#I really do love putting all sorts of fun clutter in a kitchen to make it look more functional

[victorluvsalice]

Hi everyone – welcome to another "I updated the Chill Valicer Save farmhouse a bit" update! Because the trio had money and I had some stuff that I wanted to do to their home – specifically, making the new barn basement area nicer; making the kitchen a little bigger to fit more stuff in it yet AGAIN; and updating the séance room above the kitchen because if the kitchen got wider, that had to get wider as well. How did this all go? Let me take you through it room by room:

-->Kitchen – I did indeed manage to make the kitchen wider! I mentioned last week that my attempt to widen it by making the back porch bigger and then trying to pull the room out toward the greenhouse was stymied by the fact that this would screw up a bunch of stuff upstairs (notably both the séance room and the upstairs hallway, where the stairs are) – but that I thought that if I instead widened it into the gap where the pet obstacle course was, I might be able to pull it off successfully. So that’s what I did –

And it worked pretty well! Had to move a few objects temporarily to keep them from getting dumped into the household inventory (for example, part of the egg collection on the hallway wall outside tried to yeet themselves because I had to place them with MOO), but once I got them out of the way, the widening went off without a hitch. :) So now the kitchen is two tiles wider on the right side! :D How did I fill that space, you ask? Well –

I. I added in more counters and cabinets, natch – which included replacing two of the full-tile wall cabinets with two half-tile ones so I could fit a really nice Cottage Living kitchen shelf (with a cutting board and various large metal kitchen utensils hanging under it) under them beside the oven! What can I say, I thought it looked really great and added a touch of realism. :)

II. I added in some more fun clutter around the oven – the salt and pepper shakers and the Home Chef Hustle spice rack got put upon the new shelf (though I had to use “move objects on” for the spice rack, because for SOME REASON the damn thing doesn’t fit up there normally. It totally fucking SHOULD, I shouldn’t have had to use MOO and then fiddle around with raising and lowering it until I got it onto the shelf in a way that actually looked good, even if it was partially sunken into said shelf, but that is not the world we live in); the big fork and spoon wall decorations that I BELIEVE are base game (may be Dine Out, though) got put over the stove top; and the Horse Ranch and Cottage Living utensil-holder clutter got stuck on the counter beside the fridge, and some Cottage Living canisters underneath the new shelf (so they were all on either side of the stove "within easy reach"). Oh, and I put some canisters of tea by the tea machine in the corner, a cookie jar on the counter near the sink, and made sure Gino the pizza chef was still in a good spot next to the pizza over on the expanded kitchen island. :) It's always nice to clutter up a kitchen and make it feel like it's truly lived in!

III. Speaking of the kitchen island, in addition to making it bigger, I moved it in slightly so it wasn’t crowding the dining table (there’s still plenty of room to maneuver between it and the side counters, fortunately). Gotta make sure there's room for everything!

IV. Along those lines, I ended up fiddling with the placement of a lot of things in this room:

a) I scooched the dining table over so it’s more in line with both the center of the new longer kitchen island and the archway in (gotta make sure things aren’t off-kilter!)

b) I adjusted the placement of the windows on either side of the room slightly so they were a bit farther apart (to match the windows that I adjusted upstairs on the séance room to better accommodate the side tables in there -- see below)

c) I adjusted the placement of the side table with the fruit bowl, ghost candy jar, and picnic basket in front of the window and the plant in the corner accordingly (the old “press ALT to freely place items” tip came in handy there)

d) And I swapped the placement of Alice’s “Lady and Tramp” flirty painting with the photographs of Smiler at the food stand during the first sale (the painting is now with the other cute cat-and-dog painting she made a little while back above the pet bowls, while the photographs are now on the wall with the side table and the plant)

V. Speaking of the pet bowls, I bought two more pet feeders in yellow and pink after being unable to line the original two up like I wanted against the wall thanks to the newly-adjusted window, and then thinking “hang on, we have four pets anyway, why not just get more to fill in the gaps?”

VI. And, finally, I bought the trio a popcorn maker, a second ice cream maker, and a dishwasher, because the whole point of making the room bigger was to fit in a couple more small appliances for them to use at their leisure! The popcorn maker is on the kitchen island next to the waffle maker, while the ice cream maker is on the counter next to the sink, above the new dishwasher. I’m not sure if the popcorn maker will stay in the kitchen or end up in Smiler’s inventory, as my primary use for it would be for food sales, but I wanted them to have one just in case! Maybe I should make them have a movie night with popcorn one day. :)

-->Séance Room – Of course, widening the kitchen meant widening the séance room above it – I briefly considered just putting a chunk of roof on the new little “lip,” but I thought it might look weird, and I didn’t want to lose the windows on that side of the room. So I had to rejigger that a bit to make sure the séance table was nice and centered in the middle of the room – which meant adjusting the position of the door into the room (so it opened up with a good view of the séance table) and the windows on either side (so I could then scoot the sideboard over slightly and make sure THAT was properly lined up with the table as well). Which also meant fussing with the fossil display out in the upstairs hallway, as it didn't quite fit properly into its usual spot anymore when I moved the door. I ended up swapping Alice's apple painting that was next to the cat tree with the Island Living shelves containing their little Sulani shell collection that were next to the stairs and the ladder up to the attic so I could move the fossil shelves over closer to the cat tree, then put the Sulani shelves on the other side of the doorway since that felt more “balanced” to me. *shrug* I mean, I think it works!

Anyway, once that was done, I added in more candle chandeliers to the séance room to make sure the space was adequately lit (when we’re not using the sacred candles for “the vibes” anyway) and moved over Victor’s curio cabinet with his unused familiar orbs to line it up better with the table. And then I started redecorating the new, larger space, which... *grimace* Oh, cripes, it took SOOO much time, especially with me trying to figure out what I wanted to do with Alice's crystal collection and how I wanted to display the specter gifts the gang have gotten (like Soul Scraps and Specter Sips) and what other cool knickknacks I wanted to put in there. But, after a looot of fiddling, I FINALLY got the room into a state I like. Or at least that I’m reasonably happy with for now. Going clockwise around the room from the door, we have –

I. Alice’s mediation corner with her stool, the fancy Werewolves moon mirror, and the three pictures she took of one of the gang’s trips into the Magic Realm in the left corner

II. A Paranormal Stuff sideboard between the two windows with the fancy palmistry hand that keeps Guidry away, a Vampires bird skull under glass, and a cute Werewolves multicolored mushroom terrarium on it, with a Vampires Gothic shelf over it with the Werewolves crescent-moon salt lamp and two Specter Sips upon it (one empty, one full – unfortunately the Paranormal Stuff bohemian shelf that was previously there no longer fit above the sideboard when I started fiddling and adding new stuff to display, so I had to change it out)

III. A display wall along the back consisting of two fancy Vampires urns (in the two black-and-white swatches) atop Paranormal Stuff accent tables (in blue and gold) in each corner, then two white fancy display cabinets from Crystal Creations containing the Soul Scraps the gang have collected flanking the spare broom Victor got and the Realm of Magic curio cabinet with Victor’s collected familiar orbs in the center. What can I say – I liked the look of the Crystal Creations cabinets, and they seemed to contain the Soul Scraps the best! (Though I did have to MOO one of the cabinets into place, because FOR SOME REASON the game kept insisting it was intersecting with another object ON A BLANK WALL. *huff* Sims 4 sometimes, I swear...)

IV. The painting Alice did on one of their trips into the Magic Realm on the right-hand wall, next to another sideboard-and-shelf combo mirroring the one on the left-hand wall – the shelf on this side is empty, but the sideboard has the cool Crystal Creations terrarium, one of the Bizarre Idols the gang has picked up, and the Paranormal Stuff mini-cowplant terrarium. I thought they were cute and gave the right vibes!

V. And then in the right-hand corner by the door is the display shelves for the special Werewolves artifacts collection, as before

*nods* I think this all looks good and gives the right vibes for the room. Though you probably noticed something missing from the séance room now – the crystal collection! What did I do with that? Well…

[palialaina]

I haven't taken this many photos in a long time...

So, I kinda of made the mistake of telling Tish I wanted to redo my entire house and also build a guest house. She rounded up practically everyone who was good at moving stuff, and showed up all too early this morning practically vibrating with ideas.

Fortunately, she let me lead.

I pointed Reth and Dad at my kitchen and dining area, telling them I wanted it smaller than it was and more separated. They did not disappoint! Dad said he'd talk to Hodari about the stuck door on my pantry, but in the meantime, an empty bookshelf worked really good for holding all my dishes! And once they wrestled my cooking stations into place, Reth whipped up a bunch of food, even stuff from the Maji market, so that everyone would have energy!

My main room is now a small living room, and it took Nai'o and Hodari a few hours to set it all up nice and proper. Tall people, I swear. Uncle B loved the performance corner though. I'm getting better at this lute! I think...

Jel mostly just helped me cut out some of the clutter and arrange things nicely. He may had teased me a little about getting a portrait of Hodari soon. I whacked him with a pillow.

And we painted the front of my house together! Tish had fun with that! Kenyatta complained that it was pink, but like... Hodari gave me a swatch of this paint! I like it!

And then we started the guest house.

I really did think about a bigger living room, but... I like this. It feels cozy to me. Maybe a little cramped, but mostly cozy.

And then the two bedrooms.

I really doubt I'll have this many guests, but Tish said it would give people variety. And like, they can also sleep on the couches if they want. Or crash on mine if they wanna be in my house, I suppose.

It feels like it took forever to get all this done. Sheesh! And there's still the bathrooms to do, which means I need to buy another tub, buy another room, and also one final harvest house so I can put together my workshop. Tish was super excited when I told her I was going to do that, so she's probably going to try and help me again. It'll be chaos, that's for sure.

Also, Zeki and I are now sort of conspiring against Subira. She wanted me to spy on him, after discovering that the Underground existed. I'm not a snitch though, and Zeki's been nice to me. Temple of the Gales crap aside, he's a softy, and I'm not selling him out to anyone.

So of course I told him. He's agreed that I can work at the Underground for a bit to 'spy' on him, but first I have to do a thing for Tamala so that she can make a thing for him that enhances the senses. Mostly it means I'm hunting a bug and a fish again, but that's a job for Later Me, because hooo boy.

I am so done. Time to have a long soak in the tub and call it a day.

[praiseinchains]

Mental Reset Day (8/18/24)

It's been a few days since I've been on - my summer allergies have been absolutely HORRIBLE! But I'm VERY grateful for today! I've been looking forward to it for days.

Part of the reason I've been looking forward to my mental reset day this week is because I've decided to create my own 'Zen Basket' (sort of like a Boo Basket, but for my mental reset day). When my mom and I went shopping this week, I got everything I needed for it and I finished putting it together last night, so it was ready for this morning.

The first thing I did this morning was clean off/make my bed and desk. I absolutely HATE clutter on my mental reset day. It's completely distracting. I really need to work on that because doing it the morning of definitely kills the 'zen' mood.

After that I looked at Pinterest and saved my newest pins to my laptop. I do this because several of my pins keep getting reported for the STUPIDEST of things - and reported for things that they have nothing to do with. To bypass this, I make all my boards 'secret' and I make sure to save them so that if they ARE taken down, I still have them.

After that, I slipped on my red sparkly slippers (which were part of my Zen basket) and made my way into the kitchen to fix myself a cup of my special coffee, which was something else in my Zen basket, along with my Christmas reading mug that I used for the first time this morning. The coffee was nothing special - just white chocolate syrup. With my coffee in hand, I went back to my room, lit my juice watermelon candle (you guessed it - another Zen basket surprise) and wrote myself a letter, reflecting on the past week and the upcoming week. I almost skipped it because I was so tired, but I'm glad I did it because it definitely helped me figure out what I wanted to focus on more this week.

I'm in the midst of organizing my library on Calibre, so I worked on that for a while, which was a lot of fun. I'm one who likes to always have a project going, even something simple like that. I also listened to a calming instrumental playlist on YouTube (part of my Zen basket) and that was really nice.

I tried my hand at exercising again. I have this Bosu ball (like an exercise ball, but with a flat bottom) which I use to help with my vestibular issues, and I walked on that for 20 minutes while watching Chopped on Sling. It was slow, because it's hard keeping my balance, but I think that will help to prevent the inflammation from acting up. The best part is, I think I have a new form of exercise. When I was a teenager and REALLY getting into the swing of exercise (as part of my weight loss journey) one of my favorite things to do was walk on the treadmill while watching the food channel. It really makes me sad that I can't do that anymore, but I think this will be a good alternative. I have a blue wave board that sort of acts like the Bosu ball, so I'm going to use that instead of the Bosu ball so I can prevent it from going flat. Exercising was definitely a favorite part of my day.

After that, I REALLY got into the most anticipated part of my day. Despite having over 2,000 books in my digital library, I still add to it, and I have this list of books I want to get first. I picked a random book, put it in an envelope last night to open this morning and then bought whatever the book was. For this week's book, it was Invisible Girl by Jill Childs. I've already read two of her books and I was excited but anxious to get it because while I loved the first book, I didn't enjoy the second one as much. I spent the next 2 hours reading (curled up under my throw blanket - part of my Zen basket) and I was completely surprised I was only 25% through it. It is SUCH a great book and I'm absolutely in love. I love books that are set in the UK, and it just had this warm, cozy vibe to it that I always associate with the UK, so it immediately drew me in. I also had rain and thunder sounds going on in the background, which really helped set the mood.

I watched a few videos on my YouTube playlist, made a weekly plan of what I wanted to get done, and then picked two random movies from my 'to watch' list. The first one was Back to Christmas (or Correcting Christmas). I have to admit I was disappointed when this one was chosen. I LOVE Christmas, but my mom is the big Christmas movie fan - I have only a handful of Christmas movies I like to watch. I'm definitely glad I watched it, though. It will definitely be going on my list. The second was The Ring with Naomi Watts. It will NOT be going on my list of movies to watch again. I don't watch horror movies, but every once in a while I like to give it a try. Sometimes I find one or two that I like, but most of the time I don't.

While watching that, I made myself a smoothie in my new tumbler (Zen basket, of course). Unfortunately, that smoothie was probably the most disappointing part of my day. I love grape juice, and I came up with a smoothie recipe that I thought sounded pretty good (grape juice, almond milk, cinnamon, and vanilla) but it didn't turn out how I was expecting. My mom liked it more than me, actually. Since I used about 2 ounces more of the grape juice, I figured it would have more of a sweetness to it, but the unsweetened almond milk definitely overpowered it. It gave it a nutty/green sort of flavor. I wouldn't make it again. I also had some snacks that were in my Zen basket. While I had been intending to eat a couple of Lindor chocolate truffles, the smoothie filled me up so much that all I could handle was two small gummi packets. Naturally, they were gone within 15 minutes, lol! I think in the future I might stick with popcorn.

After my movies I did some writing. I had a random writing prompt and used the special pen in my Zen basket to write it with. Unfortunately, this was a bit of another disappointment. Even though I wrote for a good hour or so, the prompt didn't turn out how I wanted, so I feel like I wasted that hour. I still enjoyed listened to the sounds in the background, however :-)

The last thing I did before going to bed was some coloring. I have like 9 coloring books, so I picked a random book and page, got my colored pencils, and just colored for an hour or so. I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would, which annoys me, considering how many coloring books I have. I think next week I might just stick with my Happy Color app on my iPad.

I think this was perhaps my favorite mental reset day, but it was also bittersweet, because I enjoyed it so much that I wish I could do it every day. But I know if it did that, I wouldn't appreciate it as much as I would only having it one day a week. Despite that, however, I'm looking forward to the week ahead and hopefully getting everything done on my weekly list that I want to and I'm eagerly looking forward to next week's metal reset day :-)

[oddsnendsfanfics]

The (Mis)Adventures of Kal and Moose – Kal-entine's Day

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Warnings: Fluffy Valentine’s Day

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Because everyone needs Kal and Moose in their lives. Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! 

Henry Cavill Master List

Valentine's Day.

A day of love.

A day of romance.

A day for couples to declare their undying love, while single people sat at home with a box of chocolate sulking.

For the last few years, Henry was the latter. He was no stranger to sitting home on “the most romantic day of the year”, feasting on some chocolate from a heart shaped box. Although he didn't recall much sulking.

You on the other hand, were never one to celebrate or sit in on Valentine's Day. Even single, you found an excuse to go out for the evening. Oh the looks you would get, while taking yourself out for a fancy dinner.

This year was different.

It was going to be low key, but no doubt still fun. The best part, Kal and Moose weren't home alone waiting.

“I'm going to need you to do me a big favour, okay pig.” Henry glanced down at Kal who was sitting by his side, watching every move Henry made in the kitchen. “You and Moose need to be the best boys that you can. No mayhem this evening.”

Licking his lips and yawning, Kal huffed as his tail thumped heavily on the floor. He was slightly insulted, when had he and Moose ever caused mayhem? They were the most perfect best boys, ever! What did Henry think he was doing, talking as if they were a couple of uncultured stray dogs.

Walking along the familiar street, you glance down at Moose, sniffing along Kal's street he huffed and picked up his speed. Almost there! A few more minutes and he would be with his best friend, romping and stalking that damn green ball that made that atrocious noise every time it moved. Tonight, maybe, just maybe, they would finally give that thing what it had coming.

“Are you and Kal going to be good?” You ask the unconcerned dog. “Hmm? Play with Kal's toys nicely and not tear Henry's house apart?”

Moose snuffled, whatever that meant. Of course they would be good, they were always good. Ugh, humans.

Stepping onto the front stoop of Henry's home, you asked Moose to sit while you checked to see if the front was unlocked. It wasn't surprising that you would simply walk in, if the door was unlocked. Henry rarely knocked at your place, most times he would be in the house and standing beside you before you took notice.

“Knock, Knock.” You call pushing open the door. Moose whimpers and yips, tugging on his leash. Unhooking his leash, you laugh when he jumps forward nearly knocking into Henry as he tries to get to Kal. “Remember boys, make good choices.”

“Good evening,” Henry smiles taking your coat and hanging it. “I uh, I'm glad you could make it over.”

“Of course, thanks for inviting us over.”

Wow, this was awkward. As much time as the two of you spent together, it shouldn't be this weird or awkward. Biting your bottom lip, you follow Henry into the house, stopping on the way to the kitchen to give Kal a nice scratch behind the ear. He and Moose were already at home on the couch, a few toys between them, as they happily sprawled out.

“Be good, Moose.” You wag a finger playfully at the red aussie, giving him a kiss on the nose. “Wow it smells good in here.” Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to appreciate the smell wafting from the kitchen.

Henry smiled proudly, quickly kissing your cheek. “Spiced fish and coriander rice, with peas.”

“Oh my god, this smells like heaven. Did you make this?”

“Of course.” Henry laughs slightly. “I can't promise it will be the best, but I think it has flavour.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You tug at the sleeves of your sweater.

“Have a seat? Sorry to rush you, but I wanted to get this on the table, while it's still hot.”

“Are you kidding? I will never feel rushed when there is food.” Laughing you grab the bottle of wine from the cupboard, along with two glasses and tote them to the table. The usually cluttered table is clear of all debris, a soft grey linen cloth draped on top, along with an arrangement of rather lovely scented candles. “I like the look. Going formal are we? Shit, I should have dressed up.”

“Non sense, you look lovely.” Henry chuckled, he had put more effort into the meal and table than he had planned. All last minute of course.

“And you look...” You glance at his casual jeans and tshirt. “I like that red.”

“Flattery?” Cocking his brow, Henry held back a laugh. Teasing you. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel fine, now let's eat.” You gesture to the plates in his hand. The fragrant smell is torture, it should be illegal to make you wait to taste food that looks and smells that good.

Seated, you can't help but sit inhaling the aroma wafting from the plate in front of you. Evidently Kal and Moose have picked up that it is dinner time, their respective paw steps coming from the living room. Attempting to look innocent, Kal slides in under the table his large body bumping against Henry's legs. If he is trying to be stealthy it is not working out. Moose takes a bold approach, sitting a few inches from the table he lifts his head and sniffs.

A low growling noise, he licks his lips and bounces to his hind feet before sinking back down into a sit.

“Moose, go.” You wave him away.

“Kal, stop licking my ankle.” Henry shakes his leg, Kal's cold wet nose hiking up the cuff of his jeans. “Kal, go on.”

“Moose, you know better.” Eyeing the dog you can't help but smile. “Worse than kids.”

“I would hope my children didn't hide under tables licking my feet.” Bursting into a laugh, Henry shakes his leg away from Kal. “Kal, go on. Go on boys, I will feed you after.”

Dejected and clearly starving, the two dogs slink back to the couch. At least they had tried for a scrap or even a scratch. Ending their plans, they sulk the entire ten feet that they walk. Poor dears. How ever will they survive? Knowing that dinner is waiting for them, you feel no guilt or sympathy. Spoiled is the only word to describe the pair of them. Worse than children, getting everything they want and acting like they are ignored when they don't.

“If you ever want to quit acting, I think you have a career in culinary.” You compliment reaching for the riesling that Henry had nearly expertly paired with dinner.

“There is more, I have a raspberries and cream or...”

“Wait, there is more? Oof, I may need a moment to let this digest.” You laugh lightly. Henry had gone all out this time. “You have really spoiled me.”

“I may be bias, but I think you deserve it.”

“Oh really? And why is that?”

“I have my reasons, all which are very good but escaping me in this moment. Trust me, when I say, I thoroughly enjoy getting to make you dinner. It's nice having someone to spend time with, especially today. It's been a while since I've had someone to spoil on Valentine's.” Henry picked up his glass, taking a drink of his wine. Licking his lips, he coughed lightly. “The last few years I have been making today all about Kal. Kalentine's Day, if you will. A nice bath, a good grooming, extra time at the park.”

“Sounds like a great way to spend the day.”  

“It may be a bit late for the park, but I could offer a nice bath. Perhaps a foot rub?”

“All would be acceptable, as long as you don't take Kal's approach. I'm not much into having my feet licked.” You can't help yourself, it sort of slipped out. Nearly choking Henry in the process. Wine sputtered from his mouth, avoiding spitting it on you, he manages a napkin. His face red and his chest heaving with a silent laugh.

“Noted.” He gasps, caught between surprise and laughter. “Well, dessert then?”

Henry had tried to clear the table without your help, as if. Little good did it do, the second he stood you were on his heels carrying your plate into the kitchen. He rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything about it. He had learned not to argue with you, it would be futile. Keeping his protests silent, Henry watched as you loaded the dishwasher, humming quietly.

Dessert plated, Henry motioned for you to lead the way to the table. As nice as the table looked, you were more than happy to relax on the couch - even if it meant kicking Kal and Moose, the poor souls, to the floor. Diverting course, Henry followed, the two of you chatting about the latest family gossips. He was telling you about his nephew Oscar, when you gasped and stopped short.

Nearly bumping into you, Henry caught himself and both of the desserts that he had in his hand. On the floor of his living room there laid the evidence. All around were pieces of red and brown material. White cotton stuffing littered the room and the look on Moose's face told you nearly everything.

“Moose,” You groan looking at the stuffing flung around the room. The Aussie looking innocent, yet the clump of red material in his mouth is giving him away. “You tore up Kal's stuffy.”

“Stuffy?” Henry's eyes widened. “Oh shit. Shit.”

“What? What's wrong?” You watched as he placed dessert on the coffee table, rushing the to tall shelf that sat behind his couch.

At least he still had the flowers, well shit. His face fell when he found them smashed to the floor and trampled.

“Well,” He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing to the mess in his living room. “Happy Valentine's Day. I had planned on giving you a present, but...”

“Oh, Henry.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I'm so sorry. I... Moose!”

“No, no. It's fine. It's not entirely his fault.” He glanced at Kal, holding the head of the teddy bear in his mouth, “There is only one of them who could have reached it. Eh, bear?”

“Boys,” You sigh and shake your head.  “Wait,” You glance curiously at Henry, giving him a sly smirk, “did you say you got me a gift? It's not my birthday. Nor it is Christmas.”

“No, but it's Valentine's Day.” Henry shrugged debating to salvage the gift or move on. “I wanted to do something nice, since....well.”

“Oh! Right.” You can't contain the smile that overtook your face in seconds. “I um, I honestly thought this was just us having dinner as...well friends?”

“And it can still be that, absolutely.” Henry nodded. “I don't want to impose or push anything.”

Stooping to pick up a few pieces of what used to be a teddy bear, you scratch Kal behind the ears and take a seat on the couch. "You're not imposing anything. I just didn't know what we were. Or if we were anything. I thought that I'd come over as a friend and...you know what, let's not bother with this now. We can talk later, sit let's have dessert. I am dying to try this raspberry cream.”

Henry sits beside you, reaching for the dessert bowls, to find one empty. “Moose,” he looked at the dog with red cream on his snout. “I swear to god,”  laughing, he hands you a spoon. “Care to share?”

“Well, well, well.” You take the spoon shaking your head, playfully. “Henry Cavill is sharing dessert?”

“They destroyed your present and this is the only dessert, the least that I can do.”

“I wouldn't be against that bath,” You scoop some of the cream from the bowl, “but no feet.”

“No feet.” Henry laughed, his chest rumbling and his eyes crinkling. “Got it.”

[qqueenofhades]

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.

[booklover41802]

Ok can I ask for another Jurdan prompt it’s post Wicked king it’s been several months since Jude was banished and she’s physically healthy again. Vivi decides Jude needs a girls night and forces her into a sexy revealing outfit, Jude gets drugged while Vivi’s distracted but Cardan rescues her before she gets hurt. And it has a happy ending. I love your angst but I want to see your Jurdan happy ending.

Of course! This was really fun to write, and to explore Cardan’s soft side :)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jude

Sitting on the couch in Vivi’s apartment made Jude wonder why mortals ever bothered to do anything. A fish stick dangled out of her mouth, while she swung her legs over the side of the plain colored couch, contemplating life. Her mind had withered and decayed while in the mortal world, wit and strategy a non-essential thing.

She shoved the fish stick in her mouth, swinging her legs and forth, her head resting against the cushions. As she took a bite, Vivi bounced in from the kitchen, a wild glint in her golden eyes, her hands hidden behind her back. When she stopped in front of Jude, Vivi’s lips downturned at the sight of Jude with a fish stick in her mouth. “You’ll choke if you swallow that bite sitting down.”

“I am perfectly content to lie like this while I finish this decadent meal,” Jude said around the food in her mouth. She swallowed, trying to prove her point, but ended up choking. She coughed, ejecting the fish stick from her mouth. Studiously avoiding Vivi’s gaze, Jude discreetly cleared her throat.

“I told you that was going to happen, Jude.”

Jude waved her off and sat up. “Mistakes are the only decisions I seem to be making these days. What’s one more? I have expectations to fulfill, I can’t disappoint myself by doing something good.”

Vivi’s ears twitched as a wicked grin curved her lips, showing off her unnaturally white teeth. “I think I have a solution to your depressing outlook on life.” From behind her back, she pulled out a lacy red body-suit, a black leather mini skirt, and dangerously high black heels. She threw them at Jude. “Put these on, we’re out to a club.”

Jude abandoned the half-eaten fish stick on the table and wrinkled her nose at the clothing. Carefully picking up the body-suit like it was a bomb, she looked at it, then Vivi, and back to the outfit. “You want me to… wear this?”

A mysterious light filled her eyes at Jude’s words. “Of course. How else will you find someone if you wear the clothes you have on,” Vivi motioned to Jude’s wrinkled pajamas. “I have your best interests at heart! It’s time to have some fun, Jude. Cardan is not coming for you.”

Jude winced at her words, knowing she was right, but a small bit of hope was still wrapped tightly around her heart. Of course, Cardan wouldn’t pardon her, but what if he did? What if he still loved her as fiercely as she loved him? What if what if what if. “Only time will tell.”

Taking a deep breath, Vivi took a seat beside her, readying her emotions for the heartbreak she was about to give Jude. “It’s been three months, Jude. You’ve heard nothing from Faerie, and I doubt you ever will. The Fae are not a loving folk. Love is rare to find, especially with a King. Cardan may have loved you at one time, but at this point, it’s better to let go than to hang onto something that will never happen. Cardan is my friend, but you’re my sister-”

Jude raised a hand to stop her from continuing, knowing she was right. The hope that Cardan would show up on their doorstep deflated, but didn’t truly go away. There was one thing that kept it alive. One tiny little detail that Vivi was unaware of. “But what if-”

“Jude-”

“Whatever, I’ll just put it on,” Jude said, trying to hold back tears. Why now? Why had the grief hit her months after being away? Was it the realization that she had something to fight for? That she wasn’t just something that Cardan could throw away, that she was the Queen?

She rose from the couch, outfit in hand, and stalked away to her bedroom to put it on. As she strode towards her room, she angrily wiped away tears, hating Cardan for making her feel this way. 

Jude softly shut the door, bracing her hands against the frame, wondering just what she was getting herself into. Her head fell to her chest as she counted her breaths, trying, and failing to calm herself. One breath in, one breath out. 

When she had calmed herself enough, she padded over to the mirror up against the wall. Her clothes fell to the floor with barely a sound. She studied herself in the mirror, noting how she had lost weight in her time spent away from Faerie, her gaunt cheekbones protruding ever so slightly. “What have I become,” Jude breathed. “Who have I turned into?” Perhaps it was time to stop clinging to the past as if her life depended on it.

Mind made up, Jude slid the silky lace bodysuit on, shimmied into the leather skirt, and shoved her feet into the ridiculous heels. As an extra precaution, she slipped the rowan berries over her head. When she gazed back into the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. After all, this wasn’t an outfit typically worn by the Queen of Faerie. It was perfect for a night like tonight. 

She strutted out the door with a flounce to her steps where Vivi waited beside the door. Vivi donned a steel gray dress with little ruffles at the bottom that clung to her figure in all the best possible ways. Around her neck was a single golden chain that held a circle with the letter H on it. Her wrists were cluttered with chunky bracelets, on her ears dangling all sorts of earrings. 

“Jude… you look incredible!” Vivi exclaimed, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in awe.

Jude frowned as she looked down at what she wore. “It’s different from what I’m used to. There’s no place to store a knife in this outfit with it clinging so tight to me.” As if to prove her point, she attempted to pull the fabric down a few inches.

Vivi’s brows furrowed together as she gently grasped her hands to stop her from pulling on it. “Stop yanking the skirt down, it’s supposed to be that short.”

Stretching out of Vivi’s reach, Jude headed for the door, wondering why she even agreed to go out. “Let’s just go before I lose my nerve.”

Behind her, Jude heard Vivi squeal. It was going to be a long night. The pair of them walked side by side out of the apartment, and down to the street below. The streetlights outside of the apartment cast their shadows across the sidewalk, elongating their figures in odd proportions.

Then there it was. The club loomed up like an omnipresent figure dangling at the back of one’s mind. Dark paneling paired with an emerald green overhang shadowed the entire block across from the apartment. High windows rested above the overhang, giving a glimpse into the action inside. Rainbow lighting swirled and twirled from within, music reverberating against the establishment. In golden script the club name was printed on the green fabric.

“The Ouroboros. How original,” Jude said, unimpressed.

Vivi pulled her into the line behind all of the other night owls who couldn’t avoid the enthralling pull of the club. “It’s a new club that just opened up last week. It’s the only place in the entire city where humans and Faeries can come together.”

“Do the humans know they’re among faeries?”

Vivi’s hands twitched as she looked away awkwardly. “Well, no, not exactly. The folk that come here are glamoured to appear as normal humans.” 

The line moved fast, and soon enough they were through the door with a flash of false IDs. The bouncer hardly spared them a glance, already motioning for the next set of people inside. They slipped past the velvet rope and into a whole other world.

All along the walls were scones cast with flickering blue light resembling flame, casting the club into a mysterious glow. Jude wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was, as the folk played many tricks upon the mortal eye. High above in the rafters flashing multicolored lights passed over the cluster of bodies dancing in the center of the club, illuminating their features. One glimpse of a tail, another of a wing, scaled skin, a shimmery dress, and sweaty limbs. 

 Vivi craned her neck, searching the crowd, “I think I see Heather, I’m going to talk to her!” She vanished into the throng of dancing people, leaving Jude alone.

“Thanks, Vivi,” She muttered to herself, casting her eyes around to see if she could find the bar. She spotted it at the very back, the bar made entirely of gold, glistening under the lights.

As she got closer, she noted the bartender possessed eyes like a snake. She wondered how many mortals were deceived by his glamour. His eyes snagged on her, and they narrowed in suspicion. She shifted her gaze to the other patrons sitting there, noticing nothing unusual about them.

She slid into an open seat to have just one drink. She needed it to get her mind off Cardan. Surely one wouldn’t hurt. “Give me your strongest drink,” she shouted over the blaring music thumping in her ears.

The bartender eyed her once and motioned for her ID to be inspected. He glanced at it, her, and back to the ID. He shrugged and poured a glass of a dark frothing liquid in a shot glass. Smoke poured over the sides, like little spiders of death. He slid the drink to her, and she downed it one gulp.

The liquid burned her throat, searing the inside of her mouth. She wouldn’t be surprised if this stuff started to pour out of her ears and eyes. Perhaps she was just a lightweight, but the drink hit her hard. Already her head felt as though it was filled with cotton, the music a dull roar in her ears.

A man in a dark, pinstripe suit with a hat pulled low over his face slid next to her. “Long night?”

Her drink was refilled and she once again downed it, not sparing the man a look. “You have no idea.”

“Allow me to make it better by paying for your drink. They call me Atlas, darling. Can I have your name?” He stuck out his hand over the drink he had ordered for her. A crimson-colored thing that resembled blood. 

She turned her head to gaze at the man next to her. The lights passed over his face for a brief second, lighting up the scar that fell over his left eye. With caution she took his hand, gently shaking it, feeling his cold grip seep into her own. “No, but you may call me Nicasia.” Whoever this Atlas person was, she did not trust him in the slightest.

The man, however, burst into loud, obnoxious laughter, banging his fist on the bar. “Now that is the funniest joke I’ve heard in quite some time, darling.” Atlas wiped false tears from his eyes and quickly sobered up, a smirk curving his lips. “Who are you really?”

She took a sip of the drink he had given her and immediately felt the world spin under the feet. “St-Stop calling me darling,” Jude slurred.

“Darling I think you need to lie down. Or, should I say, Jude.” His lips upturned as she stumbled off her chair in an attempt to get away from him. The man began to reach out for her, prepared to guide her to one of the open places scattered across the club.

As she was trying to get away from the bar, Jude backed into another man, the scent of wildflowers and wine tinging the air. She whirled around, nearly falling in her ridiculous shoes. The man steadied her with a light touch on her arms. Her vision was too blurry to make out his features, only detecting a faint resemblance in the back of her mind that she knew him. 

“What she needs is for me to take her home. And for you to stop calling her darling.” A voice said. The voice that haunted her dreams, nightmares, and waking moments. Cardan.

“And who are you?” Atlas sneered.

With a woozy head, she turned to gape at Cardan. How did he know where to find her?  

“Her husband,” Cardan’s black eyes burned as he glared at Atlas as if trying to singe him where he sat. “I believe my wife will be just fine under my care.”

Those words were enough for Atlas to disappear into the crowd. His figure was gone in an instant, leaving Jude and Cardan alone at the bar. 

Cardan reached out and laced his fingers with Jude’s. “Jude, I believe you’ve had enough for tonight. Come with me. You’ll be safe.” He began to tug her towards the exit to bring her where she could get the drinks out of her system.

As soon as she began to walk, Jude lifted her heavy head to look at Cardan, seeing double. Her head rocked back and forth of its own accord, behaving on its own axis apart from the rest of the world. “Jude?” Cardan moved closer, so they were mere inches apart. 

The club flickered in and out of focus, her attention torn between giving in to the blissful darkness, or to stay with Cardan. Distantly she could hear him shouting her name, begging her to hold on. Her name on his lips was a panicked scream torn from his lungs. “Stay with me! Jude!”

No longer could she clutch this awareness any longer, and before she knew what she was doing, she grasped hold of his lapels and pulled him close, drawing a breath, to whisper, “I love you, Cardan.” Then everything went dark. 

When she awoke some time later, she and Cardan were outside of the club sitting on a bench, with just the open expanse of sky stretching above them, and the luminescent stars winking at them. Cars passed by them, the drivers not sparing them a glance, unaware that royalty was in their midst. It was then that she noticed that she was lying on his lap. She became very aware of their proximity but didn’t deign to move as her head was still pounding from the drinks she had. “Wha-what happened.”

Cardan absentmindedly twirled a strand of her hair through his fingers like a nervous tick. Even just this brief bit of contact sent shivers running down her spine. “A man put something in your drink and had planned to take you somewhere far from the club. I heard him bragging about it before he sat next to you.” Cardan’s face darkened as he reminisced on the past. Jude proceeded to pull herself into a sitting position, her head swimming as she pulled her knees close to her chest. Cardan shifted awkwardly next to her as he adjusted without her weight. “Thank you for… saving me. I owe you.”

He cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on the apartment across the street. “The debt is forgiven.”

The silence stretched out between them, words falling short of what they both desired to express. Jude was the first to break it. “Why are you here, Cardan? You banished me. You humiliated me. Now you’re back like nothing has happened? As though we can go back to the way things were?” He opened his mouth, likely to spout an excuse. She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No. Tell me the truth, no half-truths.”

He swallowed once, took a breath, and searched her face as if deciding how much to reveal. “I thought you would have gotten my letters by now. They explained it all and my guilt for what I had done. Every day I spend without you is a day with my head underwater. I am drowning without you. I miss you, is that what you wanted to hear? That you are the one person I cannot live without. I-I love you.”

Jude stared at him blankly. “What letters?”

A wicked grin curved his lips at her words. He reached out his hand and tilted her chin up so she was looking into his black eyes. “So you truly have no idea of what I’m talking about?” He cocked his head as he studied her. “Have I finally matched you in your wit and intelligence? I outwitted you, Queen of deceits and lies, admit it.”

She yanked out of his grip, crossing her arms. “I will do no such thing,” she hissed. 

But Cardan merely sidled close and ran a finger along the lower side of her lip. Her pulse jumped at his touch. “Hmm, is that so? Is that why you didn’t detect the riddle in my words because you are more clever than I?” His voice was low and throaty, his pupils dilating. When he was like this, she almost wanted to give in, but she held back. Barely. 

She didn’t respond, too caught up in what his touch did to her. She was utterly destroyed by him. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing and moved his focus to distract her by moving close enough to kiss her. “What did you say before you passed out? Tell me again.”

“I love you.” She should stop, she should tell him to move away because she was angry at him. But the moment she saw him, her anger had fizzled out, and she had no real reason to deny him. 

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Cardan.”

He seemed to be floating on his own isle of paradise. His smile took on a softer edge as he scanned her face for any falsehoods. When he detected none, he leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead. “I missed you more than I can ever express, Jude. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

“But I’m banished, and I cannot return,” she whispered under her breath.

“Are you not the Queen and my wife? Do you not wear a crown? Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life. You could have returned at any time, my darling Jude.”

It was official. Jude was the biggest idiot on the planet. In answer to his words, she pulled him closer to her and hugged him around his middle. Her face was buried in his chest as she said, “I was a fool, blinded by anger. I did not think you were capable of such mastery of words.” She shuddered against him, a few tears falling down her face. “Is this a dream? Am-Am I dreaming?” She was afraid if she opened her eyes, she would wake up in her room at Vivi’s apartment and none of this would be real.

After a brief pause, Cardan rested his chin on her hair and held her tight against him. “This is real. I’m real. We can go home, together.”

She didn’t let go as her lips trembled under the sheer relief that he was here and wasn’t going to disappear. “Take me home, Cardan.” 

Jude felt his smile as he brought his lips close to her ears, his breathy voice sending tingles all across her skin. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Tags: @illyrian-bookworm, @highladyofstoriesandmusic, @webcraft4eveh, @thefangirlofhp

[wof-reworked]

Moonwatcher + plants

-Moon is used to being alone. It doesn’t really bother her to spend her time somewhere away from other dragons, if anything, it’s a bit of a relief to be away from them, to get some silence both mentally and literally.

-This leads to her spending a lot of time in her room or the library, eventually just turning into her periodically borrowing scrolls and then returning to her room to read them

-With all this time to herself, she starts to notice how barren and closed in it is, not the most friendly environment. 

-She starts gardening at a certain point, beginning with small, shade friendly gardening pots in her and Kinkajou’s room. It’s nice, to be surrounded by living things that don’t demand anything from you except some water and sunlight.

-Kinkajou is delighted by it, being best friends with Tamarin means she knows a healthy amount about plants, and is more than willing to help push Moon in the right direction in the beginning.

-This also brings Moon and Tamarin closer together too. It’s... nice, to be included and to feel like you have something in common besides just both having a mutual friend, and Moon finds herself really enjoying Tamarin’s company. Slowly, Moon starts joining Kinkajou and Tamarin’s hangout sessions together.

-(Most of these hangout sessions involve lying in a pile together braiding flowers together and exchanging information while snacking on fruit. It’s the most relaxed fun Moon’s had in years)

-When she’s older and has her own place to live with Winter and Qibli, she starts filling the house with plants,

-It’s lovely at first, and then turns more into clutter, especially since there’s only so much sunlight to go around, with every window and patch of sunlight crowded full of pots, each reaching to the sun.

-With a small intervention from Qibli and Winter, she transfers quite a few outside, lining their house with bright flowers and thick leaves opening out to create a soft little wall of green. 

-The crown jewel of her gardens is the greenhouse, built as a surprise gift from the combined efforts of Qibli/Winter/Kinkajou

(Qibli distracts her by taking her on a celebratory birthday travel to the Sand and Sea Kingdom to look at rare books and say hi to Turtle while Winter puts his scavenger sanctuary building skills to use and Kinkajou, in her words, “provides moral support”.)

-Moon adores it. The humidity and the greenery remind her of the rainforest, and if she closes her eyes, it feels like being a small dragonet again, waiting for her mom to come and see her. 

-It becomes her baby and stockpiled full of her favorite jungle plants, each one cared for meticulously until they fill the whole space, leafy vines crawling up the glass over neat beds of verdant plants and bright flowers. 

-The more she works on the greenhouse, the more it becomes her safe space when she’s stressed, or angry, or especially: worried or anxious. 

-At her worst, she’s fallen asleep there, curled up between the rows of plants and letting their soft rustling coax her into rest.

-(There’s a bunch of scenarios you could do with this, maybe her greenhouse burns down sometime or w/e, go wild)

-Moonwatcher also learns how to cook through her garden, having plenty of herbs/vegetables/fruits now to make into... something.

-Since cooking in Pyrrhia is more for show than every-day life, a lot of what she makes is simple snacks for Qibli/Winter, things like jam/dried fruits/fried vegetables/occasionally little tarts and pies.

-(Qibli snacks on all her carrots and she pretends to be mad about it but makes a note to plant more for him and not-so-secretly leaves them out in their common space)

-Qibli is keen to learn along with her and help, though his baking skills in the kitchen are a bit... lacking.

-(you cannot possibly tell me this man would have the chops to follow a recipe properly, I’m sorry but Qibli is 500% the person to go “we can just add [vague, nonsensical amount of necessary ingredient] and it’ll be fiiiiine” and have his baked goods turn out completely weird, if he doesn’t manage to set on the oven on fire in the process anyway cause he forgot about it. He’s not hopeless but he can only cook like maybe basic cookies and any sort of thing that follows a “just fry it for like 10 minutes” recipe and that is it)

-Moon kind of balances this out, but most of her cooking sessions with Qibli are more about them just having a good time together rather than,,,, producing something edible. 

-Winter is better, but doesn’t really enjoy cooking that much, though he’ll help if asked. Mostly he’s happy to eat what Moon makes, as well as occasionally (of her own volition) getting her to help cook food for his scavengers

-Since both Qibli and Winter are away quite a bit (Qibli’s still very much dedicated to Queen Thorn, and Winter has been known to spend days away at the scavenger sanctuary), part of Moon’s way of welcoming them back is by presenting them with pre-cooked food she’s made

-(Both of them also bring her food along with them, just Winter pensively snacking on some fish jerky when he’s focusing or Qibli popping raspberries in his mouth while he flies)

-Moon also keeps a bowl of fruit out for guests, which Kinkajou gleefully exploits 

-(Kinkajou and Tamarin (slash now with Anemone) start having their hangout sessions at Moons house solely for the fruit, like yeah there’s probably more in the rainforest, but is it filled with the same kind of love and attention??? I think NOT)

-Moon hesitantly but still firmly and kindly helping teach Peacemaker about strawberry growing,,, observing him carefully always out of the corner of her eye,,,, always unsure of what to make of him or what to do,,,

-Peacemaker and Moon’s relationship starts and somewhat rotates around their gardening together, he views her as an older sister/mentor and Moon,,, doesn’t know how to feel about him, but always makes room for him anyway, and tries to do right by him

-He can’t understand why she keeps him at wing-length away, for a while he doesn’t even know to be hurt by it since he just assumes that’s how Moon is, but the older he gets and the more he sees her with her partners and her friends it starts to unnerve and frustrate him, especially because of how much he looks up to her and respects her

-Hope will always be his mom first and foremost, but Moonwatcher’s been there in his life basically since he was hatched, she’s basically family to him so why does she always act so weird around him? Did he do something to her that he forgot?... Why does she look scared of him sometimes? What does she even have to be scared of?

-Despite her failings, Moon isn’t truly cold with Peacemaker, and she’s definitely a wonderful teacher. What she is with him is calm, patient, and empathetic, but also occasionally too quick to scold/shut him down, and doesn’t engage with him as much as he, maybe, wants her to. 

-She knows, deep down, that Peacemaker is a completely different dragon, she’s seen his future and knows what he’ll become (a peaceful, relaxed strawberry farmer who dies happy and loved), but it’s so hard to not catastrophize about him somehow turning out like Darkstalker, or the spell on him somehow being broken/worn down

-Whether Moon ever tells Peacemaker about Darkstalker is up to you tbh, I’m not really sure if she would or just let it hang there uncomfortably until Peacemaker accepts it or gets so frustrated he either makes her tell him or stops seeing her

-Either way, she has her garden, her friends, and her family, and it makes her happy and keeps her safe and centered

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was supposed to be pride content about Qinterwatcher but I couldn’t get it out fast enough (thank you June, for completely kicking my ass. How homophobic of you >:/ ) and it turned into a study on Moon (as well as me trying to figure out what the jade winglet would do after school). I hope you enjoy this anyway, even if it is now July!!! I tried to sprinkle in a bunch of Qinterwatcher anyway, though a lot of it is Moon-centered (you can also read some Kinkamoon into this if you’d like lol)

(as always I encourage you 500% to use this headcanons in your writing or your art or w/e, no credit needed but please send it to be me if you do I Will Actually Cry)

tl;dr: how to grow a social circle and two excellent boyfriends in 6 easy steps, starring Moonwatcher and her fam

[fuck-you-i-am-spiderman]

Rotten OT4 ❤🕷

This was a lot of fun and I took way too long thinking about this 😅

Who washes the dishes by hand and who uses the dishwasher?

Carlos washes the dishes by hand. He'll get anxious about them building up, during their first few nights in the starter cottage they live together fight me he'd still be up at 3am cleaning. Carlos and Evie now have a routine to get the dishes done. Evie helps him by drying the dishes, they listen to music and sing along as they work. Mal and Jay fight with the dishwasher, they're the idiots that try and cram as many dishes into the trays as humanly possible, and then whine when it won't shut properly. 

Who cuts vegetables, fruit, etc by hand and who uses the easy to use chopper?

Mal loves to chop everything by hand, she'll chop really quickly and get excited when she can use the big knife. The others tend to stay on the other side of the kitchen when Mal is wielding her weapons, attacking vegetables with far too much glee. Carlos likes to use the easy chopper because he likes to fiddle with it to see if he can get it to chop any faster. Jay still glares at the vegetables Evie brings into the house. 

Who pours the cereal into the bowl first and who pours milk before the cereal?

Mal eats her cereal dry because she's an animal. Evie likes to eat fruit and granola in the morning, Mal chops fruit especially and crafts apple peel in the shape of a rose. Evie is always making smoothie bowls and snapping pictures of Mal's fruity creations for her Instagram. Carlos loves chocolatey cereal and pours in milk afterwards to create a perfect fusion. Jay pours milk in first and watches with far too much amusement as the other three all stare at him in horror. Jay and Carlos get into daily arguments about Jay being a monster and it only makes Jay do it more. 

Who buys/drinks bottle water and who uses/drinks from the tap?

Carlos drinks straight from the tap and will lean over really far to drink from it. Evie decides it's a safer option to buy a few bottles of water whenever they go grocery shopping. Jay loves getting energy drinks, like those still sports drinks that come in orange or blue raspberry or some shit. He likes bottled water so he can take it to the gym with him. Mal literally forgets to drink. It'll be like 7pm and she won't have drank anything. At which point she'll get three glasses of water shoved in her face and they won't let up until she's drank them. 

Who hoards disposable containers and who throws them away?

Evie throws them away. Carlos doesn't like the clutter and everytime Jay leaves a tower of disposable containers lying around Carlos will go around very loudly throwing them away to make a point. 

Who buys milk in a paper carton and who buys it in a plastic jug?

They all vote for a plastic jug. They go through milk very quickly so none of them tend to like getting cartons. 

Who picks paper bags and who picks plastic bags after grocery shopping?

Jay attempts to carry everything without a bag, he has competitions with Mal over who is the first to crack and grab a bag. Evie loves the reusable bags and freezer bags that have cute patterns on. 

Who HOARDS the plastic bags and who recycles them?

They all hoard them, they say they'll use them when they go shopping but they'll never bring them so they just end up with cupboards full of plastic bags that Carlos insists they still need. 

Who hoards salt/pepper packs, to-go silverware and other to-go condiments?

They all steal plastic cutlery and will purposely grab like 20 packets of ketchup every time they're anywhere in Auradon. They do it because it's fun and everyone is still a little scared of them so they're not going to tell them they can't take 20 packets of sugar. Or when restaurants have the bowls of mints and such and Carlos is just there shoving handfuls into his mouth and Evie's got 10 packets of those wipes that smell of lemon. The workers don't even see Mal with a backpack full of breadsticks or Jay racing away with a bowl of candy he took from the desert bar.

Who lets the garbage overflow before throwing it out?

Mal. Jay definitely doesn't help. They have trash throwing competitions and then there's just a litter of trash scattered around just shy of the trash can. Carlos throws it out because Evie refuses to, she spends a lot of time lecturing Mal and Jay for letting it build up. 

Who gets annoyed when someone doesn’t use the clips for the potato chips?

Evie. She bought them for a reason and its something constantly brought up during one of their house meetings, along with why Mal and Jay never use the chore wheel and pleading with Carlos to stop tinkering with their toaster. 

Who uses paper plates?

Surprisingly Evie. The got a bunch of fancy plates and she doesn't want to use them. But also, she works a long time in her studio and needs something quick and disposable when she's really in the throws of it. 

Who uses coasters?

Evie and Carlos use coasters. They spent time picking out these really fun designs. Mal doesn't use them, says they're a waste of money. Jay puts things right next to the coaster. 

Who licks the spoon/butter knife after they use it?

Carlos and then Mal chases him around the kitchen to get it back. 

Who loses the bread ties?

Jay. But he doesn't lose them, he literally just takes them, it's almost like a force of habit but it's his natural instinct to grab it and he doesn't realise he's done it until Evie is frantically searching the kitchen for ties and Jay finds some in his pocket. 

Who kicks the ice under the fridge when it falls on the ground?

Mal. She be vicious and they can't stop her. 

Who constantly cuts/burns themselves when they cook?

Again Mal. It's not that she's bad at cooking, she's not. It's just that she doesn't really pay attention to how far away things are or she'll just go to touch a hot pan because she wants to just grab the food and get it sorted. She's an impatient cook and it leads to accidents a lot. Because she speed chops and tries to do everything in a very artsy way she'll slice her finger and Carlos is scrambling to wrap her hand in a cloth whilst Mal barely bat's an eyelid. 

Who organizes the spice rack?

Mal and Carlos. They debate over it for a while but ultimately decide on a good organisation system that please them both. 

 Who uses the microwave more?

Jay. He'll just shove whatever he can in the microwave and call it good. Evie has stopped wrestling him for the toasties he insists on microwaving and then pleads with Mal to cook them a more substantial meal. 

Who stops the microwave one second before time's up?

Mal. She's impatient and wants her food done. She doesn't like waiting and she'll leave it blinking as she waltzes away with her food. It's one of Carlos's pet peeves. 

[halequeenjas]

You’d Be Surprised || Alain & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine follows through with her offer to help Alain clear up some packing clutter before grabbing some photos of his home. 

Upon pulling into the driveway of Alain’s home, Jasmine had no doubt she’d be able to market this well and get it sold at a good price. Even though she didn’t like the idea of being remote in White Crest of all places, she could actually see the place as being cozy. In a like, flannel pajamas and pancakes kind of way. It appeared Alain had done a nice job restoring it as well. She could spot shoddy repair work from a mile away and this wasn’t it. All in all, this was looking like it would be a pretty good commission. The fact she didn’t feel the chilling presence of ghosts was also good. She’d still have to sneakily place wards up before having any sort of open house so Larry Bob didn’t try anything funny. Though she was a bit regretful of the fact she signed herself up for somewhat physical labor, Jasmine had decided to look on the bright side. This meant she’d be more easily to rearrange things how she’d like for staging the home. All in all, it could be worse. On the way up to his front door, she took a moment to appreciate the garden. Even as the things were starting to day away with the fall weather, there were still some vibrant shades of reds and oranges to be seen. It must have been stunning in the spring. Still looking up at the house, she gave a firm knock with her hand that wasn’t trapped by a cast and waited for indication she could come in. “Hey, Mr. Babineaux,” she greeted as the door opened, “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought along some coffee and pastries.” 

“...” Alain greeted her with a tight-lipped smile as she told him she’d brought pastries and coffee. He had just made a fresh pot, and the place smelled of the pain au chocolat he had been baking earlier in the morning. Perks of being a slayer who could not go out, baking at 3 am was actually not a problem. And he liked being busy, as it stopped him from having too many thoughts crossing his mind. “Well, I always felt like there never was such a thing as too much food,” he pushed himself away from the doorway with the crutches, and led the way to the living room, where he had started to pack a few things while the dough rose in his kitchen last night. He had tried to be thorough with putting away all of his questionable belongings were they : books, weapons, or, even more questionable, a tooth or a bone he’d kept from a creature he’d killed, in case he would need it later. Even now, as he knew that he would most likely never fight again, he could not bring himself to get rid of those things. They might be of use to someone else, he told himself. Those things were just too valuable for him to throw. “You can put it down on the dinner table…” He eyed over at the cluttered table and frowned, “I mean, if you manage to find a spot,” he looked around the room to find a more suitable spot and sighed. He had never been a tidy person, but this was something else. “I suppose the kitchen might actually be your best chance. You can grab a viennoiserie there if you want,” once again, he led the way. And well, this was another room he wouldn’t have to visit on the tour of the house. “It’s not the biggest kitchen, but as you can see, it’s been put to use,” he picked one of his chocolate croissant for himself and gladly accepted one of her coffee cups. Slayer or not, he would need this much to get through this day.

The quiet greeting and the smell of baked goods throughout the home indicated that maybe bringing something had been a bad idea. As he said there was no such thing as too much food, Jasmine shook her head. “Oh no, whatever you made smells way better than what I brought. I can just bring these to the office and we can enjoy the good pastries,” she said with an ever bright and reassuring smile. In truth, she hadn’t expected someone who just lost a leg to be quite so mobile. There was definitely evidence he had been packing and clearly baking. It really did smell amazing in here. With a laugh, she blurted out, “If this is what your baking smells like, I don’t even need to bring candles. What’d you make?” She’d looked over the table and didn’t see a solid spot to set the box down. She briefly thought over how she could rearrange some of the boxes before he directed her to the kitchen. Much better. She set the box of pastries and cups of coffee down on the countertop. When she saw the pastries he made, her jaw dropped as she turned to face Alain. “You made those?” Her voice conveyed her shock. She hadn’t seen pastries that looked that good anywhere outside of France. She took one of the chocolate croissants and as she took a bite out of it, was immediately transported back to her last trip to France. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, “These taste like I’m on vacation.” As much as she loved French pastries, she never gave them a go. Cooking and baking weren’t her thing. Her luxurious kitchen would have gone almost entirely to waste if it wasn’t for Bea. She laughed a bit and added, “Clearly it’s been put to good use if you can make pastries this good. I have this super nice kitchen in my house that my best friend uses entirely more than I ever have.” She paused to look around at the clutter that she had advised against her better judgment that she’d help clean. “So any place you’d like to start first here?” 

 “It does cover the smell of dogs,” he agreed. Alain had a look through the kitchen window. Speaking of them, they were messing around outside in the garden. He never asked whether she liked or were afraid of dogs. “You don’t mind dogs, do you?” Now might as well be a good time to worry about it, “I made pain au chocolat,” he said it in French, because clearly something that did not have the shape of a croissant should not have been called a croissant. “Too much time on my hands these days,” he forced himself to smile. This could not be as suspicious as spilling iron rods and salt, could it? Certainly not. And obviously he would not tell her either that his injury was far from as old as it seemed. “I’m glad you appreciate them. It’s the least I can do for someone who is willing to help me do that one thing everyone hates doing,” unpacking seemed like an even worse moment, but he was not there yet. Sure he had already seen a few houses, and he would have to pick one, but he was not there yet. 

“It’s not for everyone,” he gave her a shrug. “But if you ever want to use your kitchen and need some tips, well just let me know,” cooking could get frustrating and people being discouraged was always what ended up stopping them. 

Either way, she did not come here to discuss food or cooking, as much as he appreciated compliments on his baked goods. “Well, I’m done with most kitchen utensils. Only kept the essentials,” he rubbed at the back of his head, putting down the cup of coffee to lead the way back to the living room. “I’ll start emptying my closets I think. Not like I’ll need much since I barely go out,” he observed. “If you wish, you can empty the bookcases? Or if you are brave, you can wrap the things I put on the table with newspaper or bubble wrap.” 

 “That it does,” Jasmine agreed with a smile and a slight head tilt as she pondered how best to sum up her feelings on dogs. “I’ve never had one personally, but I don’t mind them. Always figured I’d get one once I have kids. You know, American Dream and all.” That also meant there’d be kids and likely a husband to help with said dog. As it stood, she worked far too much to reasonably have any sort of pet. She took another bite of her pastry and said, “Seriously, these are amazing. I haven’t had pain au chocolat this good since my last trip to France.” She could practically envision her favorite little pâtisserie in Paris that she’d stop at before a day of shopping. “This is definitely a good use of free time.” She finished up her pastry and opted to go for another. As much as she hated the idea of packing, she brushed it off like it was no big deal. If she wanted a nice review on her website, she’d have to remain polite and professional. Plus, the pastries did bring mentally back to vacation mode. “If favors are followed by baked goods this delicious, I may be inclined to offer more of them.” She smiled easily and grabbed some coffee to bring out to the living area with her. 

“You offer that now, but you haven’t seen just how hopeless I am in the kitchen,” she said with an amused grin on her face, “But if you’re really offering, I would for once like to make something nice for our brunch days.” In part, because she knew it would annoy Bea, but that was hardly the point. It could be nice to make something for herself on a night where she wasn’t feeling like company. 

When given an option for where to start with packing help, she immediately knew she’d go for the bookcase. A person’s taste in books said a lot about them and Jasmine was nothing if not nosy. “I’ll go for the bookcase, I’m a pretty big reader so that sounds like the most fun.” Given her book taste ranged from trashy romance novels to books on exorcisms, ghosts, and other spectral creatures. But hey, a girl was allowed to have layers. She began grabbing books off the shelf and started placing them in a box. For the most part, they all seemed to be older books with a focus on mythology. Interesting. It raised her suspicions, but not enough to call it out. That was until she saw a book in Latin that appeared to be about the undead that caught her attention. “You know Latin. too,” she called out with the question evident in her tone. Was he an exorcist, too? Or perhaps a spellcaster? Not too many bothered with learning the language these days. “You don’t meet too many other people who know a dead language.” 

 “Ah, yes, the American dream,” Alain  had yet to meet someone who actually had experienced it. Perhaps if he had been born a generation sooner… “Well, as you can see, you don’t actually need to have children to get a dog, or two…” If he said it with a smile, he had a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he thought about why he had gotten them. As a child, he never had pets, and living with Audrey, they ended up getting a dog, not even a hunting dog, just an aging one they had found at the pound. And when Frida had died, a few years after Audrey, Alain couldn’t handle staying alone and decided that he did not have to be. First came Orion, and a couple years later, Procyon. He chose them sturdy, hoping that they would be here for a while, that they wouldn’t abandon him. 

Her compliments brought a red tint to his cheeks and he turned to look away, telling himself that she might not notice this way. He had never known how one was supposed to react to these. Saying thank you meant that he agreed, brushing it off would come off as falsely humble. Far from confident, the hunter prefered to look away. “I would agree. Although these days, time seems to stretch a lot. I read a lot, I used to never have time for it,” he took a long sip of coffee, and left his cup on the counter. With his crutches, it was probably the best option. As agile as he was, now was not the time to try things. “Well, I have to admit to promising pastries in exchange for help quite often,” or offering pastries in general. There were worse habits to have.

“Look, I’m sure it cannot be that bad. There’s hope in everyone, right?” Smiling back at her, Alain was headed toward his wardrobe when she asked if he could help her with brunch recipes. “Can’t have brunch without eggs benedict and some proper avocado toasts, can we? I could help with that,” he promised, sitting down on a stool as he started transferring clothes from shelves to boxes. 

“Really? Well like I said, I don’t usually have time for reading, but most of those I’ve read,” documentaries for the most part, comics from France and Belgium, and a handful of classics, both French and American. “What do you like reading?” Perhaps they had books in common, who knew. Her question brought a frown to his face. Too. So whatever it was she held in her hands, she could understand the subject. Oh well, it was totally normal to have books on undead creatures, just like it was normal to carry around salt and iron. “You don’t, do you? My parents always said that it was important to know where” things “words came from.” And of course this book was an essential of latin literature. Not. Always a shitty liar. He grimaced, and looked through the bedroom doorway to see if she had moved from her spot. 

 As nice as company on a quiet night at home sounded, Jasmine figured she could do without the added responsibility of a dog at this moment. Between her paid job and all the ghost related research she’d been doing as of late, she didn’t quite have the time to dedicate to a pet. She opted to not explain herself any further on that front and shifted focus to how well he took a compliment. The way his cheeks turned a rosy tint was not lost on her and she had an amused grin on her face as he agreed with her. That was a good sign. If you were good at something, you had to own it. “Well, I think they’re well worth helping for. Seems like you have some pretty productive hobbies to say the least.” She supposed hers had become more so productive than fun as of late. One of these nights, her bubble baths would include Pinot Noir and a romance novel and not coffee and books on poltergeists. Reading ancient texts was hardly what one would consider light and leisurely reading. 

“You say that now,” Jasmine responded with a laugh, “You haven’t tried my attempts at cooking.” Though maybe with a lesson or two, she could actually pick something useful up out of it. She did love avocado toast after all there was just that delicate stage of not overcooking or undercooking the eggs she’d yet to master. She found she enjoyed their easy conversation as well, so she added, “But if you’re offering, I’ll be taking you up on that. Avocado toast is one of my favorites. If you partake, I’ve been told I make a great mimosa.” 

“Well, I love Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurtson, so anything they’ve written is something I’ll always enjoy. I’m not above admitting I love romance novels so of course I enjoy Nicholas Sparks… everything else I read is a bit obscure. What about you,” Jasmine answered and opted to let Alain decide what obscure meant for himself. She wasn’t about to come out and say she read books on ghosts, poltergeists, exorcisms, and spectral beings. In this moment, he probably was under the impression she had her sanity intact, no need to ruin that. At least, not until curiosity took over. “Right,” she said looking at him as he peeked over to see her, “I’m sure a recount of the undead is how most people learn the basis of words.” Her emphasis on the word dead was hard to miss and she had a feeling her hunch was correct by the tone in his voice. “If this is the kind of reading you like to do, I think I actually have a few books in my collection you’d enjoy.” Maybe her own little hint that her book collection shared some similarities would put him at ease.

 “I mean, I also used to do rock climbing and running, there’s nothing productive about the latter, unless you consider staying in shape someth-. Okay fine, there’s always something productive about my hobbies,” Alain corrected himself before she could. He was starting to notice that she was quite witty and quick with her remarks, and he doubted that she would appreciate not being able to be witty about this too. And now that he was stuck at home, he did have time for less productive hobbies, hobbies that he had dropped out of over the years. Tidying up his attic, he had found old puzzles in their boxes, and while it was tempting to open them to start those 1000 pieces puzzles over, he was meant to move out of here soon, and he had decided against it. He still gardened a little too. Even if he was leaving, the next person would appreciate it. He also had re-potted the plants Nell and Evelyn had given to him, as well as some others he wished to bring over to his new home. Either way, knowing that he would not go back to the cemetery unless it was to bury someone came as a relief, it was quite an odd thought to have, as he really did not want to bury anyone he knew, and yet, to him, this did not feel like an exaggeration. His level of exhaustion had just gone up over the past few years.

Alain shook his head, not willing to believe that she could be so bad. In his eyes, no one was. But if you had never been taught things, of course there were things you just could not guess. “You’re right, I haven’t, and yet I can assure you that you can get good at it. Yes, good,” just like him, she’d never be a chef, but she could definitely cook nice things. Alain, who had never been a talkative man, seemed to enjoy their conversations enough to be willing to spend more time with Jasmine. That did not happen often, but he did not regret his offer. “Avocado toasts, deal. See, you can teach me about cocktails, because I know absolutely nothing about those,” wine, he knew quite a lot about, but cocktails were not something he knew a lot about, aside from their names.

“Alice Walker… Oh I think I have her book in there, somewhere,” he almost corrected himself to add well, one of her books, but stayed quiet instead. Alain guessed that Jasmine would know which one he meant. “Oh, well you probably would love Maupassant then. Not my favourite but I read a few of his books…” His voice trailed off as she mentioned liking more obscure literature. She did not summon demons, did she? His eyebrows raised a little as she looked back at him. Clearly he had not been convincing with his interest in etymology. How surprising. “Is that so, well if you wish, I have a whole collection of books like those already in a box.” Some might have not been in latin, some others were his journals, but the choice of words was too careful for this to be completely innocent. “Alright fine, what are your favourites then? Or least favourites?” He cleared his throat. He fell silent for a few, picking up the tape to close his box and catching a new one. “I’ll start if you want, I particularly dislike vampires. Can’t trust a species that hates garlic, can we?” He scoffed, shaking his head. Well, if he was wrong, this was going to be awkward.

 “I was going to say, those all sound productive. The primary reason I run is to stay in shape. Actually, no, that’s definitely the only reason I run,” Jasmine joked with a playful grin on her face. It dawned on her that having such active hobbies had to be a bummer with the whole losing a leg thing, but she wasn’t about to ruin the good mood that was going on here. Somehow the easy conversation seemed to make the fact she was packing not as annoying as it should have been. She’d almost daresay she was enjoying herself, especially as she picked one of the more interesting things to pack. As much was evident by the book on the undead in Latin of all things. 

Realistically, Jasmine knew she could probably cook decently if she put some actual effort into it and didn’t hate touching anything raw, but alas, she did and always got distracted somehow. Any time they had any sort of gathering, Bea always wanted to cook anyway so she just rolled with it. Cooking lessons didn’t sound so bad though. She laughed and joked, “You must be really confident in your abilities as a teacher then. I’ll do my best to be a good student.” She had to admit, the thought of not having to order takeout or leave the house to get avocado toast was appealing. Not as appealing as having an attractive man cook her breakfast every morning, but hey, she was nothing if not independent first. “Perfect,” she said brightly, “I am pretty good with cocktails though I do generally prefer wine for myself. I do make really good margaritas. They’re a personal favorite for pool days. Different varieties of mimosas are fun and go better with brunch though.” 

“The Color Purple?” Jasmine asked even though she knew that was likely the book he was talking about. It was one everyone knew, especially since the movie had come out which was fair. It was iconic. “Maupassant,” she mused, “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by him. If you have a recommendation you’d like to let me borrow, I could do for some more leisurely reading. I promise I’m not an animal who rabbit ears the pages instead of using a bookmark.” Now she watched carefully as she questioned the subject matter of the Latin text at hand. An eyebrow raised at the mention of having more books like this one already packed up. That definitely only furthered her suspicion that he was somehow more involved in the supernatural aspects of this town. Hopefully, in a good way given she was alone in his home with him. Nothing about him screamed axe murderer so she tried to withhold any reservations. “You do? May have to check your collection once you unpack at your new home.” His next question left her unsure of how to answer until he mentioned disliking vampires. Okay, maybe they were on the same page here. Her head tilted slightly with a hint of grin on her lips. “Hmm,” she started, “I’m not very well acquainted with vampires. I’m not a big fan of ghosts though. Poltergeists in particular are a real pain in the butt. Plus, the movie was so cheesy.” It was becoming pretty damn obvious they both knew what was going on here so she blurted out, “So, I guess we both know what’s up in town then.” He could probably put together why all the salt and iron bars fell out of her purse now. 

 “No one is that bad,” he rolled his eyes, and with a smile, shook his head. Alain had always been enthusiastic about cooking, and while her enthusiasm about it was not his, she still seemed interested in learning. “Ah? Well if you like wine, there’s the cellar to pack later,” he offered. His collection was nothing amazing, far from it, but he had quite a few old bottles that had acquired an excellent taste over the years, and a few others that would have to wait another decade. “I had no idea there were multiple kinds of varieties for one cocktail, really not knowledgeable about those,” he admitted with a small shrug. To each their strength. “Do you think I should learn those when my new house won’t even have a pool?” His smile brightened up, and he looked back to his boxes. It took him a moment to recall what it was that he wanted to do. Ah yes, the sock drawers. Putting only one sock in the washing machine was new to him, and not something he wanted to do in the long term. As ridiculous as it may have been, he’d probably put one on his prosthetic leg. 

“...Yes, that’s the one. The movie is quite nice too,” literature had been taught to him and his sister at about the same time they started to tackle more difficult vampires. Alain was thankful for the education he had received, even if his childhood had only very few fond memories. “He wrote a lot of romance, but he wrote horror too. I believe The Horla inspired the myth of Cthulhu,” he commented, as he neatly arranged socks in the cardboard box. “I think you would like Une Vie more, though.” He put the box down and moved to the livingroom to get his hands on his copy. “You don’t read French, do you?” He looked over at her, leaning against the shelf to reach over and hand her the book. If she didn’t read French, she could always have a look at the cover, he told himself, and he would be happy to read the back cover to her. Her remark about how evil it was to fold pages brought another smile to him, and another shake of his head. “I usually settle for a slice of cheese. Makes a perfect bookmark,” he nodded, as if he approved of this. 

“You are welcome to stop by,” he was curious about the kind of books she might have been reading in Latin herself. Clearly they shared an interest for the undead, but the subject was broad, although the salt and iron rods made more sense now, not that he ever suspected that those were for staging a house. “That is a cheesy movie, although you never had to suffer through a decade of vampire craze,” Twilight, Vampire diaries and God knows what else. He often pretended having never heard of them because they were just unbearable. Not that he liked Dracula a lot more, but nothing could reach the level of abomination modern vampire stories did. “I suppose so. Glad to meet a ghostbuster at last,” he held out his hand as if he was meeting her another time. 

 Jasmine simply waved off the remark about her not being able to be that bad. Surely, with some proper effort she could make something halfway decent with his guidance. At the mention of a wine cellar, she perked up. Not only was that marketable, but that meant he had a decent wine collection. Two totally amazing things in her book. “A wine cellar,” she asked somewhat incredulously, “I definitely want to help pack that up. And you know, peep that wine collection. I’ve got a fair number of bottles myself that I’m letting age.” One was actually due to open in a few months. She had every intention of saving it for her birthday. “Oh yeah, most cocktails have different flavor variations. I’m a big fan of adding rosemary to things.” She smiled to herself as she pulled more books off the shelf and placed them into the box on the table beside her. She noted there were a lot of books on astronomy. “Pools are not necessary for margaritas. They also pair perfectly with a good number of dishes… primarily Mexican dishes, but I stand by my statement.”

“It is,” she agreed with a smile as she pulled more books from the shelf. There were quite a few nonfiction ones that seemed educational. Even though Jasmine found her body to still be a bit sore, she did like the insight she was getting on her new client here. She could admit she liked him more than most of her clients though she’d remain perfectly professional. A sale and a new purchase was entirely too good to miss out on. “Definitely prefer the romance to the horror. This town has enough horror. But I’ll have to check out Une Vie.” He’d come over to pull his copy up and she looked over the cover. Seemingly romantic appearing book in French. “Actually,” she said brightly, “Je parle et lis le français.” She took the book from him and looked over the back cover. “I make a point of going to France at least once every couple of years. Used to go regularly with my family when I was younger, too.” She laughed as he joked about his bookmark habits, “I gotta say, that’s pretty cheesy, Mr. Babineaux.” 

“Thanks,” Jasmine responded and figured she may have to do just that. She shook her head over the vampire craze, “You mean, you weren’t into the sparkly stalker vampires?” She feigned shock and started clearing out the last of his books. “I never got the appeal personally. Edward? Total stalker. I don’t get how women weren’t creeped out by the whole showing up in the middle of the night and watching her sleep thing.” She shuddered a bit and added, “But yes, I’m your resident ghostbuster. Though I’d venture to say I’m much better looking than any of the original cast.” The next book she pulled down had an intriguing cover filled with stars. Cosmos. She peered over the cover and noted, “You really like astronomy, huh?” She’d open the cover to reveal a note from whoever had gifted the book. Her eyes fell on the name signing it. Evelyn. Was this the ex she’d been all sad over before? She quickly closed it despite the urge to be nosy and read the note. “I didn’t realize you know Evelyn,” she blurted out without quite meaning too. Tact outside of basic business professionalism had never been something she had much interest in. What was the point in not saying what you meant? He’d seen her glance at the note. There was little reason to hide her curiosity. 

 “It’s nothing special, the house was a farm in the past,” Alain explained. And the cellar possibly had other uses then. His carrots and potatoes seemed to also live forever in the darkness of that room, and that was something he would miss. He would have to purchase a wine cave for his new house as he doubted his new basement would have the same quality as his cellar. “Really? That’s nice ! There are not a lot of people around here who seem to care about wine. I would have to say that being raised in a French household where they serve wine to kids did not preserve me from becoming interested in this,” it did not happen at each meal, but he remembered that he and his sister had always had a bit of wine or champagne to have a taste, as apparently, any self respecting French had to develop a palate for wine tasting early on. “Rosemary? I have a bush or two in the garden if you want to take some home,” he offered with a raise of his shoulder. He was really going to miss this place, he thought to himself, nostalgia drawing his eyes toward the doors that led to the garden. He stared in the distance for a moment. “Mexican food? Not my speciality. Tex-mex I’ve done a bit, but nothing authentic,” he scratched at his cheek as he thought of more recipes he might have tried, but he mostly cooked French, American or South Asian cuisine. 

“Ca m’apprendra à juger un livre à sa couverture,” quite proud of his pun, he gave her a bright smile, letting her have a closer look at the book. Alain listened to her speak of her travels to France, and told himself that she truly was a woman who was full of surprises. Of course, he wondered, curious as ever, how many other secrets she hid up her sleeves, and while he was eager to know more, he did not want to appear as odd or rude, and so, he remained quiet. “I have not gone in a few years,” he wondered when he would ever go back. With his new expenses, travelling would have to wait a little, and he really did not see the point of doing so until he was completely mobile. Hiking was always part of his trips and he could not quite do that now. “I’ve been told I can be quite cheesy, yes, I know,” he had a small smile.

“No problem, we should trade information, although I might not be able to physically help in a little while,” he glanced down at the missing limb and could not help but frown. He just could not get used to it, and he felt less for it too. After spending his whole life trying to look and seem normal, there was this relique of his past that would always remind him of who he really was. “I’m afraid so, never been too fond of glittery things. Excuse me,” he left the room for a moment to go get some coffee in the kitchen, from there, he spoke louder, “I think some people like the idea of having someone watching over them, but this is a bit too literal if you ask me,” he had not read those books, and from what he had heard about them, from her and others, it was not like he was missing much. Moving back into the living room, he stopped by the dinner table to start sorting the mess, watching her take his astronomy books out one by one. “Oh, yeah, I have always liked that. Been part of the astronomy club for over two decades,” he admitted with a smile, that faded as he noticed which book she was holding. “I did not realize you knew Evelyn either,” he replied, perhaps a bit too fast, and wishing he had said something else instead. There could not be only one Evelyn in town, right? He could have said something like that. And yet the blank look on his face told a lot.

 “The fact you’d even think to have a wine cellar is special in itself,” Jasmine responded with a hint of awe in her tone. At first glance, she wouldn’t have thought him the type of man to have a wine cellar though maybe the last name should have been a giveaway. Paired with the baking and book collection it all tied together nicely. He was a man with good taste and she could appreciate that. “Oh yeah, typical small town that way. We’re not exactly in a wine region. Growing up in a French household, it’s be like sacreligious if you didn’t have good taste in wine. I just travelled a lot from a young age so I had a chance to develop a proper appreciation for good wine.” She’d gone to a lot of wine tastings as an adult as well. Maybe in part it was a pride thing, but she enjoyed the wine and learning about it all the same. At the mention of fresh rosemary to take home, she perked up a bit. “Really? If you don’t mind, I’d love some.” She found herself genuinely smiling and remarked, “There’s some decent Tex Mex here, nothing particularly noteworthy, but they have a good Taco Tuesday. All of those  sound delicious though.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m full of surprises,” Jasmine said with a bit of a laugh. Clearly so was he. 

They were all pleasant so far at least. It did leave her wanting to learn more about him though she supposed they’d have plenty of time for that if he held to his word on the whole cooking lesson thing. It already surprised her that she found she was looking forward to it. Cooking of all things though she could be honest with herself and admit the company played into it. She could pick up on a bit of wistfulness in his voice. It was evident he was going to miss his home and she could hardly blame him. Though a bit small, it did have a welcoming feeling to it. His leg injury must have been fairly recent, but she hoped he’d be well enough for travel soon. “I went this past spring,” she mentioned without thinking, “I did bring home some wine I may feel inclined to share during that cooking lesson.” 

“Well, you do have my card. Though you’re not the only one out of commission for a bit,” Jasmine answered calmly, barely biting back the urge to ask how he’d lost a leg. Knowing his distaste for the undead, she could almost piece it together anyway. No need to make him relive a bad and likely still fresh memory. “I prefer only my clothes or shoes to be sparkly. Not my men,” she joked as he excused himself to the kitchen for more coffee. Her eyes glanced over the note again. What were the odds it was the same Evelyn? The handwriting seemed vaguely familiar which only led her to believe her hunch was correct. She called out as he spoke, “Okay, I get being watched over can make someone feel safe… but not when the person doing the watching literally let themselves in through a window. That’s just stalking. Nothing romantic about it.” God knows she’d whack the hell out of someone who came into her bedroom or home uninvited. The astronomy was much more interesting though she hardly knew much about it. Alain really had some interesting hobbies. “Hm,” she started, “I like looking at the night sky, but couldn’t tell anyone much about it.” She watched the smile fade from his face and mentally cursed blurting out her question about Evelyn. “Small world,” she said coolly as she tried to brush the whole thing off. “I helped her find her house, too.” 

Jasmine had no desire to linger on the clearly awkward topic, so she piped up, “Why don’t you show me that wine cellar of yours? The books are pretty much good to go.”  

 “Oh, well,” his brows furrowed as he tried to reflect on how many people he knew who happened to own a cellar or a cave for wine. There weren’t many. Alain’s eyes shone a bit brighter, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes another hint of him being pleased with her company. Things were rarely so easy, and he wondered when things would turn sour, as things always did. But for now he had decided that he enjoyed her company and if she enjoyed his as well, even though knowing of him being a hunter, then perhaps things would not go sour, as they always do. Still, she was pretty spot on about the French and why this place didn’t have many people who cared for wine, and he nodded in agreement. “That’s pretty lucky indeed, I look forward to sharing thoughts on the subject,” he agreed with another smile, reaching out to grab the bubble wrap and start cutting pieces to wrap plates and other items. “Please, I just hope whoever buys my house will not tear it out,” he had a frown at the thought, as he saw himself, many years ago, getting started on that damn garden. The whole parcel was abandoned then, covered in what seemed like the remnants of a potato field. The hours spent clearing it all up, and the first flowers, the first fruits and vegetables, brought a smile to his face. In his nostalgia, there was happiness too, and there he was beaming like an idiot as he reflected on this episode of his life. It was not much, but it was his and that was all that mattered. Having made the recent choice of putting himself first at last, Alain was learning slowly, that it was those little moments that had made him truly happy, those when he was himself. 

Her laughter drew him out of this stream of consciousness, softly. “Never been fond of surprises, but some are actually nicer than others,” his hand reached for his cheek again, scratching at it as he thought about it some more. He just could not wait to get to start new things at his new house too. The place did not need much work, but he probably would still bother with a fresh coat of paint here and there. Unpacking, installing, settling in, those were things he was excited for. Perhaps he just wanted to think about anything that did not concern his leg, or perhaps it was something else, but he did look forward to it, as much as he was already counting the time he had left in his beloved home. “Oh, that’s quite recent,” he considered her offer with a raise of his eyebrow, which he followed with a grin. “I think I can agree to that, although making the teacher drink is not very conventional of you.” Amused, he looked back at his bubble wrap and noticed that he had not gotten much done. Talking and working at the same time, when you were not used to it, was one hell of an exercise.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he did not ask how she actually hurt her arm. As far as he was concerned, those injuries were so common for people like them, that how did not matter as much as why. You could not afford making the same mistake twice. Besides, he could guess what had happened easily, as there must have been a hint of truth in what she had told him, back at her agency. “And I prefer no sparkle in my life,” he did not mind it that much, although he had never had to use any in his life. Otherwise, he would have been aware of how terribly hard it was to get rid of, much like the mara who haunted him for weeks, if not months. The image of someone climbing through the window to watch him sleep just drew him back to those fearful days, and he was thankful when she changed the subject. “Astronomy is something I’ve enjoyed ever since I was a kid, so I’m afraid impressing me with your knowledge on this is… going to be a challenge,” the conversation once so light had gotten more tense with her question, and he was relieved to see her change the subject. “This way please,” he agreed, trading his bubble wrap for his crutches once again, and leading the way.

[dvp95]

not trying to hide it

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: explicit tags: flatmate au, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff word count: 5.6k summary: Phil's parents want him to get a flatmate. Bryony wants to get her newly-evicted mate off her couch. It’s not quite luck or fate, but Phil is thankful anyway. 

a birthday present for the lovely and hilarious @karcathy !!!!! they deserve only good things and you should all go wish them a happy birthday!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil doesn’t want to get a flatmate. He likes having his own space, because he can mess it up as much as he likes and doesn’t need to worry about someone making noise while he’s trying to sleep. He only pays part of his own rent, though - half during a good month - so he doesn’t have much of a choice when his parents tell him to find someone who can cover at least a third of it. London isn’t cheap, and Phil makes a fluctuating amount of money, and he supposes his parents are well within their rights to insist he gets his life together at some point.

He’s pretty sure that they helped him pick out a two bedroom so that he would do that eventually. Maybe they’d had some kind of pipe dream about nurseries? In either case, Phil’s just had his miscellaneous junk piled in the spare for over a year. There’s a futon in it whenever Martyn or PJ come over and don’t feel like taking the Tube home, but it’s currently piled high with unopened packages and stuffed animals.

Clearing the room is probably the biggest task. Phil’s got a lot of clutter, and getting rid of it is weirdly difficult sometimes. Most of it just ends up in his room or in the common area, making the rest of the flat look even more topsy than it already did. Opening all the PR is fun, until suddenly he’s got dozens of empty parcels to dispose of and various merch items from his online friends scattered all over the rug. At least most of it is clothing and accessories - he’s got enough storage in his room to handle more clothes. It’s the trinkets that he’s got problems finding space for.

Phil’s parents didn’t give him a deadline, which was probably a mistake. He’s all too happy to just exist with a barren spare room until they get on his case again, but that’s before Bryony gets ahold of him. Somehow, she scares him a lot more than his own mum does.

“Phil,” she says, blunt and businesslike as if she’s calling from work. Maybe she is - it’s quarter to four, which he supposes is a normal time for adults to be at work. Phil is in his pants and eating cereal. He didn’t even want to answer the phone, really, too invested in the complicated storyline playing out on Riverdale, but he knows she’d just keep calling until he did. “Have you cleared out that room yet?”

“Yes, mum,” says Phil. “I hated every second of it.”

“Good,” Bryony says. Which part she’s replying to is unclear. “My mate just got kicked out of his place and I want him off my couch. Will you bump him up the nonexistent list of potentials you’ve got?”

Phil pauses the Riverdale episode. It’s hard to focus on that and Bryony’s drama. “Well, that depends on why he got kicked out. Like, is he a dick? Did he not pay rent? Did he leave dishes in the sink for three weeks? Did he kick a hole in the wall trying to do drunk karate?”

“You need to stop comparing people to your uni housemates. No, nothing like that.”

“Then what happened?”

There’s a pause, and then Bryony makes a disapproving sort of noise. “It’s not exactly my fucking story to tell, is it? I’ll just say he ran into a bigot landlord and leave it at that, yeah?”

Something like guilt for pushing the issue settles into Phil’s stomach, but he scolds himself. He couldn’t have known that, and he didn’t want to blindly do a favour for someone troubled and stupid and in need of help. Bryony has a habit of collecting those people. When Phil feels like being honest with himself, he can recognise that he’s in that category as well. He doesn’t really feel like it today.

“Fine,” Phil says, like it’s a bigger hardship than it is. “Send him over, uh, Thursday?”

“I’ll send him over tonight,” says Bryony. Phil makes a loud noise of protest that she bowls right over. “You said the room is empty. Dan is eight feet tall and he snores like a lawnmower. I want him off my couch.”

--

Bryony’s mate isn’t eight feet tall, obviously, although Phil thinks it would be pretty cool if he were. The flat has high ceilings that Phil has to jump to touch, and he’s been amusing himself by picturing a giant of a man reaching up and just tapping on them. He does have to duck around the hanging light in the kitchen, but so does Phil.

“I’m convinced that’s going to be the thing that kills me,” Phil says conversationally.

Dan hasn’t said much, mostly just mumbling awkward pleasantries, but he laughs at that. When he laughs, Phil sees a glint of silver in his mouth that has his brain short-circuiting a little bit.

“Maybe,” Dan says as he looks dubiously into Phil’s cupboards. “Only if the sugar intake doesn’t get you first, mate. Why the fuck do you need four bags of marshmallows?”

“They’re different sizes!”

“Do you do a lot of baking or something?”

The question makes Phil flash back to the last time he tried to make muffins. The stain from that adventure turned meltdown still hasn’t come out of his favourite jeans. Whatever expression twists onto his face makes Dan laugh again, louder, and Phil decides that being a little stupid is worth hearing that unabashed sound. He gives Dan a sheepish grin and sticks his hands in his pockets. “No. I just like marshmallows.”

“You know they’ve got gelatin in them, right?” Dan asks like he’s trying to be serious, but the twitching of his lips gives him away.

“I like jello, too.”

“That’s not what -” Dan starts, and then honks. “How d’you know Bryony again?”

That’s a bit of a long, mortifying story, but Phil tells it anyway. He makes tea as he relives spilling a blue cocktail on her very expensive shoes and then following her around like a puppy while he tried to make it up to her. Normally he’d feel like he was talking too much, but Dan leans against the breakfast bar with attentive brown eyes and laughs in all the right places, so Phil doesn’t feel that hint of self-consciousness.

He hands Dan’s tea over in a Kirby mug and pours his own into an ugly commemorative one from a dinky Florida gift shop. For a moment, there’s quiet. Dan doesn’t seem uncomfortable as much as he seems contemplative, running his tongue absently over his teeth to catch on the silver ball in his tongue.

Then Dan says, “I don’t have any mugs. Or furniture. Or anything, really.”

“Nothing?” Phil asks, wondering if he ought to be aghast or just empathetic. He wonders if that has something to do with Dan being kicked out, or if he’s one of those minimalist people. “Not even, like, clothes?”

“I’ve got clothes, Jesus,” says Dan. Despite his grumbling, he looks more embarrassed than anything.

“Well,” Phil says, then comes up short. He hasn’t had to live with other people in so long, he forgets how this part works. “You can use whatever I’ve got. I don’t expect you to go out and buy your own plates or something, that would be silly. And we’d probably put off dishes even longer if I did.”

Dan smiles, but there’s a wariness that Phil doesn’t quite understand. “Okay. Thanks.” He takes a long sip of his tea, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and Phil reminds himself - not for the first time, not even for the first time today - that it’s pointless to think about how pretty a guy is when nothing is going to come of it. “So you’re, like, really okay with me living here? You don’t need to let Bryony bully you.”

“Not quite sure what the alternative is,” Phil jokes, “but I don’t mind. I need a flatmate.”

“I can be a good flatmate,” Dan says, with a weirdly determined air about him. Phil has no reason not to believe him, aside from his own bad experiences with young men sharing space with him, but at least Dan isn’t a uni lad.

Phil finds himself shrugging. “Okay,” he says, because this is all going much easier than he expected. He supposes Bryony was doing him a favour as much as he was doing her one, because the relief of not having to do a bunch of interviews with potentially creepy strangers is settling into him now. “Rent’s due on the first, the water pressure sucks on weekends, and I’m gay.”

Dan blinks. Some of that wariness melts into something that Phil can’t read before he looks down at his tea.

“Me too,” Dan tells the drink. “More or less.”

It takes actual effort for Phil to bite back the joke. Maybe if the admission weren’t pulling at Dan’s shoulders in such an obvious way, he’d ask if Dan meant he also sucked on weekends. Instead, he just smiles. “That’s good. If Bry sent me a homophobe, I’d have to return her Christmas present.”

--

Dan leaves just long enough to get his bags, and then Phil has a flatmate. He promises to get a key cut in the morning, but Dan just shrugs and says he doesn’t leave the house much anyway, so there’s not much of a rush. That’s when Phil figures out that they both work from home, and anxiety swirls in his gut at the idea of that quickly becoming an issue. It’s so much easier to get on each other’s nerves when they’re both around practically all day every day, but that’s a bridge he’ll have to burn when he comes to it, or whatever.

For a couple of days, Dan is like a wounded animal that only comes out of hiding when he hears the fridge door open. Phil knows there isn’t really anything left in the room aside from his futon and a desk that he and Martyn tried to put together tispy, but he supposes that Dan’s got a laptop and big padded headphones to entertain himself with.

After a little while of getting used to the place, though, Dan starts doing his work in the common area of the flat. He’ll sit at the breakfast bar to sort through potential articles with the air of someone very bored on Tinder or make a nest on the corner of the sofa to watch Phil play Zelda. He’s good about staying quiet whenever Phil is streaming, but sometimes he’ll laugh or tease Phil for a dumb move, and people start wondering who the voice out of frame is.

They play games together, too, when neither of them have work to do - or, more accurately, are avoiding their tasks for a little while with pizza and Mario Kart - and Dan wins more often than not. That should probably be embarrassing to Phil, since he plays video games for a living, but he’s never been the type to try and excel at every single game he plays. It’s more about the entertainment, both for himself and for his audience. He imagines Dan feels similarly torn between sheepish and intrigued when Phil looks at the HTML on Dan’s laptop and points to an issue that Dan’s been trying to find for an hour.

Dan is a nerd with a contagious laugh who writes up a chart of ridiculous Riverdale theories on their fridge whiteboard, and it’s getting more and more difficult for Phil not to notice him.

His hair looks soft, his eyes are as expressive as the rest of him, he’s all lanky limbs and hairless chest when he hangs out half-naked - which is unfortunately often - but his mouth is probably the worst offender. He’s always chewing on a pen or toying with his tongue ring, like he’s got to be doing something with it when he’s not talking, and that’s not a train of thought that Phil should be going down except during the privacy of his showertime.

At this point, he’s not sure if he should thank Bryony or strangle her for delivering him a gorgeous ‘more or less’ gay man with all the same hobbies and interests as him, because there are too many ways for this to end badly and only, like, one way he wants it to end.

--

Phil is streaming Apex Legends in a surprisingly competent team when his phone rings. It doesn’t ring very often, and it’s probably Bryony asking why he’s been holed up for over a month, so he ignores it. It’s only when it starts ringing again, immediately after it stops, that he frowns.

“Hey, Dan,” he calls. Last time he checked, Dan was rearranging the spice shelf into something that makes a bit more sense than its current state. He thinks it’s a little silly, and he’ll probably still reach for the hot chocolate in the wrong place, but he likes that Dan has been making himself more at home lately. He’s noticed a few of his knick-knacks shifting around the room as well. “Can you check who’s calling?”

There’s a clattering noise that slightly worries Phil, and then Dan says, “It’s your mum.”

Phil freezes. He’s in the middle of something, sure, but he’s been waiting for this call. He doesn’t want to tell the couple thousand people watching him play about his dad’s health, so for a long moment he doesn’t know what to do.

Then, Dan is leaning over the back of the sofa. He takes the controller from Phil’s hands and replaces it with his still-buzzing phone.

“Go talk to her,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep playing for you.”

Gratitude washes over Phil, and he practically runs to his room to take the call. He doesn’t have time to worry about what his Twitch audience will think of Dan’s sudden appearance after so much time as a disembodied voice, because he’s got to spend all his brain power concentrating on the things his mum is telling him. At least he knows he’s not letting his team down - if anything, getting Dan as defense is an upgrade.

The conversation with his mum is long, but it’s all good news. Phil lets his mum talk his ear off, because the relief in her voice is so palpable and contagious that he doesn’t have the heart to say he’s in the middle of a video game. She only says goodbye when he gently reminds her to call Martyn as well, and then Phil is alone in his room with nothing but the pounding of his own heart in his ears for company. They’ve had good news (and bad news and no news) from the doctors before, but every time it’s like a shot of adrenaline right to Phil’s system. His dad is okay, his mum is happy, and his rampant anxiety can take a short break.

Dan isn’t playing anymore when Phil comes back, probably because the round ended, but he’s rambling about his own Apex opinions to the chat. He’s passionate like he is about basically everything, his hands and mouth moving faster than his brain, and Phil feels more warmth settle into his skin.

“Gunning for my job?” Phil jokes, plopping back down on the sofa. His thigh is pressed to Dan’s, but neither of them shift away.

“Maybe,” Dan teases. He hands the controller back all the same.

There’s a question in Dan’s big brown eyes: Everything okay? He doesn’t need to know details to pick up on how important that call was, and Phil thinks that this would have been the point of no return if he hadn’t hit that a couple weeks ago. He beams at Dan and nods, and the crinkly-eyed grin he gets in response makes Phil feel like he’s floating on air.

Later, when the night is winding down, Phil’s body is thrumming. Normally he’d be curled up with a book on one side of the sofa while Dan and his laptop took up the other, and that would be enough interaction before they headed to bed, but Phil still feels wired.

“You wanna go out?” he asks for the first time since Dan moved in. He’s always been more of a homebody than most of his friends, but having a friend like Dan - because that’s what they are now, isn’t it? - who also enjoys sitting in relative quiet doing their respective activities has made him even more of a shut-in than usual. Dan is clearly surprised by the question, and Phil doesn’t blame him. “I just - y’know, I got good news earlier, and I’m happy, and I want to get a drink or something.”

“And you want it with me?” Dan asks, his dimple deepening in the tell-tale beginnings of a grin.

“Yeah,” says Phil. Maybe he ought to have some kind of explanation that doesn’t make him sound like an idiot with a crush, but he can’t be bothered to think of one right now. Besides, Dan is smiling with the silver ball between his teeth, so he probably doesn’t mind how Phil sounds.

“Alright,” Dan agrees easily enough, shutting his laptop. “I’ll get dressed.”

--

Neither of them dress up; Phil leaves his top buttons open and Dan’s jeans are distractingly tight, but that’s as much of a concession as they’ll make. Phil likes bars more than he likes pubs or clubs, and he thinks splashing ten quid on a neon pink cocktail is absolutely worth it tonight. Dan doesn’t offer his opinion one way or the other until they’re sat at a booth, and then he says, “Thank fuck you’re not a clubber.”

“You don’t like clubbing?” Phil asks, distracted by Dan’s mission of blindly finding his straw with his tongue. The longer he knows Dan, the more he’s tempted to look up whether or not oral fixation is a real thing. “I mean, I don’t really love it, but it’s fun sometimes.”

“I’d have to already be wasted to dance in public,” says Dan.

“Oh, I can’t dance,” Phil says, matter-of-factly, and Dan snorts into his drink. “But I do it anyway.”

The bar isn’t overly busy or loud, but Phil still has to strain his ears to hear when Dan mutters, “Maybe it’d be more fun with you.”

It’s a little too easy for Phil’s overactive imagination to picture. Dan, pressed close to him and laughing with his head thrown back every time Phil says or does something stupid. He hopes that the flush he feels high on his cheeks isn’t obvious in the low light, but he’s not optimistic. Dan’s smile is more of a smirk.

Maybe getting drunk with the object of his stupid affections is… not smart. But Phil’s drink is good, and Dan is striking up an easy conversation about the music that’s playing, so Phil pushes logic aside for the moment to just enjoy himself.

--

Phil wakes up with a dry mouth and a slight headache, which is honestly better than he expected after three cocktails and a greasy kebab on the way home. Either Dan drank less than he did or he’s better at holding his alcohol, because Phil remembers getting guided away from lamp posts by his big, steady hands a couple of times.

He remembers making a bit of a fool of himself in general, but if anything Dan got more and more smiley the more that Phil rambled about Star Wars. Phil had reached across the table and poked at one of Dan’s dimples, and Dan had laughed loudly before taking Phil’s hand and holding it to the tabletop for a couple of seconds. Phil hadn’t wanted him to let go, and he wonders now if the hesitation stemmed from Dan’s own reluctance to stop touching him or if that’s just wishful thinking.

Phil gets himself together enough to take some ibuprofen and a long shower. By the time he gets out, wrapped in various towels, Dan is awake and making breakfast. It smells like bacon, but Phil is wary. It might be that fake stuff Dan insists on buying.

“That smells good,” Phil says, suspicious. He drifts over to the breakfast bar to try and get a peek at the pan.

“It’s real bacon,” says Dan. He turns specifically to roll his eyes where Phil can see it.

“Oh, cool. I thought you weren’t eating meat.”

“I’m not,” Dan says. “This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

“God, you’re incredible,” says Phil. He thinks that maybe he should tone it down a bit, because Bryony will kill him if he messes up this very good thing they’ve got going, but he’s not humble enough to not notice the way Dan dimples and turns pink at the earnest compliment. “Seriously,” he adds, talking to Dan’s back as he plates up some toast and bacon. “I am so lucky you needed a place to stay.”

“Luck’s not real, first of all,” Dan says as he hands over Phil’s breakfast. “Secondly, you’re only saying that because I cooked for you.”

Phil isn’t just saying that for the food, but it certainly takes over his attention. He pulls the towel around his shoulders tighter and leans against the breakfast bar to eat. Dan steals the crusts off his toast, rambling the whole time about the work emails he’d woken up to. Every time Dan talks about the ins and outs of journalism and website upkeep, Phil feels grateful all over again for getting a job so far out of his official field that the sectors barely touch. He doesn’t think he could handle working with so many people who can’t figure out how to change the alignment of text in simple HTML or which words they should capitalize in a headline.

“Thank you,” Phil says when he’s done, coming into the kitchen proper to rinse his plate. It’s the least he can do, considering his inability to actually wash the dishes before Dan gets fed up with the mess.

“At the risk of sounding gross and sappy,” Dan hums, “it’s really me who should be thanking you.”

“Maybe we should just both thank Bryony,” Phil suggests, turning to look at Dan again. Dan’s eyes snap up from - somewhere? Phil’s bare legs, maybe? - to stare determinedly at Phil’s face as if he can pretend that they never wandered. “You being too big and loud for her couch is the whole reason you’re here.”

Dan honks a laugh and reaches out like he’s going to shove at Phil. He doesn’t make contact, possibly remembering that Phil is somewhat naked, and just lets his hand fall back to his side awkwardly.

“As if your futon is any fucking better, mate,” he says, seemingly insistent on not drawing attention to the weird things he’s doing. Phil isn’t exactly stupid, is the thing. He thinks about Dan hesitating before letting go of his hand last night, the way he always grins when he catches Phil staring at his piercing, how it feels less like an unrequited crush between them and more like they’re just hovering at the edge of something, and Phil decides to throw caution to the goddamn wind.

“Y’know,” he says, messing with his damp hair for something to do with his hands. “I don’t think you’d be too big and loud for my bed, if you wanted to try that out.”

Dan laughs like he’s not quite sure if it’s a joke or not, and Phil shrugs to hide exactly how much his heart is pounding.

“Where were you planning to sleep, then?” Dan asks. His dark eyes are careful, searching, and Phil’s anxiety doesn’t like that at all. He doesn’t need Dan seeing things that he’s not purposefully putting on display.

“With you,” says Phil. “If you’d want me.”

There’s a long moment of quiet where Phil starts to worry that maybe he’s made a huge mistake. Then, Dan grins slowly and comes closer, pinning Phil to the counter without actually touching him, and Phil grins back at him in sheer relief. “I dunno why, but I never figured you as the type to be so blunt about this sort of thing.”

“What, you thought I was capable of subtlety?” Phil teases, putting a hand to his own chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment. “That’s so nice of you.”

Dan laughs, louder and more genuine, and then his big hands are cupping Phil’s jaw as he leans in to press their smiling mouths together. It’s been a hot minute since Phil kissed anyone while he was sober, so for a moment he doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to do with his hands. When he feels cool metal drag against the underside of his tongue, though, his brain shuts down enough that his hands find Dan’s hips without endlessly second-guessing himself.

It takes a while for them to reluctantly separate, because Phil is busy figuring out how to snog Dan without metal clacking against his teeth too much and Dan is busy figuring out all of the weak points in Phil’s neck with his thumbs.

“You taste like bacon,” Dan says in a strangely scolding tone of voice for someone who had cooked it for Phil.

“Sorry,” Phil says nonsensically, sliding his hands up Dan’s shirt to trace shapes over his lower back. The movements pause when Dan shivers. “Bad? Or good?”

“Your hands are just cold, you spork,” says Dan. He kisses Phil again, quick but firm, and then takes a step back. Phil doesn’t even realise he’s frowning until Dan giggles at him. “C’mon. Bed sounds fucking great right about now.”

--

Phil doesn’t remember the last time he kissed someone for so long that his lips started to tingle, but he’s certainly not complaining. He stopped feeling self conscious about being naked almost immediately after Dan told him it was frankly illegal to put damp towels on a bed, because the hungry way Dan looked at him and grabbed at him after he hung them up quieted the anxiety right away. Dan’s shirt has been discarded somewhere in Phil’s absolute tip of a room, but the soft material of his joggers keeps making Phil bite back noises when it comes in contact with his cock.

“You’re so hot,” Dan tells him in one of the times their mouths aren’t locked, one large hand wrapped around Phil’s thigh and the other supporting his weight on top of Phil.

“No, you,” Phil insists, not caring how dumb he sounds. He’s been mapping Dan’s back with his hands, but he slides them down the back of Dan’s sweats to win the argument before it starts. Sure enough, Dan’s words get cut off by a loud whine of a noise that gets pressed into Phil’s collarbone. Phil feels up Dan’s ass a little before using his grip to roll their hips together. “Fuck. What d’you want?”

“That depends,” Dan hums against Phil’s skin, nipping at his chest.

“On what?”

“On if this is a one time thing.”

There’s a jolt of guilt in Phil’s stomach, and he winds fingers into Dan’s curls to force Dan to look at him. “Hey, no, it’s not like that. I like you, you idiot.”

Dan smiles, and there’s no small amount of relief in it. Phil feels like he should have been more clear, but at least he’s got Dan in his bed and smiling about it now. “Oh good. I like you, too, and it would have been really awkward if you just wanted a fuck.”

“I do also want a fuck,” Phil says, teasing. “If I’m being honest.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Dan says sarcastically, rocking his hips down again and grinning when a noise is surprised out of Phil. “Well, okay, since I don’t need to bucket list this, I wanna go down on you.”

“I’d love to hear that bucket list sometime,” says Phil. He lets go of Dan’s ass and uses his hold on Dan’s hair to push him down, a little more impatiently than he intended. He’s got an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Dan just grunts an approving sort of noise and presses his mouth to Phil’s inner thigh. “But - ah - not right now.”

Dan’s got a mouth made for sucking cock, so it doesn’t take Phil by surprise when he sinks down easily, squeezing Phil’s thigh and running his tongue over the head of Phil’s dick whenever he comes back up, but it sure does make his legs start to shake.

“Fuck,” Phil breathes, doing his best to keep his hips still. That’s a lot more difficult when Dan looks up at him with those big dark eyes and takes him as deep as he can. “You look so good like that, you know that? Bet you do.” Dan hums around his cock and the vibrations from his throat make Phil shiver. “Yeah, fuck, of course you do. Such a pretty mouth, huh?”

With a quiet, wet noise, Dan pulls up to catch his breath. He grins. “I also didn’t figure you for a talker.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this,” says Phil. He runs his fingers through Dan’s curls, tugging a little bit to watch Dan’s eyelashes flutter. “How’s it feel to be wrong about me?”

“In this case? Very good.” Dan presses his mouth to Phil’s stomach and bites down, just a little. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it still makes Phil’s hips jerk up. “I dunno, Phil, you’re usually a pretty fucking awkward person, which is, like, a big mood, and you don’t seem like much of a flirt.”

“I’ve been flirting with you for, like, a month and a half,” Phil laughs.

Dan grins wider. “Oh, oops.”

“I don’t have to talk if you don’t like it,” says Phil, even though he can fully tell that Dan does like it. Maybe he just wants to hear that Dan likes it.

The way Dan rolls his eyes makes it obvious that Dan can tell that he’s fishing, but he dimples anyway. “You don’t have to stop talking,” he says dryly, wrapping a big hand around Phil’s cock. “You know I like it.”

Dan takes Phil back in his mouth and closes his eyes like he loves it, which is a visual that Phil will absolutely be coming back to when he’s alone in the shower. Phil tells him as much, gives him a running commentary on every passing thought he has, because it’s hard to control his mouth as it is and the more he talks, the more worked up Dan gets. He sees Dan grinding into the mattress and pulls at him, not bothering to be gentle with it.

“Get rid of these,” Phil says, pushing at Dan’s joggers with a foot. He doesn’t actually think he’ll be able to help like that, but it gets his point across. “And then c’mere, I want to get you off.”

Dan laughs. “Alright, bossy.”

He sits up to get his sweats off and Phil sits up to watch. They grin at each other a bit as soon as Dan is naked, and Phil makes grabby hands.

“Bossy,” Dan repeats before knee-walking into Phil’s lap and kissing him hard. Dan wraps a hand around both of their cocks, but he doesn’t try to stroke. Without fully pulling away from the kiss, Dan murmurs, “Lube, now, I want to come.”

“Now who’s bossy?” Phil huffs a laugh, blindly reaching for his nightstand. He knocks over a couple of things in his search, but eventually he finds the bottle he’s looking for. He pours some over their cocks and gasps when Dan’s hand slides up and back down so easily. Phil would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about this, hadn’t wondered if Dan’s wide reach could envelop both of them, but he doesn’t bother telling Dan any of that. Instead, he drops the lube back onto his nightstand and settles a hand on Dan’s ass as he kisses Dan deeper.

Phil’s mouth finds Dan’s neck, and he can’t help laughing at the loud keen of a noise that seems surprised out of Dan’s mouth.

Even though Dan didn’t have his dick sucked, he’s as desperate and horny as Phil feels, and having a tongue and teeth on his pulse point seems to escalate it even more. His breathing is ragged, his hips are jerking up into his own hand, and he comes so hard between them that Phil feels some of it hit his face.

“Fuck,” Dan whines, letting go of himself to stroke Phil’s cock in tight, quick movements. Phil’s breath hitches, and he digs his fingers into the soft skin of Dan’s ass for something to hold onto. Dan kisses Phil’s forehead, then his nose, and then kisses his cheek. His tongue comes out to press against Phil’s skin, the cool metal ball still a small shock somehow, and it takes Phil’s brain an addled moment before he realises that Dan is licking his own come off Phil’s cheek. That’s so unbelievably hot to Phil that he couldn’t stop himself from coming if he even wanted to. He groans and fucks into Dan’s fist, tugging him into an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t taste Dan’s come on his tongue or anything, but the idea of it is enough to make him shudder through an intense orgasm.

Their kisses turn softer than Phil thought possible as they come down from it, and he nuzzles at Dan’s jaw. “I just had a shower,” he says, gently scolding. “Now I’m all gross again.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” says Dan, grinning. “I’ll clean you up, you big baby.”

Phil is fairly sure that their shower isn’t big enough for that, but he’s always up for trying.

--

After a heated debate on the benefits of flowers versus gift baskets, they end up taking Bryony out for pizza and beer. As thanks.

[cvrnelivs]

— ( harry styles, cismale, he/him ) &. * — meet ( cornelius ‘ oliver ’ edwards ) ! ( he ) is ( twenty five ) years old and has lived in st. helens for ( two ) years . when they’re not helping the town prepare for halloween , they work as a ( baker ) . around here, they’re known to be ( idealistic ) & ( intuitive ) yet ( unpredictable ) & ( destructive ) and apparently their favorite fall activity is ( visiting the farmer’s market ) . safe to say it really wouldn’t be halloweentown without them !

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is a LOT of info about my bb, cornelius/oliver. ** insert clown emoji but make ‘em yee-haw ** if you’d like to plot you can reach me on here or at space cowboy#8536 on discord !! <33 v excited to interact with y’all and your bbs !!

( DISCLAIMER : THIS IS LONG - WOW !!! just felt a lot of muse !!! apologies !!  ) 

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

name: cornelius oliver edwards.

nicknames: ollie, ol, lee !! literally whatever - “hey, you” dkjfgn

gender: cismale. pronouns: he, him.

age: twenty-five.

birthday: june 27th.

zodiac: cancer !!

orientation: pansexual / panromantic.

occupation: baker // aspiring filmmaker.

languages spoken: english & french.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

- PINTEREST - featuring his wardrobe, his home, his aesthetic, some character inspo and olive, his german shepard pup !!

- SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - what oliver is currently listening to !!

personality type: INFJ-T / THE ADVOCATE

moral alignment: chaotic good

style-wise: oliver is v stylish, but isn’t overly flashy by any means. he’s intuitive in the sense of what works and what doesn’t. willing to explore the latest wardrobe craze, but also just likes what he likes and likely won’t venture out unless pressed by another to do so. post coming soon for his wardrobe !!! they say that the cancer man’s clothing is selected to reflect “ sophistication over flash “ but kdgjn i’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. he’s v much harry inspired clothing wardrobe, but also tones it down with some casual looks, especially with being in the bakery and getting his hands dirty in creative aspects !!

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

   oliver was born in kent, england. he’s the youngest in his family of three, having an older brother and sister w/ two loving parents. when he was nine, his family packed up and moved to southern california, where they resided until oliver left for college on the east coast - his family trading off between living back in england and on the west coast throughout the year. upon moving to a new country at a young age, oliver truly found himself via escaping into various books and movies. often attempting to write his own and would force encourage his siblings to act his skits/plays out for his parents enjoyment. growing up, oliver also enjoyed playing all types of sports ( his parents kind of threw him in hoping he’d make friends ), but when it came down to it, athletic abilities-wise, there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t ‘ good ‘ at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual / as well as a perfectionist. that competitive/perfectionist energy caused him to go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. throughout highschool ; oliver was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not, as well as take part in various clubs and sports ! just SOFT and sportythings.

   post-high school, oliver attended NYU double majoring in film & television and dramatic writing. despite his extensive and well received portfolio, oliver has always been a perfectionist and overcritical of his work, unwilling to share his projects with anyone until he deems them to be ~ perfect ~ himself. after graduating, he spent a year traveling, trying to find a bit of inspiration around him and taking up odd jobs to get some $$ of his own, dog walking, attempting his best at being a handy man, etc !! he moved back home to socal, and eventually made his way up to st.helen’s after he was sent a job posting for the bakery in town !! although he knows he doesn’t want to pursue a career in baking forever, he’s enjoying his time while trying to find a bit more muse for his future film&writing career.

   overall, oliver can come off as a bit reserved, and distant whether that be a result of his untrusting nature of others, or simply unfamiliarity. it takes a bit of time before he feels comfortable to share his true opinion / commentary / only doing so when he feels secure to do so. he’s not necessarily unfriendly, just a bit distant / lost in his thoughts. which varies, as with most ppl ofc, upon person to person and his level of comfortability among them. despite his often lack of conversation, he abhors an uncomfortable silence to settle and will fill it with nonsense to simply avoid the feeling altogether. so, if you ever want to catch him rambling, just making him uncomfortable dkjfngdf. he definitely approaches most things with a bit of ‘ tough love ‘ . he doesn’t mind getting into a quarrel or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. oliver will tell others when they are fucking up, and if they are throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it, which explains his bout of reckless antics. he can come off as a know it all, when it comes to advice giving, but more so because he thinks he’s really good at analyzing others and situations they are in, not necessarily because he’s lived through them himself, he’s just rather intuitive and able to empathize quite easily with others despite his verbal admittance of it. when it comes down to this binches reckless bits, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all ( especially bc he’s definitely not sharing those feelings with the people around him ), therefore he’s willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels overwhelmed by numbness. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ mind ya business. but he’ll likely try to drag somebody else into it, and make it seem like it was their idea. but if he is truly comfortable with somebody, he walks a fine line of won’t stop talking, especially if it’s an interest of his, and comfortable silence.

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 & 𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖘

he is a CANCER, therefore in this essay i will..... kidding but here’s some fun cancer info i saw that applies to my bb !! at first he appears to be wistful, sarcastic ( maybe a lil crabby ) , shy, distant and mysterious. this personality remains if he isn’t completely comfortable around somebody. but overall, that’s just his facade, his ‘smokescreen’ of sorts to scare off the world from his outwards persona. underneath that layer ( makes me think of shrek metaphor with onions // don’t mind me ), BUT he’s gentle, kind and affectionate ( if you manage to make it to that level * bell dings * ) !!! overall, oliver is a sensitive soul, a bit emotional although he’d rather d*e than show that to others. likely will internalize anything that can hurt his feelings / a low blow and will do something chaotic as a result later on bc of it. very polite, and a little worldly, he is truly the epitome of old-school gentlemanly manners. chivalry coming as a second nature to him !!

that was getting ramble-y, so continuing HERE. but when it comes to romance, as per the cancer man, the concept of love is a mystery, one that oliver is trying to attain. however, his shyness and innate distrust of others make it difficult for him to allow himself to fall in love. his guard is always up when it comes to his emotions, and it’ll take a bit of prodding before he’s willing to speak up on what’s desired from him. he’s v picky when it comes to finding the “ partner of his dreams “ - but he’s def willing to throw himself into the romance of the situation, i.e. buying flowers, riding white horses, and slaying metaphorical dragons. the traditional side means that he will shower his partner with thoughtful gifts, wine and dine them in the best restaurants, and try to grant their every wish. he will take the garbage out, fix that wobbly shelf, navigate on road trips, and kill more so trap and release bugs for his partner, and most important of all he will do it all without being asked. his loyalty and keen attention to the needs and wants of his potential partner. so basically, more so willing to showcase through actions than speak on it. it’s the little things, right ??!?!?! he def cherishes not just the act of being in a relationship, but what it means to become one with another person in mind, body, and soul.

prides himself on being able to make a mean cup of coffee, likely the worst person to watch a movie with bc he knows exactly how it’s going to end after only watching five minutes of it, he has a godawful sense of direction, will walk in circles for fifteen minutes before even raising a question about it/noticing ( but he refuses to acknowledge it. )

his house, car, workspace, junk drawer, closet….you name it - it’s organized, practically sparkling. often times arranged by color, and / or style. nothing is ever out of place, and if it is - there’s trouble brewing. but, more than anything, if he’s visiting somebody’s place and it’s messy, he will spend a solid thirty minutes picking everything up before doing whatever it is that was intended.

likes : reading, flowers, handwritten notes/letters, deep cleaning, baking, curating soundtracks for his film projects, watching the history channel and true crime docs and playing / watching hockey !!

dislikes : artichoke, clutter, sandals ( fkjgh ), unrealistic plotlines in movies &+ burnt coffee.

habits : smoking cigarettes - although he’s been meaning to quit. likely has a severe caffeine addiction, although he’s now normalized having six cups of coffee throughout his day. he’s an early riser, no matter how little the amount of sleep he’s received, he’s always the first to rise - for his early morning runs !!

strengths: creative, insightful, inspiring, convincing, determined and passionate, decisive, altruistic, intuitive !!

weaknesses: sensitive, extremely private, perfectionist, low-key always needs to have a cause / purpose, can burn out easily !! 

overall : oliver truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his bit of chaotic energy / as well as his often points of getting lost in his thoughts. he won’t realize he’s been quiet for the last three hours unless it’s mentioned to him. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day. wahoo! his more reckless antics increase when he’s feeling a bit emotional !! but he’ll likely try and convince somebody to propose the idea so it’s not on him. 

𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

in an attempt to throw himself into the town’s traditions and what not, after moving to st. helen’s oliver decided it was upon himself to put on a very spooo0ooky haunted house! so, catch him converting his home into a haunted house for the month of october !!! nothing cheesy either !! it’s more a psychological scare dkjgn with some gore elements !! EnTeR iF yOu DaRe !!!

he bounced around playing sports growing up, but favored ice hockey and field lacrosse out of them all.

HE WANTS TO JOIN A BOOKCLUB PLEASE !!!!!!!! or at least have some casual moments of silence with another reading. plz and tysm.

he is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school and has no plans on eating seafood/meat ever again.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured. visits seb’s winery v often !!!

he can play the drums !!

he collects vintage matchbooks and the stickers off of various fruits ( he puts them in a little notebook - can be found on his bookshelf ).

saves handwritten notes and letters from pals.

he loves to garden !!!! he has a specified rose shearing hat.

to make things a bit simple, he has all of harry’s tattoos !!  might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

honestly, i am so up for anything !!! please accept this ramble of ideas thrown below.  if you have any other ideas, lmk !!!! <3333 :’-)

( 2 / 2 ) - BFFZ : the z for an added emphasis dkfjgnd. somebody who likely has a key to oliver’s house, they can enjoy one anothers company as well as the bouts of comfortable silence. you know how best friends are but kdjfngd still !! whether they are likeminded or polar opposites that just flow ~~ down for anything !! even a trio of sorts ?!

( 0 / ?? ) - MUSE(S) : somebody that he often strikes inspo from for his short films and what not !! or has starred/he plans to have them star in his future compilations of sorts !! can be simply from their own ideals, their look / ~vibe~ dkfjgn // whatever !!

( 1 / 1 ) - RIDE OR DIE / CHAOTIC COMPANION : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although oliver may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around.

( 1 / 1 ) - GUARDIAN ANGEL / GOOD INFLUENCE : with ollie being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may be worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

( 0 / 1 ) - PARTY FRIEND : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embarrassing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details. likely the only person oliver confides in, simply bc he’s completely plastered.

( 1 / 1 ) - SIBLING-LIKE RELATIONSHIP : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. truly a pure content filled relationship.

okay quick mention, ENEMY PLOTS ?!?!?!?!?!? i would live for one. i can’t imagine oliver being hardcore nasty, but i’d like to see whatever version comes out for this. so let’s get it djfngjakdfg maybe they just hold different viewpoints on the world and what not and clash, anything really !!! v open !!

( 1 / 1 ) - MENTOR - oliver needs a bit of structured or unstructured guidance, all depending on what their deemed mentor is wanting to impart on him, a bit of wisdom or slight chaos. kdjfgn he’ll take anything !! life advice in any and all aspects. maybe they come into the bakery, or maybe they help him with his garden. who knows, i certainly don’t know how they met, but we’ll figure it out ?!?!

RANDOM LITTLE IDEAS : maybe they’ve heard of one another in town, but haven’t quite met yet! or maybe they see each other around all the time, but have yet to introduce themselves to one another but low-key maybe in some online forum for the town together ?! who knows some fun things kdjnfg i AM OPEN !

ooh maybe a slowburn of sorts ?! something spicy to wreck ollie’s and my life with.  dkfjgn we can base this off of chemistry !!! :’-) 

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

APH College AU: China

Oh hey look I’m doing the Asians now? Perhaps! AU intro here, highly suggested you read for context of why China is out of college.

Also, I know chefs aren’t supposed to be a waiter/see customers and cook at the same time, but too bad. He likes interacting with people personally and is good at knowing when to go back into the kitchens to make sure the food doesn’t burn.

- Owner and head chef of a small Chinese restaurant called Upside Down Luck (*any suggestions for other names are cool!*). He’s thinking about expanding pretty soon, since business is good and very consistent and a second restaurant would probably be as successful as the first. - 50% of business is college students, so he knows most of them. Most have come to his place at least once, and some, such as America, are regulars. - He's really good at memorizing faces and names, and can usually recognize people from the college. They get treated with either “Welcome back! How’s school? I heard there was a small fire in the labs!” or “You, again? *sigh* Same as last time?” - Also relating to that, he never lets students get more than two bottles of alcohol, especially late at night, and has never fell for a fake ID (partly thanks to his siblings telling him who’s a sophomore, freshman, etc). A true mom. - Knows all the school gossip also because his siblings, especially Taiwan and Japan, but South Korea also lets things slip because he forgets China doesn’t know; at dinner or something he’ll be like “Remember how ___?” And China whips around, very surprised and says “What??” with a raised eyebrow and a look that says s p i l l   t h e   t e a   s i s - He always complains about making his food too “Americanized” (?) but honestly it’s more Authentic Chinese style than most people - DESPISES Panda Express and their orange chicken. CHN: “Why is this sweet????” HK: “Chill, that’s just American Chinese food. Anyways, it’s okay tasty.” “No.” “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

- A whiz at budgeting and bargaining; always stays on top of his finances and sometimes manages his siblings’ finances as well when he’s really pissed at them for being lazy/not responsible with their money. A lot of the restaurant’s success is due to his cunning and money managing. - When he’s cooking or frustrated or hot, his ponytail goes up into a sort of bun. He’s not too happy with how it looks on him, but it’s just more convenient that way, either because regulations/sanitary purposes or to get his neck cooler. - He gives his siblings 20-30% off on restaurant stuff most of the time, but it varies a little with mood. Most other students have been jealous at some point or another, but the other side of the deal is that they can’t call Yao “mother” or “grandma” or “grandpa” in any form. They still do it though, and then he’s like “No privileges for you!1!2!1!!” - Also, the restaurant layout is super fengshui, because Yao is superstitious as heck, but also because it’s actually useful for interior design. Like it’s all perfectly aligned, windows face north-south (to get fresh air and sunlight), the door doesn’t have clutter around it, etc. It honestly looks a bit minimalist but also traditional at the same time. During the Lunar New Year he puts up menshen (门神) on the door and couplets on the sides of it, and he always has a small Metteyya (弥勒佛) statue/idol/thingy in the back of the restaurant for money and luck. - Laughs internally at people failing at using chopsticks. (He provides knives and forks and spoons of course, but there are always the handful who keep trying chopsticks). I think he’s the type to just... casually watch you struggle in vain and won’t do anything to help. Of course, if you’re a friend, then he’ll definitely try to teach you, but he doesn’t mind having a laugh at most of his customers. I think South Korea, Hong Kong, and perhaps Vietnam (Japan, Taiwan and Macau would be too kind to laugh and chopsticks aren’t widely used in other Asian countries) would stand and watch as well, taking out their phones and recording any particularly hilarious attempts. - He doesn’t live right above the restaurant, but has an apartment 3 blocks over. It’s not small, but not too big either, so when his siblings come over it gets kinda crowded. South Korea and Hong Kong are always telling him to move out and get a larger place, but China just kinda refuses out of sentimentality. “I like this place too much to leave it!” - Wakes up at 7 AM every morning and walks around the neighborhood and sometimes goes to the college to visit India. He likes routine, and considers it a really refreshing part of his morning. - I haven’t decided a lot of the other ancient’s lives yet, but China and the others would definitely get together for chats once in a while. All of them just happened to stick around close by after college and they’d talk about work and college gossip. College gossip is provided by China and India, but they all know a bit since their siblings are still there. - He majored in business and took a whole lot of outside culinary arts classes in college, and also happened to take a bunch of other random classes just for the heck of it. So now he’s educated on things like human behavior and what people would do in a zombie apocalypse + why they react that way, garbage and sustainability, and medieval studies + folklore through Game of Thrones. He considered taking a tree climbing course but didn’t, just because he didn’t want to waste time relearning how to climb trees with ropes. - Corollary to that, he probably has the weirdest fun facts because of all this miscellaneous info he’s collected. “Did you know there’s immortal cancer cells?” “I don’t want to know, Yao.” (Above fact is true but the story of the cells is really sad (and twisted and makes me kinda angry). They’re called HeLa, after Henrietta Lacks.) - His dorm room was probably on the neater side. However, it wasn’t too meticulously organized, and sorta like a thrown together hodgepodge of themes/aesthetics. Not that pretty to look at but it did its job well for him; he never really lost things in his room. - Loved math assignments (even though he grumbled) and bs-ed English, didn’t do too well in it. I think he’d honestly be ok with a B+, and his grades would’ve ranged from 87s to As depending on subject, with possibly one C+ where he just didn’t really apply himself. But he still applies the Asian Parent Standard to his siblings (but isn’t too strict about it most times. Just when he feels they’re really consistently not doing their best when they could be aceing a class). - He loved history though, and took a lot of courses about it that he didn’t need to graduate. This is also how he met India. - I feel like Yao would have a lot of lifehacks, both for managing college work, job lifehacks and things he uses in the restaurant daily, and tricks for outdoor work ex. farm work. Like if you put him outdoors in a rural area and told him to grow crops and raise chickens, he’d totally be okay with it, and would probably be able to do it well. This is in contrast to his siblings, who are more of city (?) kids. - Of course, he’s proficient with tech stuff and office work, but isn’t as good at it as Japan or HK. - Has a 3/4 heat tolerance and a 5/10 cold tolerance. He warms up by cooking (hot stove) or drinking warm water or tea. - Proud, a bit overly critical of people and nagging. He often gets tiny bursts of anger/intense annoyance at small things, and it makes him scary sometimes. (I hc it’s like this; someone does something slightly off/wrong and he kinda has a mini explosion, but it doesn’t affect his overall mood and he’ll still be pretty cheery to you after the incident is corrected.) - Again, his anger isn’t really full blown anger, but more a bunch of small annoyed explosions. It’s rare he gets mad, but if so, it’s usually a long tirade and lecture with lots of hand motions and shouting. It’s sorta scary since he doesn’t often get like that, so it’s serious when he does. - Relationships with some of his siblings are strained a little. They’re like a sorta mismatched family with lots of squabbles and petty disagreements, especially about who can order the others around. - Honestly a people person, he could ramble on and on for days about his life. Some people find him tiring, but he’s a good mixer with strangers. Casual friends with a lot of people, especially those who appreciate sarcasm and can snark right back at him.

Thanks for reading! I didn’t want to include too much about China’s college days but ended up writing more than I intended. Also, the “random college courses” I mentioned are all real classes, obviously not from the same university, but they exist (pretty cool!!) Next up will probably be SK or HK (I have more ideas for them than some of the others). Feedback is welcome and appreciated!

[tigerwing-writing2]

Spirits Chapter 1

I’ve had this idea for a very long time. | Chapter 2 |

    She woke up in the middle of the night, hanging halfway off her bed. It was very dark, the only light filtering in through the window. She got up and laid back down, only to sit up less than a minute later.

    It was cold, her breath fogging in the air. She reached for the lamp and turned it on, letting out a tiny hiss as her eyes adjusted to the light. She looked around her room. Everything seemed a bit wrong, having been cleaned before she went to bed. 

    The familiar piles of clothes were thrown into a basket, the chair that was usually in the center of the room neatly pushed under the desk where her laptop sat. Her nightstand was cluttered, still. Or rather already.

    She got up and pulled her chair out, sitting at the desk and opening the laptop. She quickly typed in her password, rubbing her eyes immediately after. A youtube tab was open, paused, showing the playlist she’d thrown together to clean her room. 

    Hitting play, she sat back and looked around. It was nearly two in the morning, and she was wide awake. Her eyes landed on a bit of movement close to her door. She jumped, nearly falling out of her chair.

    Whatever had moved was gone, but her heart continued pounding in her ears. She drew her legs up, sitting on her feet, and paused the music. She could hear a faint scratching sound somewhere to her left.

    “It’s probably just a mouse…” At her words the scratching paused before becoming more frantic, as if whatever was there was absolutely terrified of her. She laughed a bit, putting a hand to her chest, where her heart was still beating rapidly.

    She got up and approached the sound of the scratching. A tiny shape darted out from under her bed and squeezed itself under her door. She opened her door quietly and peered into the hall. There was no sign of the mouse.

    “Huh…” She walked into the kitchen and turned on the light before reaching and getting a glass out of the cabinet. She slowly filled it with water, trying to keep quiet. She took the water into her room and nearly dropped it.

    Sitting in her chair was a transparent, glittering, almost blue-green cat. It had blotches of darker, lighter, and brighter coloring, as if it was some sort of spectral calico kitty from god knew where. In its mouth was the mouse, squeaking frantically, nearly dead.

    She stared before slowly putting her water down and closing her eyes. “When I open my eyes again, this thing will be gone and so will its snack.” She opened her eyes.

    The cat wasn’t gone, and was staring at her with bright interest. It dropped the now deceased mouse and hopped off the chair, walking to her and rubbing against her leg.

    She nearly screamed. The cat brushing against her leg felt cool, more like a cold patch of air. There was no resistance as she tried to nudge the cat away from her. It looked up, meowing at her. There was no sound.

    “You’re just a figment of my imagination.” The figment of her imagination meowed at her again. She grabbed her water and moved to her chair, giving the cat a wide berth. She collapsed into the chair, having forgotten about the mouse, until she was forced to remember by sitting on it.

    She jumped back up, looking in her chair. The mouse lay there, unmoving, looking almost pitiful. She looked at the cat. The cat stared back. She grabbed the mouse and slung it into the trash, hoping that she’d remember it in the morning. 

    “Jesus fucking christ… can you get out of my room?” She asked, looking back at the cat. The cat was gone, as if it’d never been there at all. She closed her door and her laptop before turning off the lamp. “That’s what I get for going to bed early, I guess.” She curled up on her bed, trying to ignore the memory of the cat.

    The next time she woke up, daylight was just beginning to creep into her room. She got up and stretched before heading into the kitchen to make coffee. As she did her phone rang. She yawned and answered.

    “Hey, Lizzie. Thought I’d check up on you,” her friend immediately said.

    “Hi Tom. I’m ok. Just making coffee.” I put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter.

    “I still can’t believe you drink the devil’s bean juice.”

    “What? It keeps me awake.”

    “I guess. Hey, I had the weirdest dream last night…”

    “Yeah, me too.”

    “All I remember now is watching you walking somewhere. Following this… cat?”

    “What?”

    “Yeah… it looked like a calico but a bunch of shades of blue.”

    “Tom…”

    “What?”

    “That cat was in my room last night.”

    “Really?”

    “Yeah. 

    “Freaky.”

    “No kidding.”

    “Want me to come over there today?”

    “Maybe when I’m awake.”

    There was a knock on her door. She answered it, and there stood Thomas, grinning obnoxiously. SHe walked back into the kitchen, leaving the door open. “Rude,” He said, walking in after her.

    “Yeah.” She looked down at her pajamas before hanging up the call. 

    Thomas followed her in, leaning against the counter, watching her start the coffee brewing. “So, how are you actually doing?”

    “I slept horribly. Aside from that I’m not looking forward to doing any school shit.”

    “Yeah, I feel you there. I still have a paper to write…”

    “Then why come over? I’m glad you’re here, I’m just curious.”

    “I’m bored of class.” 

    “Already? It’s only… 8 in the morning.”

    “Bold of you to assume I slept.”

    “But- You said the dream you had?”

    “That was yesterday afternnon, if I’m being honest.”

    “So… You’ve been up all night?”

    “Basically.”

    “I think you need the devil’s bean juice more than I do.”

    “Never.”

    “Fine. How’d you call right after I woke up?”

    “Magic.”

    “Uh huh. Ok then.”

    “I don’t know, just lucky.” He reached towards her and she realized she hadn’t showered in… how many days now?

    “Uh…”

    He tugged on her braid lightly. “Go take a shower, I’ll make you breakfast.” He got up and headed into the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

    “Tom?!”

    “Go ahead!”

    She sighed and went into her room, getting a towel and a change of clothes. She could hear Thomas in the kitchen as she walked into the bathroom and locked the door. 

    When she got out, Thomas was still in the kitchen. She wiped off the mirror and brushed her hair, wincing at the tangles, before drying it with the hairdryer. She brushed it again and dried off before getting dressed in a hoodie and jeans. She hung the towel up and took her dirty clothes to her room.

    Thomas was in the kitchen, singing Counting Stars. She stopped, listening, before going into the room. 

    “Oh, there you are,” he said, holding out a plate of pancakes. 

    “Yeah.” She took them and sat down.

    He casually braided her hair as she ate, braiding it and unbraiding it. It felt nice having him play with her hair, not that she’d ever admit it. He took her plate when she was done eating, despite her protests. “I got it, Lizzie. Consider this a rest day.”

    “Uh… Ok.” She walked in the living room and sat down, checking her phone. There was a text from her father, saying he paid the bills and he was staying with his girlfriend for at least the next week. 

    “Anything interesting?”

    “Huh? Oh, no, just my dad. I guess I’m watching the house for a few days.”

    “Sounds like fun. Can I stay a night?”

    She looked at him. “I love you, but hell no.”

    He put his hand over his heart, feigning shock. “You love me?”

    She snorted. “Yeah, you’ve been my best friend since I moved into this godforsaken house. Of course I love you.”

    “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

    “Don’t get used to it.”

    “Oh?”

    “You heard me.”

    He reached over and tugged on her braid. 

    “Stop it.”

    “Why, you like it?”

    She pulled away from him, glaring.

    “I’ll take that as a yes.”

    “Why are you really here?”

    “I missed you.”

    “Thomas…”

    “Oh, pulling out a full name, Elizabeth?”

    “Stop it.”

    “Teasing you is fun.”

    She stood up, backing away from him a bit.

    “Alright, I’ll stop. I’m sorry, Lizzie.”

    “Please… just get out.”

    “Lizzie, I said I’m sorry!”

    “I’ll let you know when I want you around me again.”

    “Lizzie-”

    She shoved him out the front door, flinching slightly as the door slammed. She might have been overreacting, but she was alone in the house. If Thomas tried anything, she would be completely defenseless. She locked the door.

    Her phone rang and she silenced it. 

    Outside, Thomas was sitting on the porch, trying to call Elizabeth. She wouldn’t answer, instead, she went into the living room and sat on the couch again.

    When she looked in the kitchen, the cat was back, laying in a patch of sunlight, nearly transparent. She stared at it for a while. This time it didn’t scare her, instead, the cat felt more like a friend.

    Her phone lit up with a text from Thomas: Be careful.

    She ignored it, watching the cat sun itself. It was laying on its side, its tail tip curling and uncurling. She yawned quietly. The cat’s ears perked up and it lifted its head before trotting over.

    It brushed against her hand, feeling cold, but there was still nothing, no actual contact. She sat up and the cat curled up on her lap. She felt the slightest bit of pressure on her legs, as if the cat weighed barely anything. 

    Outside, clouds were gathering as Thomas walked to the park. He looked up at the sky in time to trip over a wide crack in the road. He landed sprawled on his stomach, his breath knocked out of him, and could barely sit up. 

    His hands were scraped lightly, along with his chin. He licked the blood trailing from the cut on his lip, standing carefully. He made his way towards one of the benches and collapsed onto it, trying to get his breath back. He had just been walking, if he’d been running and tripped he’d probably have gotten at least a few more scrapes.

    Elizabeth watched the cat curiously. It was seemingly asleep again, relaxed on her lap. She undid the braid in her hair, combing it with her fingers. The cat stirred slightly before opening its eyes and meowing at her.

    She started humming and the cat jumped down from her lap. “What, is it that bad?” 

    The cat walked in the kitchen. She got up and followed curiously. The cat was gone. 

    At the park, it started to rain. Thomas moved, sitting in the middle of one of the shelters. Scratched into the wooden table were multiple phone numbers, hearts, and random drawings. 

    Thomas shivered, looking out. The blood on his hands was dry when he looked at the scrapes. He ran his fingers through his hair before pulling his jacket tighter around him. The rain fell much faster, the drops getting heavier as the time went on.

    The longer he sat there, the colder it seemed to become, until it felt like it shouldn’t be raining but snowing instead. His phone rang.

    Elizabeth held her phone to her ear, waiting to see if Thomas would answer.

    “Lizzie?” He asked as soon as he picked up.

    “Where are you?”

    “I’m at the park.”

    “I’ll be there soon.” She hung up and put on shoes before grabbing an umbrella. 

    A minute later she was walking to the park, the umbrella open above her. She walked quickly, making the trip in barely ten minutes. 

    Thomas was sitting where he’d sat down earlier. He looked up, surprised to see her after what had happed earlier. He nearly ran to her, but at that moment the rain was falling even more heavily. 

    She walked up to the shelter, stepping out of the rain for a moment. “Come on, it’s getting colder.”

    He approached her, blinking, as she offered the umbrella. He stepped under it before she started walking towards the road again, him walking close by. “Thank you…”

    “Just remember that I’ll throw you back out if you touch me again.”

    “I… Alright”

    They walked slower, approaching Elizabeth’s house. She unlocked the door and nodded for him to go inside.

    He took his shoes off, putting them by the door. She followed him inside before shaking out the umbrella. 

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 7: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it was still beginning.

“Wow, you really have a thing for organics.”

C-53 hummed innocently. “I can’t say I have any idea what you’re talking about, Bargie.”

After he and Pleck had cleaned up the medical mess in the kitchen, the tellurian had disappeared in search of his old Zima scrolls, leaving C-53 alone in the common area. Well, as alone as one could be on a sentient ship. The Bargarian Jade’s attention span was selective, so one could never be sure whether they were being actively observed at any time.

“I saw what just happened,” Bargie said. “The tension between you two is - well, let’s just say it’s high. It’s very high.”

“That was a private conversation,” C-53 responded, somewhat defensively.

“If you wanted to have a private conversation, you should’ve had it off the ship,” Bargie said matter-of-factly.

“We’re in space ,” C-53 argued. “And I don’t see how this means I have a thing for organics.”

“Aw, come on,” Bargie’s rough voice insisted on the loudspeaker. “I know what I saw when we accessed each other’s memories a few years ago. You definitely have a type.”

“So do you,” he shot back, deflecting.

“Oh, I have a type?” Bargie exclaimed, affronted. “Do you know who I’ve dated?”

C-53 tuned his audio sensitivity down as the ship launched into a monologue about her exes. Out of courtesy, he uploaded a subroutine to offer various hmm s and ah s as a placeholder for listening while his cube went elsewhere.

Whether he returned Pleck’s feelings was not the priority right now. His friend needed help, and C-53 was going to help him. It was as simple as that; there was no need to complicate things with whatever feelings he may or may not have for the tellurian. So what if he had a type? That didn’t apply to the current situation - Pleck was different. He was vulnerable, and it would be unfair of C-53 to take advantage of that.

He was becoming increasingly overwhelmed with tenderness every time he laid scanners on Pleck, and his loader programming urged him to stick a label on him that read FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE. That particular instinct was easier to bypass than the instinct to lift, and he was left wondering if picking Pleck up had been a good idea after all. His one-eyed stare, aching and exhausted, had stirred something in C-53.

At least it had gotten his message across. I, C-53, am going to care about you. On purpose. Whether you like it or not.

He had to set his romantic notions aside. There were more important things to worry about right now. He dimly registered Bargie still steamrolling overhead with her story, and he broke in respectfully.

“That’s all very interesting, Bargie, but I don’t see how it helps me.”

The ship sighed cantankerously. “I’m just sayin’ you’re gonna have to confront this sooner or later,” she said.

“Hm,” C-53 considered. “I think I’m going to choose later.”

---

“Okay, I brought all the scrolls we got copies of from the library and uh, all the originals I have that Nermut didn’t make into a nest,” Pleck said around the box of papers in his arms.

He carried them over to the dining table, pausing when he saw the pre-existing mess of administrative documents, campaign flyers, and junk mail that already cluttered its surface. Hardly anyone used the table for eating these days.

C-53 watched bemusedly as Pleck nudged the mess aside to make space for his new mess, dumping the contents of the box out. This was not going to be a very organized process. Things involving Pleck rarely were.

“Are these texts all about the Zima religion in general, or you specifically?” he asked.

“Ah, well,” Pleck paused to brush a lock of hair out of his eye, gazing down at his chaotic archive. “The thing is, I don’t really know how to interpret all of them? I mean,” He began to shuffle through the stack, “there’s… here, this one says my actual first and last name,” he extricated a page and held it out for C-53 to read.

“A ticking clock, in which Pleck Decksetter stands, to spin and draw nearer to the void, ” the droid echoed aloud.

Pleck nodded, grimacing. “But then, like, then there’s this one,” he unrolled a tight ream of parchment and recited,

“Whose stick is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite happy though. Full of joy like a rainbow, I watch him laugh. I cry hello.”

C-53 paused. “That sounds… dumb,” he said.

Pleck chuckled, rolling the parchment back up. “A lot of it is pretty dumb,” he admitted. “And I don’t know what all is relevant to, y’know, my whole thing, and what’s just some old Zima getting creative with their meditations on the Space.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t sort them out,” C-53 said, lowering his frame enough so that he could read the texts from his vantage.

That was their afternoon, reviewing and puzzling over the pile of ancient scrolls. C-53 had never given the Zima religion itself that much thought, but the more they dug into their teachings, the more he was convinced it was mostly just nonsense. He did have to give them some credit, though. A few of the scrolls had predicted Pleck’s life almost exactly. It was… kind of eerie, if he was being honest.

The crew wandered in and out while they worked, checking in on their activities curiously but quickly losing interest once they realized they were essentially just studying. At one point, AJ asked if he could help, and they gave him a flowery poem to slog through until he gave up after about ten minutes.

“You did a good job, AJ,” Pleck smiled as the CLINT left the room to find something else that would hold his attention. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Pleck was looking significantly more relaxed since that morning, C-53 noticed. His shoulders had returned to their usual easy slope and his smile sprang readily to his face. The droid found himself distracted from his task on more than one occasion, choosing instead to fixate on Pleck’s careful hands as he leafed through papers, or his delicate neck as he bent low to decipher some stray scribble. By the time the evening rolled around, they had stopped trying to make sense of the scrolls altogether, and were instead pointing out ridiculous lines to one another.

“Wait wait wait, here, check out this one,” Pleck brandished a photocopy in C-53’s face, barely containing his laughter.

“To pass through the eye, one must first pass through the butt?” C-53 read aloud, incredulous. “Do they mean literally?”

Pleck was fighting to get the words out through his giggling. “Who wrote this? This was a Zima?”

“This is a sacred text .” C-53 insisted. “A sacred religious text. This is your religion, Pleck.”

The tellurian shook his head, still laughing, as he set the paper aside. “Good Rodd.”

“Oh, here’s a good one,” C-53 raised a careful claw to slide one of the documents in Pleck’s direction.

Seeing the grin spread across his friend’s face was like watching a sunflower bloom. “Oh my Rodd,” he exclaimed, “is this a love poem?”

“Heaven hath no elegance like you, my radiant swan,” C-53 recited the first line, his vocal modulator lilting with his own laughter. “I have no idea why this was preserved as an ancient text.”

“We’ll put that one in the ‘dumb’ pile,” Pleck said, cheeks still rosy with mirth. He was smiling wide enough to show off his dimples, and it was a pleasant sight to C-53’s scanners.

They continued to shuffle through papers in companionable silence. Pleck managed to assemble a fairly linear timeline of his own prophecy, and was attempting to piece it together with anything that seemed relevant. He had a better eye for patterns in the texts than C-53 did, something that the droid was surprised by. Perhaps deciphering the ancient words of the Zimas was something that was only inherent to other Zimas.

“C-53, look,” Pleck exclaimed suddenly. “I thought I had lost this one. It’s the scroll you’re mentioned in.” He excitedly uncurled the parchment and held it flat against the table.

C-53’s head tilted with interest. “ I’m in the Zima scrolls?”

“I mean, you’re not mentioned by name,” Pleck admitted. He scooted the scroll toward the droid so he could get a better scan on it. “But I’m pretty sure it’s talking about you. Based on, y’know, context.”

And the humidifier will rise from its slumber Newly untethered, a free soul in a rectangle And the Great One will feel a lump in his throat To wonder if this appliance would entrust his soul to him

“Wow, this is… very specific,” C-53 commented. His coding was already drawing connections for him about the implications this had on his and Peck’s relationship. He was inclined to dismiss it as mindlessness, like so many of the other texts, but a small, irrational part of him clung to the words. Was the tellurian meeting him destined? Better question: did C-53 want it to be?

“Yeah, I thought it was weird that they included that,” Pleck said, pulling the scroll back.

“You were worried I didn’t trust you?”

“Well, I mean-” Pleck’s ears reddened. “Up until that point you’d had your restraining bolt on, so I couldn’t be sure.”

C-53 nodded pensively. “True, I didn’t have a lot of allowance for personal expression back then.”

Pleck gave a small exhale of a laugh. “Yeah, it was like you became a totally different droid after that.”

“It was a punishing part of my life, to be sure.”

Pleck’s eye brightened. “Remember that time Nermut made you pick up that marble over and over again for like, an hour?” he asked, turning his sunny grin on C-53.

“Oh, Rodd, yeah,” the droid sighed, amused at the memory. “And you and Dar asked me to do it all sexy so I’d actually have some fun with it?”

“That was great, I really enjoyed that.”

“Oh, you did?” C-53 prompted, servos humming. “You enjoyed that?”

“No, I mean like-” Pleck went a darker shade of pink. “Not like, sexually, it was - I was just-” he stopped, gathered his thoughts, and restarted. “It was nice to see you having fun, is all,” he said. His smile softened as he reminisced.

C-53’s voice lost its teasing edge. “It was nice,” he agreed. “I’m glad we were able to become friends despite our initial differences.”

“Yeah…” Pleck trailed off, staring up at the droid earnestly. “Yeah, me too.”

Rodd, C-53 felt he was going to combust in that pure sunshine smile. He would fight wars and burn down cities to keep it safe.

Chapter 6 <-----> Chapter 8

[wigglywormy]

sativa [ian/mickey, 1.6k]

@ticklishraspberries​ ily thank u for sending me this prompt!!!! i hope you like it sorry it took so long lmao xoxoxo (tw for drug use)

--

One good thing that came out of the briefly disastrous period of his life where he enlisted, were the people he met and the connections he made. He met a lot of interesting guys during his time in the army, and though he doesn't really speak to any of them anymore, he still keeps tabs on a few of them for... slightly self-indulgent purposes.

Look, he's been smoking pot for as long as he can remember, ever since Lip shared a joint with him that he stole from Frank when he was twelve years old. Weed relaxes him, takes the edge off of that sharp pointy part in the back of his brain that makes his limbs feel restless if he thinks about it too much.

But yeah, the tabs he keeps on some of his old army buddies are strictly self-indulgent specifically because a few of them are based in the West Coast and have continuously hooked him up with some of the best shit he's ever smoked.

The first time he smoked with Mickey he was a little shocked because Mickey didn't seem to have as much experience as he was expecting. Mickey drinks like a tank and smoke cigarettes like they're oxygen. He'll pop pills for fun, huff spray cans, and ingest his body with any questionable substance he comes across without hesitation. Mickey told him once that pot was alright but that it never really did much for him. Said all the shit that Mandy or his brothers would bring him gave him a slight buzz, but mostly it just made him hungry and tired. Mickey would smoke pot if it was passed to him or given to him for free, but he never went out of his way to get it the way that Ian and Lip did.

That's why Ian is pretty pumped about the pickup he just did with one of his old acquaintances. The guy claims it's medical grade, and when Ian opens the container on his walk over to Mickey's place, the bud is sticky and dense, and it smells almost sweet underneath the earthiness. It's unlike anything Ian's seen before, and he really hopes Mickey's in a good mood today because it's been a long fucking week and all Ian really wants to do right now is roll of fat one and weasel Mickey into making out with him for a few hours.

“Mickey!” He calls out when he walks into the house. No one responds, but hen Ian hears a clang from the kitchen, he peeks his way around the corner and smiles a bit when he sees Mickey pulling something out of the oven. It looks like some sort of lasagna or pasta dish, and fuck, Ian loves when Mickey has free days because he always cooks dinner for them. 

“Hey,” Ian says as he steps into the kitchen, holding up the container and grinning. “Got a surprise for you.”

Mickey’s eyebrows raise, and he takes off his oven mitts and places them on the counter next to the food that’s cooling off. “You know I fuckin’ hate surprises.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “C’mon. Where’s my rolling papers?”

Mickey blinks and tilts his head to the side. “Oh, so it’s that kinda surprise, huh?” He walks closer, and when he’s close enough to touch, Ian can’t help but reach out and tug at the collar of his shirt out of habit, his hand gravitating towards Mickey like a magnet. “I think you shoved your papers in the dresser, next to your meds.”

Ian hums, leaning forward to brush his lips against Mickey’s before spinning around and rushing to the bedroom to grab his stuff. When he comes back, Mickey is sitting on the couch, flipping through channels, and Ian hops over the back of the couch eagerly, dropping the container, his grinder, the papers, and a lighter down onto the cluttered coffee table before getting to work. 

“Lip hook you up?” Mickey asks, and Ian shakes his head. 

“Nah. Old friend from the army. You want first hit?”

Mickey makes a face. “You know that shit just makes me tired.”

“C’mon, Mick, this shit’s different,” Ian waggles his eyebrows. “It’s medical. From California.”

Mickey rolls his eyes so hard Ian’s surprised he doesn’t pop a vessel. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”

Ian finishes rolling the joint, packed heavy and twisted tight, before handing it over to Mickey. “First hit, babe?” He says sweetly, grinning big.

“Fuck you,” Mickey laughs, snatching the joint and lighting up. He takes a long drag, exhaling slowly, directly into Ian’s face, and his eyes widen a bit in surprise after a moment. “Huh. Shit’s pretty smooth.”

Ian nods knowingly, taking the joint from Mickey’s fingers. “Told ya.” He takes a hit for himself, holding the smoke until he can’t anymore, and lets his limbs relax. 

Thirty minutes and two and a half joints later, Mickey - who’d normally be napping by now, limbs heavy and sleepy from the weed - is laughing nearly hysterically at whatever stupid show he decided to put on the tv. Ian’s not even staring at the screen, too busy staring at Mickey and his red-rimmed eyes and scrunched up nose as he laughs. He doesn’t get to see Mickey so open like this very often, and Ian is stoned enough that it’s probably the greatest thing he’s ever seen in his life? Probably. Yeah. 

“This is such a fuckin’ stupid show,” Mickey says, but he’s laughing again like he can’t stop, and he finally turns and catches Ian staring. “What the fuck’re you lookin’ at, Gallagher?”

His lips are still twitching on a grin, and Ian slides closer to him on the couch. “You.”

“Fuckin’ gay,” Mickey says, matter-of-factly, but doesn’t pull back when Ian crawls closer, pressing Mickey into the arm of the couch. Mickey reaches a hand up, lazy and soft, and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair, messing up the strands and making them stick up awkwardly. 

“Hey,” Ian protests, frowning a bit, and Mickey snickers into his hand, eyes half lidded and practically sparkling with something so Mickey that Ian’s heart jumps at his gaze. 

“Your hair looks fuckin’ stupid,” Mickey states, and Ian rolls his eyes, crowding even closer to Mickey, their noses nearly touching. 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” Ian growls playfully, leaning down quickly and nipping gently at the skin below Mickey’s jaw. Mickey flinches and snorts, his hands coming up to grip at Ian’s shirt. 

“Don’t,” He breathes, laughter in his words, and it’s then Ian gets a suddenly wonderful idea. 

“Don’t what?” Ian says against the skin of Mickey’s neck, feeling the smaller boy twitch against him. 

“Fuck off, Ian,” Mickey says, but Ian’s hands have already slipped beneath Mickey’s loose tshirt, his fingers pressing into his waist, nails scratching lightly against bare skin, and Mickey’s back arches like he’s been electrocuted. Ian’s got him pressed against the couch though, his body strong and solid above Mickey’s, so all Mickey can do is wiggle a bit and fist his hands tighter into the front of Ian’s shirt. 

“Ian!”

“Mickey,” Ian teases, leaning back so he can see Mickey’s face, adorably flushed and expression open. The weed has Mickey heavy-weighted and pliant, not even trying to fight back, because normally whenever Ian pulls some shit like this, well, Mickey fights back with all his fucking strength in order to escape. He hates feeling vulnerable, but right now he seems to be almost….enjoying it? Interesting.

Ian’s being gentle for the moment, but as his fingers slip higher, wedging beneath Mickey’s arms and digging in, Mickey squeals, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle himself. It doesn’t work, and soon he’s laughing openly, his hands falling away to grip Ian’s biceps, and once again, the red-head notes, Mickey’s not trying to push him away at all. 

“Mick,” Ian whispers, the taste of weed lingering in his mouth when he licks into Mickey’s own, kissing the giggles right out of him as he continues to torture his boyfriend. “What’re you doin’?”

Mickey bumps his nose against Ian’s, giggles a bit. “F-fuck you, what’re y-you doing?” He kicks his legs a bit, and Ian tries not to swoon because god, Mickey’s so cute. “This isn’t f-fuckin’ fair, I’m stoned you asshole!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Ian replies, reaching a hand down to press into that soft place of Mickey’s inner thigh, and Mickey curses at him around a squeak. “Also, you’re not trying very hard to get me to stop, y’know.”

Mickey’s face gets pinker, but he’s still stoned as shit and all he manages is a rough tug to Ian’s hair as he squirms beneath him, biting his lip on a grin. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t be mean,” Ian smirks, using his weight to press his chest against Mickey’s before drilling his fingers into his hips, where Ian knows he’s the most ticklish. 

“Sh-shit! Ian - !” Mickey cackles, throwing his head back, and Ian uses the opportunity to kiss up his neck, butterfly soft in a way that has Mickey absolutely shaking underneath him, and really, Ian should buy this kinda pot way more often because he’s never seen Mickey so willing and pliant like this before. It’s amazing and almost ridiculously sexy. Mickey has always been able to effortlessly drive Ian wild, without even trying, and Ian hates and loves him for it.

Mickey makes a pathetic growling noise as he shoves at Ian’s torturous hands.“C’mon, you’re the one b-being fucking mean!”

Ian sighs, but eventually - and reluctantly -  he slows his touches, running his hands soothingly up Mickey’s sides as he catches his breath. Ian can’t help the dopey look that crosses his face as he stares down at his breathless boyfriend, though.

“Asshole, the fuck are you lookin’ at?” Mickey wheezes, but he’s still smiling and leaning up to brush their noses together, so Ian definitely counts it as a win.

[justagaymess]

A Spider’s Web

Warnings: Pranks. One swear. Just fluff and pranks.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1507

Summary: You love Halloween, Natasha doesn’t. You make it your mission to make halloween difficult for Nat.

A/N: I feel like I should say that in every pic I write Nat’s height is based off of ScarJo’s height (5’3) not the canon height (5’7).  This was written for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ All things fall writing challenge.

You love Autumn. Every bit of it. The colors of the leaves, the ever increasing cold, but most of all, you loved Halloween. It’s been your favorite holiday your entire life. As a kid, your parents could not get you out of your costume with out a giant tantrum. You were indignant when it was time to take down decorations. If you had your way the skulls, witches, bats, and ghouls would be up all year round. But, your girlfriend didn’t like halloween as much, or really at all. She isn’t a holiday person in general, probably because she didn’t get the chance to celebrate thanks to the years in the red room. You’ve toned down your decorating a little. And by toning it down, you don't decorate your bedroom or bathroom anymore, but you still kinda do. Subtly. Pumpkin spice candles, and soap, and air freshener, Apple cider surface cleaner, and so on. You tried to restrain yourself this year, you really did. But you couldn’t. You found decorative pumpkins and little knick knacks at a clearance bin in target. Natasha was going to hate you. 

“Oh well,” you think to yourself. “She isn’t here so…” you smile as you put up fake cobwebs and spiders around the corners of your apartment, and little witches and bats. It took you a while, but you finally finished decorating your shared apartment and settled on the couch with some apple cider and put on Halloweentown, because you’re nothing if not a sucker for Disney original halloween movies. Liho jumped up and joined you, laying his head on your thigh. You grabbed your favorite blanket and covered the two of you, careful to keep the blanket off of his head. The blanket smelled like Natasha despite the fact that she hadn’t been home in weeks. 

From what little information you could gather through 5 minute conversations every other day, Natasha was undercover, posing as some big name model, or something, trying to infiltrate a ring of some kind. You really don't know and if you’re being honest, you really don't care, you just want to know she’s safe. Which you sort of do, you haven’t seen her but you talked to her the night before. 

Once your apple cider was gone and the movie was over it was pretty late and you were getting tired. You hauled yourself off the couch, still wrapped in the warm blanket. You took yourself to the bedroom and flopped down, cuddling with Natasha’s pillow. Liho jumped up and laid himself right at the foot of the bed. You fell asleep quickly, snuggling deeper into the pillow and blankets. You dreamt of her, of how she hated the holidays but put up with them because she loved you, though she hadn’t said it yet. You knew it though, you knew she loved you.

Morning light streamed through the blinds, adding soft glow to the room. You opened your eyes and saw a fiery red glow in front of you. A smile grew on your face before scooting forward and wrapping your arm around her waist and kissing her head. Natasha grumbled and tried to bury herself in the blankets, pulling away from you. You just snuggle closer, burying yourself in her hair and inhaling her scent. She pressed her back against your chest and grabbed your hand.

“Good morning, baby,” Natasha spoke quietly, her voice heavy with sleep. She intertwined your fingers. 

“You’re home,” Nat could practically hear the smile in your voice as she turned to face you. She had dark circles under her eyes but she was still the most beautiful person you’d ever met. She laid her hand on your cheek and kissed you gently. “I missed you,” you said to her. “I was almost too distraught to decorate.” You gave her a shit-eating grin and she shook her head.

“Well I’m glad you made it through.” She smiled at you before pulling herself up and getting out of bed and pulling you along with her. As you got dressed she headed to the bathroom. You hear a long, loud groan. “Why?” She yelled. You raise and eyebrow and stand in the doorway. “Only you, literally, only you, would buy pumpkin toothpaste.” She threw the tube at you before rummaging through the cabinets to find the regular mint paste. You chuckled, set the tube down on the counter and went back to getting yourself ready.

You were in the kitchen reading the newspaper when Nat walked in. She was obviously ready for a lazy day. One just spent on the couch watching crappy movies and eating junk food. She grabbed a mug down from the cupboard and went to pour some coffee. Before she did, she dumped out the mug and 3 fake spiders fell out. You grinned and she threw them at you, getting tangled in your hair. 

“Again, I ask, why?” You shrug, pulling the bright orange pieces of plastic out of the tangled mop on your head.

“It’s fun.”

“Maybe for you,” you just chuckled and went back to reading.

—

Nat and you were going to go for a walk, enjoy the colors of the leaves, the sweet smell of the trees, and the rain. You both pulled on your boots, hats, and Natasha headed to the closet to grab out jackets and scarves. As she pulled open the door, the motion triggered a three foot tall witch to start cackling, scaring Natasha. Or more accurately making her flinch, barely, and sigh, and throw shoes at you that were in the closet. Ducking and dodging her attacks were tricky, but eventually you got close enough to pick her up and throw her over your shoulder.

“Put me down, Y/N!” She yells and hits your back. You set her down, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. “Why on earth did you put a motion activated witch in our closet?”

“I wanted to see how you’d react.” You state simply, shrugging your shoulders.

—

“Babe, have you seen my keys?” Natasha yelled from the front room. They weren’t in any of the normal spots. All of the halloween stuff was cluttering up every surface in their apartment, barely enough room to put her keys down on a surface not covered in pumpkin shaped mats or a bat table runner or what have you.

“No I haven’t,” You reply snickering. She narrowed her eyes and looked more intently at the ‘stupid’ decorations. She groaned when she looked up and saw her keys suspending from the fake cobweb. She grabbed them and went storming into the kitchen.

“This is getting ridiculous,” she folds her arms over her chest. “Not getting, it is.” She shook her head. 

“You don't like my decorations.” She narrows her eyes at you and clenches her jaw. You lower your eyes and frown, knowing you shouldn’t joke or push her. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, she sighs. 

“I love that you love fall so much, but it gets to be too much. The little pranks and such.” You nodded. “I’m going to the store, don't do anything dumb while I’m gone.” She hugged you and started to head out.

“No promises.” You call after her, smiling lightly.

—

Nat wasn’t going to lie to herself, she was hoping that some of the decorations would have been taken down by the time she got home, none were. In fact there were more. More skeletons, bats, and the most annoying the stupid spider webs. They hung off of everything. The counters, the coat rack, maybe even the bed when you were done with them. So when Natasha got home and the first thing she did was run into a spiderweb hanging low enough for even her to walk through, she knew that this season was only going to get more rough. 

Those fake spiders webs seemingly hung from every surface and from every doorway. They hung down low enough for them to hit her in the face. Walking into the bedroom one of them seemingly had more weight and she pulled it down. She looked down at her hand and furrowed her brow when she saw the ring. She looked up and started to wander around, looking for you. She found you in the kitchen.

“What is this?” She asked putting out her hand.

“Shit, I thought you’d be home later. That’s uh, that’s a ring.” You said rubbing your neck with a shy smile. “I was going, am going to propose.” You chuckled lightly, looking down at your feet. “What would you say, if I, when I propose.” 

“Oh my gourd, I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me, you’re a dumbass. How did I fall in love with you?” She threw her arms around you and gave you a kiss. “Of course I’d say yes.”

“Oh good.” You wrapped your arms around her and squeezed her tightly. “Well, I guess that’s your ring now.” She slipped the ring on and kissed you again.