, anger fading fast. You drink in silence for a while, awkward on all accounts until Kenma brings up something about your boss that reignites your rage.

“Yeah well, our boss is a fucking idiot. He never trusts me enough to send me on high priority assignments. Only you,” you sneer, turning in your seat to face Kenma. He mirrors your position. “It must have been a mistake when I got sent on this last one. I finally got something worthwhile and I took it before the old man ripped it away from me!”

Kenma stares at you unblinking, contemplating something. “Hmm, no, not a mistake. I recommended you.”

For the second time tonight Kenma dumbfounds you.

“What does that mean?”

Kenma shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Exactly what it sounds like.”

“You, of all people, talked me up to the boss? Why would you do that?” You ask in disbelief.

“I thought we already established that the hatred between us is one sided.”

Your nostrils flare, shame blistering your cheeks. “Fucking hell you’re annoying. If I didn’t know better I’d say you have a crush on me,” you mutter, deflecting the kindness he’s showing you.

Kenma snickers at your obvious embarrassment. “You do interest me, and you’re hot. It works out,” he offers, casually tilting his head and downing the rest of his fifth beer in one long drink.

You hate when your body buzzes white hot. You really hate when your gaze lingers on the bobbing of his throat as he swallows, the way the barest hint of pale collarbones peak out of his shirt, teasing at what could be hidden underneath.

Kenma catches your interested stare with a smirk and winks. You avert your gaze, face aflame when a rich, thick heat starts pooling in your belly.

“How the fuck are you the best,” you complain, weakly insulting your incubus counterpart and white knuckling your drink. You startle when Kenma’s slender fingers grip your chin, guiding you to meet his gaze. His eyelids lower a bit, a soft peachy blush blossoming on his cheeks as his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip.

Kenma pushes himself into your personal space like he has a right to be there, warm breath tickling your face when he whispers,

“Let me show you why I’m the king.”

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

Razor sharp teeth slide into muscle just below your collarbone like butter, Kenma’s jaw locking in place while you curse and wiggle underneath him. The low warning rumble in his throat makes you freeze.

Kenma’s hands rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing over the bone. He unhinges his jaw and licks over the bleeding wound, soothing it. Then he shifts his attention to the other side. You whimper when he bites down, eyes fluttering shut, hands curling to fist the sheets.

He’s pumping your bloodstream full of his saliva, knowing full well it’s going to heighten the pleasure of each and every sensation. Your shoulders and collarbones are littered with marks, the pain lessening with each one. Your head tilts to the side, Kenma pressing soft kisses up the side of your throat and over your jawline, coaxing a sweet moan out of you.

“Okay?” He murmurs, retreating to sit on his calves, sliding a warm hand up your inner thigh. His fingers tickle the sensitive crease connected there and you shiver. You nod, head heavy in the best kind of way, lids halfway to shutting.

You hum and spread your legs wider so he can get closer. “M’feeling real good Kenz,” you say with a dopey smile. His expression turns fond, fingers barely touching your clit. Your breath hitches, long tail flicking out before curling in on itself, resting on the bed. Kenma’s own tail swishes leisurely behind him, a noise of approval building in his chest.

Two slender fingers spread the lips of your slick pussy and slide inside, curling upwards to brush the pads over your g-spot. Your eyes roll back, spine arching, clutching at the pillow under your head.

“Kenma,” you gasp, rolling your hips to match the lazy push and pull of his fingers, orgasm already swelling to the surface.

“I know baby, your pretty little head’s filled with cotton, isn’t it?” He coos, placing a thumb on your clit to circle it with intent. “Fuck me, look at you. You tighten up so sweetly on my fingers.” Kenma’s tail makes its presence known, snaking around your thigh and squeezing. The incubus dips his head and sucks your nipple between his lips.

He tugs with his teeth and the force of your orgasm is shocking, stealing your breath and forcing out a cry of his name. Kenma doesn’t let go, flicking your nipple with his tongue until you come back down to earth. There’s a popping when he pulls off, hand curling around your throat.

He erases the space between you, lips a hairs width from yours, hand flexing against the sides of your throat and fingers kissing your g-spot again.

“Give me another one pretty girl,” he pleads, low voice husky with desire.

Kenma’s able to pull two more out of you before he’s satisfied. It’s a blur as he clutches the backs of your thighs, one hand sticky and heated, before he bends you in half, knees touching the sheets. Your head grows fuzzier as Kenma rises to his knees, balancing his weight to steady the head of his cock to your pussy.

He stretches you out with one long, drawn out thrust. When his hips meet your ass his cock throbs.

The angle pushes him into your g-spot, your whines filling the room. He draws back halfway to get a taste of the friction before snapping his hips forward, wasting no time in throwing his weight into it and fucking you into the mattress.

“Kenz! Fuck! Oh — oh my god, please!” You wail, unsure what you’re begging for, sharp nails piercing his forearms. Kenma hisses, but otherwise doesn’t react to the pain. He hums absently, focused on melting your brain.

Kenma fucks you through one orgasm and straight into another, the muscles in your lower belly taut as your pussy clings to him. The hot, slick friction his cock creates causes all the blood in your body to pool in your cheeks, head pounding in time with your heartbeat as the pleasure continues to gather to a breaking point.

A sharp smack rings out when your hand hits his toned stomach, fingers clawing at the flexing muscles, begging him for a break.

“No more, huh? Is your poor little pussy too sore to keep takin’ my cock?” He taunts, panting and slowing the roll of his hips. “Who’s the lazy one now?” Kenma pulls out with no warning, manhandling you to your stomach, ass lifted into the air, face shoved in the sheets.

“Kenma, I can’t,” you plead, pussy raw, aching and throbbing. You clench up when a playful finger circles your rim, whimpering as your toes curl.

“How about I fuck your ass, pillow princess. I bet you’re so tight,” he muses, smoothly dipping the tip of his finger inside you.

With a body made for sex, you need little, if any, prep.

“Just, fuck, be gentle, please.”

Kenma laughs, finger disappearing. “Nah. I told you I’d show you why I’m the king. You know what to say if you want this to end.”

With that, the slippery, blunt tip of his cock slides across your rim, catching and allowing Kenma to press forward until he bottoms out. The stretch punches the air from your lungs, heat searing up your spine.

Your claws shred the sheets, hissing when Kenma grips the base of your tail, using it to pull you into each steady thrust. You’re so full, but so empty, pussy clenching around nothing. Kenma’s hips bounce off your ass, rim tightening and stretching with each glide of his cock.

Your nerves are frayed, and a thousand tiny needles are embedded in Kenma’s palm when he strikes your ass, the searing heat sending a throb of heat to your pelvis. A looming pressure builds behind your bellybutton, pushing on your bladder.

“Kenma,” you choke out, grasping at the blankets as an anchor, helping rock backwards to meet his thrusts.

“What is it baby?” His voice is strained, fingers tightening around your tail, yanking it. His other hand rests on your tailbone, guiding your ass.

“You’re gonna make me cum!”

“Then fucking do it,” he purrs.

Your heart jumps to your throat and the tension snaps. Heat floods your veins, tail coiling around Kenma’s wrist so tight it cuts off blood flow. Moans get stuck in your throat, small, choked off whimpers spilling from your lips instead.

Kenma’s pace turns jerky, thrusting twice more before pulling out. His splintered moan burns your ears, warm, silky cum covering your ass and lower back. He whimpers your name, breathing hard as you collapse onto your belly. You don’t have a single coherent thought.

You barely register the scratchy material of a t-shirtwiping you clean, or when you’re rolled onto your back. Kenma playfully pokes you in the ribs and you groan, batting his hand and cracking your eyes open. He laughs, his knowing smile softening his sharp features.

“I didn’t take you as the type to stay the night after sex,” he says, settling down next to you.

“Yeah well, I can’t use my legs, so I’m staying.”

Kenma exhales sharply through his nose. “Then you have to admit that I’m the best.” Kenma heaves you onto your side, arm snaking around your waist and tugging you to his chest. He’s sticky and sweaty, pulse thundering against his sternum.

You search for his soft blanket, pulling it up over you both and snuggle further into the furnace of his embrace.

“I think I’m going to need a few more demonstrations before I admit to anything.”

Kenma’s rhythmic breathing is lulling you to sleep.

Kenma sleepily agrees, and in the middle of the night, he wakes you up to prove himself again. You let him show you over and over until you’re both addicted to one another.

Only then do you admit he’s the best.

Reluctantly.

[plaguespacebird]

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ ₍^. .^₎⟆ [Wednesday and her love]

"I hate what you do to me..."

Wednesday's words bring your attention away from your crafting. Her home had become a frequently visted place after you started dating, (or courting if you asked Wednesday) much to The Addams' delight.

"I wish I could kill you."

You hummed, looking at her ever pensive figure. She seemed distracted lately, if you didn't know any better you'd think she disliked your reoccurring presence. The transition from friendship to courtship had been far more visible than you'd ever thought it'd be. Honestly, you expected the occasional hand holding, spending more time together, not the turbulent thoughts that practically spilled out of Wednesday's looming figure. Also, she stared a lot more than what you expected.

"Are you sure?" You ask, voice as calm and casual you'd think you were talking about the weather. Though, with Wednesday fighting her own perception of love... natural disasters do come to mind. Your eyes land on the red roses in her hand and trail over to the sharp knife being clasped in the other. "Is that how you'll do it?"

Wednesday's eyes never leave you, you briefly wonder if she's blinked. You doubt it. Her eyes are so intense, she's looked at you like that before but it's no longer reserved for nightly activities.

"Which one's for me?"

Rising from your plushed seat, leaving your work unresumed on her desk, you walk towards her. The floor makes a light creeking sound that stops as you gaze directly into those troubled eyes. So desperately overwhelmed she must be, luckily for you both, you're here to help her through the storm.

You take your time looking at her features unabashedly, your hands slowly circling her neck until you can feel her short breaths on your face. You feel a steady warmth crawl up your spine threatening to make you shiver, you whisper your next words, "Maybe both?"

A smile rips past your lips as you kiss the corner of her mouth, Wednesday finally closes her eyes. Be it from relief or further sinking down the ocean... who knows?

Tell-tale hums escape you as the warmth countinues to seep inside your veins. Wednesday's practiced stoicism isn't enough to deter her from giving in to you once again. Maybe next time she'll heed from giving you any warning or maybe you'll sedate her before she can crush you with her hands. A thud sound clashes with the dark wooden floors and that's all you get before her lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. As though to extinguish any affection she could possibly feel for you, as if the key to free herself from this maddnes lies on your lips, she presses on. Her tounge digs inside your mouth, as she pushes you with practiced steps onto her bed.

You fall without much grace onto her bedsheets, Wednesday doesn't give you much time before trapping you in her arms, already on you before you could adjust yourself. Even with it's pooling quirks, you can't say you minded being threaten every other week. Her overwhelming thoughts, scenarios and overall handling of emotions often ended in passionate aftermaths. Was that wrong? To be so excited at your lover's emotional stability over your relationship? Honestly, you couldn't ponder on the thought to much. Not with her hands touching your skin so feverishly, so rushed and desperate.

Besides, Wednesday obviously required assistance, it'd be wrong to deny her overwhelming love the attention she deserves.

'That's one more down'. You fleetingly think. Her collection of weaponry had been dwilingly since you started courting. All carefully stored somewhere Wednesday wouldn't immediately think of looking. As much as you didn't mind the idea of being killed by your georgrous lover, you'd like a wedding first.

If only you knew of the one stored just above you, below Wednesday's designated pillow :)

[kit-williams]

Modern!Space Marine AU

Blame @pluvio-tea because I've been reading her interpretations of what Titus and the gang would be doing in the modern day and I got enough people encouraging me... so...

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @remembrancer-of-heresy @felinisnoctis @solspina

@the-californicationist

lets begin

Note: a lot of them will be ex military though in honesty you could make them all ex military just if I mention they are ex military its more so they are a recent ex military

The Dark Angel; Azazel: In a modern setting I see him as still being active military but now behind a desk and more so working for the Intelligence community and interrogations but he tells people that he still does work as a military therapist which isn't exactly a lie. The excitable young woman that works with him is a nice distraction...

The Emperor's Children; Palion: Is a Tailor and a Costume Designer he loves to make fancy outfits that glitter in the light and is inspired by a tragic Muse...

The Iron Warrior; Harram: Military Contractor (still very much as a Dad bod in this universe) with a focus on construction so like infrastructure and building. He's recently moved and there is a nice widow right new door...

The White Scar; Nogai: Racing (he's a white scar) with a focus on motocross on both bikes and ATVs. However he also likes to do rally races with his navigator Honey... he may or might not enjoy the steadfast and commanding tone she takes when she’s in the co-driver seat and in the zone as they race a little too much...

The Space Wolf; Arkyn: Another Ex military (given that he was a captain) so at the moment he is learning how to transition back to being a civvie but he's recently learned he enjoys helping at the local wildlife rehabilitation center. The other retired military woman who works there helps sooth his wild soul...

The Imperial Fist; Astel: Black market Doctor and Chemist operating without a license. He makes house calls and is good for what he does but sometimes he likes to take on cases "out of the goodness of his heart" for way less money... such cute little mouse for him to work on...

The Night Lords; Ghosk: Actor but not just any actor he is a monster actor; aka the guy who is in full prosthetics moving like a cryptid even if he's under like 20 pounds of makeup and props and prosthetics. When he's not assigned to a movie role he likes to be a scare actor at one of those parks where he can touch the attendants... he likes watching the rabbits run...

Anrir: he is in the nitty gritty and dirty business of Organ Transplants like proper handling (just don't ask where he got those 30 kidneys)

The Blood Angel; Sirus: He is someone's Art muse. He get's so much money and time to make his pottery. He also is good at making memorial pieces like incorporating human ashes into a piece... that's because for his grand pieces he's already doing that. Sirus is also a Serial Killer with a pinch of cannibalism, he incorporates blood into the hues... human ash mixes nicely with his clay. He's hoping to ask his Moonlight muse for a photoshoot soon...

The Iron Hand; Marlos Vauth: Software Engineer. He focuses on programming for prosthetics but he's been moonlighting as a hacker as well and getting rather good at it. He's been bothering the IT girl recently...

The World Eater; Zul: Retired. He heavily insists that he is retired but he's still jacked and simply says he made smart investments so his money makes money. But how can he be retired he's young (40s) and scarred to hell and back. But he will get aggressive if you keep asking questions. He can often be found with a sickly young woman on his arm too...

The Ultramarine; Tulio: He is a high salaried investor who could retire if he wanted but he just hasn't done so yet... He has to make sure that the new girl is going to be fine...

The Death Guard; Solos: Unemployed. He is the guy in town who you never see at the same job twice and never for very long, yet he somehow has money all the time. His spats with his lady are legendary as they seem to break up and get back together all the time, even if she could do so much better than Solos, but people who intervene with his love life have a habit of going "missing" and Solos always has an alibi...

The Thousand Son; Nakht: He is a professor that deals with historical documentation as well as document repair. Though a few people have noticed that a lot of what he deals with is occult materials given how his main field of study has nothing to do at all with esoteric occultism...

The Black Legion; Zhur: Professional Dom... he's got his eyes on a particular client but he's got to pay the bills and his baritone voice can easily get anyone to obey him.

The Word Bearer; Jihias: Preacher (is anyone surprised?) well in fact the Preacher bit is a ruse as he is in fact a full blown cult leader. Such passion and fervor his preaching tend to be but if you think more and more of what he says... and by the time you realize the grotesque nature of his preaches get it's far too late... the shepherd loves you and wont ever abandon you...

The Salamander; Nubin: Master Blacksmith. Run's his own shop and also does free classes for the high school when they cut their shop classes so he just offered free courses and is trying to get some deal for the time spent in the shop to count towards credit hours.

The Raven Guards; Sor, Kazi, and Moremo: Private security guards though they have come under scrutiny for getting rather close to their latest client

The Alpha Legion; Omegon: Lawyer and a damn good one as some people say he hires professional investigators to look over a scene again he's never really lost a case.

The Black Templars; Roland: Retired Military and does stuff with guns either selling them, helping people train with them, also runs a Youtube Channel with Backerin called "Guns & Buns" which has their own niche because it will be Roland helping out with his wife's bakery/a slight vlog showing off his journey with retirement

Arnault: Retired Military turned erotica writer/author. Started writing when he was bored out of his mind during a recovery and found out he enjoys writing erotica.

The Carcharodon; Tyberos: Mafioso. (Rather he is either the head of the Carcharodons or an enforcer) but right now he's helping run a front which is a coffee shop but it's become a nice little community get together since it has decent food and good coffee and its great for people trying to sell stuff

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, what a bold update/reno they did in this 1910 Victorian in Portsmouth, VA. 5bds, 2ba, 2,739 sq ft, $330k.

Open the lime green front door and enter the brilliant, newly painted pink, black and white entrance hall.

Charcoal gray and white sitting room is striking.

The doors have been left original. Doorway from the sitting room transitions to a medium gray and white dining room.

From the dining room enter the kitchen that has been refreshed with light gray walls, freshly painted cabinets, and new counters. It's not a bad reno b/c the cabinets are vintage.

A family room is next to the kitchen. There's a window in the wall, so you can talk to the family or guests from the kitchen.

Bath #1 on the main floor is a small 3pc. in black & white.

The 2nd fl. hall that the bedrooms and 2nd bath branch off from.

The primary bedroom is a bold design of black & white with stripes and pink floral accents. It's nice.

This room is very nicely done.

I like this room, too. I never think of putting brown w/black or gray, but it works.

The renovated bath has a vintage tub and crisp striped wallpaper. Love the picture.

The 4th bedroom is a home gym.

The finished attic has a bedroom plus a sitting area and desk.

Quite a large dressing room/closet, as well.

The yard is fenced, and there's no patio, deck, or garden, but it has potential.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1023-Naval-Ave-Portsmouth-VA-23704/75388851_zpid/

[star-light-shadows]

A little late for Trans Visibility day, but it gave me an excuse to finally finish drawing my personal Trans Apollo Concept!

[Image description: Digital drawings of Apollo Justice from Ace Attorney as a trans woman named Persephone "Percy" Justice.

On the left is a render of her in her desk slam sprite pose, (just without the desk). Her hair is a little longer and styled in a spiky swooshing shape vaguely reminiscent of Tracer from overwatch, with the signature front spikes becoming a fuller 4 tufts slicked to the left with the lowest partially covering her right eye. Her outfit is identical to her base canonical one, the only difference being the noticeable shape of growing breasts attached to her chest. She's wearing teal green contacts matching her tie. Her eyelashes are drawn in a matching color as per the artist's artstyle. A set of makeup freckles also adorn her cheeks.

The rest of the page is a collection of doodles showing Persephone interacting with the other characters.

Persephone/Apllo, pre-transition: "I feel so bad for Robin. I can't imagine how horrible it is being forced to be a guy when you're not one." Athena: "Apollo, I'm detecting way too much discord in that statement for you to be cis." Persephone/Apollo: "I have no idea what that means."

Persephone, experimenting with long hair shaped in twin-tails going down her shoulders, similar to Lamiroir/Thalassa Gramarye: "What do you think of this style, Truce?" Trucy, in all caps: "WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE MY MOM!?!?" Persephone: "What do u mean? I based this on Lamiroir's hair."

Persephone, talking to a hairdresser with a nametag saying "Harry", "This is the cut, Mr. Styles." The hairdresser looks at a paper handed to him showing a Terraria player character with a similar hairstyle as Percephone's final design.

Klavier, winking: "Mine Frau, Justice, Perhaps now that you've found yourself you'd be open to a dinner with moi?" Athena, offscreen: "You snoose you lose, Gavin!" The Scene shifts towards Persephone, with Athena and Juniper on either side of her. Athena is sticking out her tongue, and Juniper is smiling and blushing. Persephone grins with a self-sure smugness and says, "Sorry, Klavier. I'm taken. Me, Athena, and Juniper are gonna go see a movie tonight." End description.]

[s1xthirty]

WELCOME! EVERYTHING IS GREAT ! | Ben Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

summary : After Ben saved his brother from ending the world, he finally left the world of the living for good and found himself in the afterlife "The Good Place."

word count: 2,9k

A/N : please pleasee excuse my bad grammar and errors, english isn't my first language. i'm planning on making this a series :D

The transition to the afterlife didn't feel painful at all, Ben casually opened his eyes as if he had just blinked—except he doesn't recognize the room he's in. The first thing he saw was a clean white wall facing him with a big text that says 'Welcome! Everything is fine.' in green. He finds that somehow very comforting, so he sighed in relief.

As Ben tries to recall his memory of how he got here, a man comes out of the door beside the room. "Ben, come on in."

Ben stood up from the couch he didn't know he was sitting on and entered the beige-colored room. The man gestured his hand for Ben to sit down on the chair in front of his desk.

"Hi, Ben. I'm Michael, how are you today?" The man before him asked.

"I'm great." Ben answered. "Um, I'm sorry, where am i?"

"So, you, Ben Hargreeves, are dead." said Michael. "Your life on Earth has ended, and you are now in the next phase of your existence in the universe."

"Oh," Ben breathed out an unexpected sigh of relief. Hearing his name and death being in the same sentence somehow wasn't a big surprise for him. He knows he's been dead for quite some time now, but this time he actually took a step forward and left the world of the living for good.

"Everything is fine. You're in the good place."

A relief washed over him. He is right where he is supposed to be. This feels right. Maybe all of dad's stupid missions and his family’s madness finally paid off.

“This is not how I imagined heaven would be.” Ben stated, judging the principal office-like room. For ‘A Good Place’ this isn't what Ben had in his mind. He thought that maybe he'd be greeted by beaming angels with lights and such.

He shook the thought out of his head, he shouldn't judge things so quickly. Maybe the outside of this room is somewhat more heavenly and the ‘person’ before him might be an angel of some kind. Who knows, maybe he could also read Ben's mind?

“Well, it’s not the ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ idea you were raised on. But generally speaking, in the afterlife, there’s a good place, and there’s a bad place.”

“Cool, cool..” Ben nodded as he's taking in this whole afterlife thing. Never in a million years, he thought that there's an afterlife—sure he believes that ghosts and spirits exist, but a whole life after death? Sounds like a great NBC tv series.

“Let's take a walk, shall we?” Michael said, standing up from his desk and led Ben out of the room.

“So, are you.. an angel or something?”

“No.. No! I'm what you’d call an architect, I design this neighborhood. The Good Place is divided up into distinct ‘Neighborhoods,’ each one containing exactly 334 residents.”

Ben didn't know whether he should be confused or disappointed by this afterlife. ’The Good Place‘ seemed like a nice little town with a bunch of Frozen Yogurts and Hawaiian Pizzas shops. No beautiful gardens with angels walking barefoot on the grass, no beautiful statues of angels, and all the ‘residents’ were all wearing usual clothes. Nothing special. Ben silently hoped there would be a beautiful meadow stretched out somewhere further in this place.

“There's a lot of Hawaiian Pizza shops here.” Ben said.

“I don’t know what to tell you, people love Hawaiian Pizza.”

Ben had never met anyone in his life who likes Hawaiian Pizza as much as him, his siblings used to constantly call him a lunatic for liking pineapple on pizza. It also makes him wonder what kind of pizza they have in The Bad Place.

When they were approaching a park filled with the neighborhood’s residents, Michael pat Ben on the shoulder. “Why don't you take a seat over there? The movie’s about to start.”

The short length movie contained the general information of how one could be placed in the good place after their death. They calculated the value of one’s life, every choice they made, every word out of their mouth, every step they took, every intention behind it, and how it affects others and the world.

“Ben,” Michael approached him after the film ended, “I’m gonna welcome some other residents and while I do that, why don’t you explore? Meet me by the house near the lake in ten minutes and if you need anything, you can always ask Janet.”

“Wait, Michael—“ Ben had a ton of questions, but Michael was already gone in a blink before Ben could even ask him anything. “Shirt,” Ben cursed under his breath but it got filtered somehow, “What the fork..” A chuckled rippled from his throat, things are getting so fucking weird. Also, where the fuck he would find this Janet? He hasn’t made any acquaintances with anyone in the neighborhood and everyone here seems like they already knew one another. Even in the afterlife, Ben still feels out of place—like he doesn't fit in.

His eyes roamed through the town square of the neighborhood, trying to find anyone to talk to while also building the courage to actually approach one of them. When he tried to approach a man in glasses across from him, he suddenly was bumped from the side by a guy in mid twenties wearing some sort of beige Tui-Khim.

“Hi! Do you know where I can find Janet?” Ben asked him but the stranger only looked at him perplexedly, and left without saying a single word. Weird.

“Janet?” Ben called the woman’s name casually, hoping he’d find Janet coming out from one of the frozen yogurt shops, but instead, a woman neatly dressed in a vest appeared out of thin air with a pleasant bing sound.

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“Gah!!!” Ben jumped in shock, “What are you?”

“I’m Janet, the informational assistant in The Good Place.” The woman smiled at him, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah.. Could you guide me to the house near the lake?”

“Sure!” said Janet delighted, “Follow that cobblestone path further into the neighborhood,” She pointed at the path between The Good Boutique and Sunday Mornings Fro-Yo shop, “Take a left when you come across a beautiful statue, and you’ll find yourself standing before a certain iron gate and stone fence. Just walk right in and Michael will be there waiting with your soulmate.”

From the introduction film, Ben also ascertained how every single person in the neighborhood has a ‘soulmate’ in the good place. Now, that is probably one of the very first things that gives him hope after his disappointment of the somewhat plain afterlife. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Ben!” She gave Ben one last smile before disappearing into thin air with a bing.

Okay, here we go.. Ben wasted no time to wait around and immediately make his way to meet his so-called soulmate. He doesn’t really know what to expect. Ben rarely ever developed feelings for someone when he was alive, the only people who crossed his mind were Jill, from Klaus’ cult, and Jennifer—wait, that girl he rescued from a mission?

Why had she just crossed his mind now? It was a long time ago, back when he was seventeen. Ben tried to dig deep into his memory and recalled what happened then, but somehow his memory of the mission stopped right after he rescued Jennifer out of that tank. Was that mission the cause of his death? How did he die? Why can’t he remember one single thing about it?

Maybe it’s for the better. Whatever had happened that day doesn’t feel right. Something has always been tugging at his heart whenever he remembers that specific mission. Hell, nothing feels right when it comes to his dad and his stupid missions.

Walking on broken cobblestones and further into the neighborhood, Ben realized he’s discovering the well-kept secret of the neighborhood. The air of his surroundings shifted, he felt a little more content now that he’s entering the road less traveled by. The grasses were vibrant green and lush with wildflowers scattered across the ground like constellations of colors. It is not so bad out here, he’ll definitely get used to this—What the fuck?!

“What the fork?!”

The so-called beautiful statue was a bronze sculpture of a life sized Kanye West taking Taylor Swift’s mic and interrupting her speech at 2009’s VMAs.

I'mma let you finish, Kanye's voice suddenly blasted out of nowhere when Ben approached it to get a closer look. But Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all time!

Ben was not the one who'd keep up with pop culture, but he's familiar with this one. He remembered watching the whole thing unfold on television with Klaus that night. They kept every detail of the incident. Taylor's beautiful silvery dress, the VMA moonman statue, Kanye's purse of lips when he talked into the mic, Taylor's uncomfortable face. The statue was made so precisely, it almost felt like it was real people behind all of this bronze.

The sentence kept repeating over and over out loud, but when Ben stepped further away from the statue, the voice immediately stopped at a halt. Huh, weird. Ben stepped closer once more and Kanye's voice played once again:

I'mma let you finish, but Beyonce—

Ben backed up, and there was nothing but silence. He stepped towards the statue once again and:

I'mma let you finish—

He backed up. Pause. Another step and:

I'mma let you—

Before Ben spends any more time by that statue, he continues to make his way to find the house he's going to without any hesitation.

Take a left when you come across a beautiful statue, and you’ll find yourself standing before a certain iron gate and stone fence.

From one look, he could tell how peaceful this place is. The gate and stone fence looked like it almost caught up with time but just not quite yet. Beyond the gate, stood a small Victorian house that looks like it came straight out of an old movie. The house was painted in soft color and from where Ben was standing, he could see the stained glass window of the attic.

Ben's stomach dropped when he saw the design on the stained glass. It was an illustration of a woman with tentacles on her stomach. The tentacles tied all around her body up onto her neck as if it was trying to suffocate and kill her. It sent shivers down his spine and made him wonder about his powers. Can he still summon creatures in his stomach? Does Michael even know?

Ben's train of thought was interrupted when the door flew open on his face, revealing Michael in suit and tie with a big smile plastered on his face.

“Benerino!” He greeted, “We've been waiting for you! Come on in!” Michael stepped aside from the door and let Ben inside the house.

The first thing that caught Ben's attention when he stepped into the house was the aggravating loud creak of the door. The kind that stings in your head. The house was small on the inside, but not the kind that makes you suffocated. It's actually nicer than the big academy mansion Ben has known for his whole life.

“We were afraid you'd get lost on your way here, a lot of people did.” Michael went on, leading Ben into the drawing room. “They usually get lost by that beautiful statue not far from here or they either get scared of the attic stained glass window.”

“Why is the design so.. Scary?” Ben swallowed the lump in his throat and asked.

“Oh! That's just a little characteristic we made for the residents to easily find the house.” Michael said casually, “The owner actually loves octopus! She has tons of paintings of it. Like that one.” Michael pointed towards the fireplace and sure enough, there's a painting of a woman’s body with octopus tentacles tied all around her waist, and for a moment, Ben thought he saw it move.

“Oh..” Ben tilted his head to the side, feeling his throat start to tighten out of fear. “It's..”

“Beautiful, I know!” Michael chuckled heartily. “Oh, I almost forgot! Ben, let me introduce you to Y/n!”

You came to sight and gave Ben a wave and a little smile, “Hi.”

“Hey!” Ben smiled back at you and held out his hand. You came a little closer and took his cold hand into yours. It felt right, your warmth felt right in his hand, but wasn't he supposed to feel a more powerful spark or something? Is there a ringing wedding bell to confirm that you two have met?

There was a moment of silence between the two of you staring at each other before Michael finally broke it, “Anyway! This house is where you two will be living for eternity.”

“What?” There goes that sinking feeling in his stomach, the same one he got whenever he destroys something—or someone with his tentacles back when he was a kid.

“I know it could be weird living with some random person you barely know yet, but you two are soulmates for a reason!” Michael continued, “The system is never wrong.”

Living with you was not the problem at all. Ben was delighted that he got to meet new people and make new connections, but this house was simply not it. How the hell is he gonna get used to waking up and getting reminded of how he's a monster.

“Here,” Michael gestured his hand, pulling out a floating hologram screen into the drawing room. “You can rewatch any of your memories and historic events from any angle.” He flicked his hand, and a menu screen with the title Y/N L/N’S LIFE AND MEMORIES appeared. He goes to Happy Memories, then Most Fulfilling Memories.

The screen displayed a memory from your point of view, a group of little girls were laughing and pulling your hand, guiding you to their circle.

“Your decision to join the convent and devote your life to your god and these girls really put you over the top.”

“Oh, how I've missed them.” you sighed longingly.

Ben looked over to you and the memory on display. He can tell you really loved those girls. The life you led was incredible, you really do belong here.

“Right! I'm gonna let you two get to know each other, bi-bye!” Michael bid his goodbye, leaving the two of you together.

Once Michael was out of the house, you gestured for Ben to sit on the leather couch with you. “How old were you when you joined the convent?” Ben asked.

“Eighteen,” you casually answered, “That's very young, I know. It's what I've always wanted to do with my life.”

Ben looked at you with awe in his eyes as you continued to ramble all about your convent and the orphan girls.

“Anyway, enough about me.” you said once you're done, “How about you? What did you do on earth for a living?”

Shit. Ben hadn't thought of what to say when that question came up. What is he supposed to say? Uhh, yeah I used to be in this group of kids in uniform called ‘The Umbrella Academy’ we save the world and stuff..

“I died pretty young so..”

“How are you all grown up?” You blurted out the question out of your mouth almost too quickly and regretted it immediately when you saw the look on Ben's face. “Oh god! I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked that.” you buried your face in your hands out of embarrassment.

“No, it's totally fine!” Ben assured you, “I lingered on earth for a while to watch over my siblings and I somehow grew with them, I guess.”

“How many siblings did you have?”

“Six,” He hesitated.

“Six?” A smile grew on your face, “What are you? Some kind of pop group?”

Ben only laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“How do you even keep up with six people in your house?” You joined his laughter, then trailed off “Must've been so suffocating..”

“They're not suffocating,” he said, “I love them—but we're complicated sometimes and I just feel like I don't quite fit in with them. It's easier to just keep it all to yourself, you know?”

You paused, looking into Ben's eyes for a moment. “Yeah, I totally get it.”

Ben gave you a small smile, he felt warmth spreading across his chest. This feeling was what he's exactly been missing and craving all his life. The simplicity of being understood and making new, meaningful connections with others. Maybe Michael was right after all, everything is fine.