#Matt was too tall to sleep on the top one

[sturniololuvz]

“Nightmare in the Sturniolo House”

Matt sturniolo x sister reader

Warnings: nightmares, crying

The Sturniolo house was silent, the only sound coming from the soft ticking of a clock and the quiet breaths of the triplets sleeping peacefully in their rooms. But in one particular room, a tiny four-year-old was tossing and turning under her blankets, her face twisted in fear.

Y/N was dreaming, but it wasn’t a good one.

She was lost in a big, dark forest. The trees were tall and scary, their branches stretching out like giant hands trying to grab her. The wind howled loudly, and shadows moved all around her.

“Mattie? Nickie? Chwis?” she called, her tiny voice trembling.

No one answered.

Her little heart pounded as she tried to run, but her feet felt heavy, like they were stuck in mud.

Suddenly, she heard a low, growling noise behind her. She turned around slowly and saw glowing red eyes staring at her from the darkness.

The monster was big—too big.

Its sharp claws scraped against the ground as it took a step closer.

“NICK! MATT! CHRIS!” she screamed, but her voice barely came out.

The monster lunged at her, its giant mouth opening wide—

And that’s when Y/N whimpered in her sleep.

Her tiny body shook, her breaths coming out in soft, panicked gasps. Her face scrunched up, and suddenly, she let out a small sob.

Then another.

And then—

Waking Up in Tears

“M-MATTIE!”

Y/N’s eyes flew open, filled with tears as she sat up in her bed, her little chest rising and falling quickly.

It was dark. Too dark.

The nightmare still felt so real.

Her tiny hands trembled as she wiped at her wet cheeks. She needed Matt.

Sniffling, she climbed out of bed, her stuffed animal clutched tightly in one arm. She rushed toward Matt’s room, which was the closest, her tiny feet pattering against the floor.

When she reached his door, she reached up for the handle—but she was too short.

“Mattie!” she whimpered, banging her little fists against the door.

She hit it again, her cries getting louder. “Mattie, pwease!”

Inside, Matt was sleeping soundly—until he heard the banging.

His eyes snapped open.

His heart raced as he immediately sat up. What the hell?

Then—he heard it.

“Mattie!”

His little sister was crying.

Matt jumped out of bed, not even caring that he was only in his boxers. He rushed to the door and swung it open, his chest tightening when he saw Y/N standing there, tears streaming down her face.

“Y/N?” His voice was still groggy from sleep, but he quickly scooped her up without hesitation.

Y/N immediately buried her face into his neck, sobbing. “Mattie, da monster—da monster was gonna get me!”

Matt held her tighter, rubbing circles on her back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. There’s no monster, I promise. I got you.”

Her tiny body trembled against his as she sniffled. “I was twying to find you but you wasn’t dere…”

Matt’s heart ached.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m right here, bug. You’re safe, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, but her tiny hands were still gripping onto him like he might disappear.

Matt sighed and carried her back inside his room, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Cuddles & Comfort

Matt gently laid back down on his bed, keeping Y/N tucked against his chest. He pulled the blankets over both of them and ran a hand through her messy hair.

“You wanna tell me about your dream?” he asked softly.

Y/N hiccupped, her voice still wobbly. “I was in da fowest… and it was dawk… and a big, big monstah was twyin’ to eat me…”

Matt frowned, hugging her closer. “That sounds scary.”

“It was!” she whimpered, curling up into a tiny ball against him.

Matt rubbed her back. “Well, you don’t have to be scared anymore. ‘Cause you’re here with me now, and no monster can get you when I’m around.”

Y/N looked up at him with her big, teary eyes. “Pwomise?”

Matt smiled sleepily. “I promise, bug.”

She sniffled again but finally let out a small sigh, resting her head against his chest.

The sound of Matt’s heartbeat was soothing, and his warmth made her feel safe.

Her little hand clutched onto his arm as she started dozing off.

Matt chuckled softly, watching as her tiny breaths became slower and deeper.

“Love you, Y/N,” he murmured, closing his own eyes.

“Wuv you, Mattie…” she whispered before falling into a peaceful sleep.

And just like that, the nightmare was forgotten.

[e-dubbc11]

holding a ladder steady for the other one when they're trying to put something higher up with Billy. We all know we’d check out his ass. Maybe smack it. 😂

Sweet Katherine,

This was such a cute ask and I enjoyed writing this, it put a smile on my face. Thank you for sending it in and participating in my follower celebration, I hope you like what I did here💜🧡 Love you lots and lots 🧡💜

Let’s Get Spooky!

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: None really, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, Billy being a cocky little shit

Word Count: 1.2K-ish

Summary: Billy promised to help you decorate for Halloween. You make him do the hard stuff, hanging lights in higher places

A/N: Slowly but surely, I’m making my way through the rest of the asks in my inbox for my follower celebration, thank you all for your support and your patience.💜

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

He pinky swore to you that he would help you.

Before going to bed last night, Billy promised to help you decorate for Halloween. He rolled his eyes slightly trying to talk you out of it but he wasn’t going to win that argument and you were certain he only said yes because he was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

“But no one is going to see it though, sweet girl.” He said in a begging tone.

“The lights will be so pretty, Billy. Please?” You pleaded. “I am going to decorate with or without your help, it will just be easier if you do help.”

Billy propped his head up with his hand, his pillow propped him up even higher so he was looking down at you slightly as you lie next to him, the cool pillow rested against your ear as you shyly bat your eyelashes at him.

“Alright, my love. I’ll help you.” He said begrudgingly.

You extended your pinkie.

“Promise?” You asked.

He hooked his pinkie with yours.

“I promise, baby.” Replied Billy.

**********

As you walked through the door to the penthouse, Billy took one look at all of the bags in your hands and accused you of buying the entire craft store.

“What? I didn’t get THAT much, baby.” You said. “And hey, I already hung the wreath on the door so that’s one thing to check off the list.”

“Alright, well what do you need me to do, sweet girl?” He asked.

You told him you wanted to put lights in the kitchen on top of the cabinets and more lights weaved into the chandelier. The lights you bought were purple and orange and you couldn’t wait to see them with the lights inside the penthouse turned off.

“I’ll go get the tall step ladder, Billy.” You said.

“You think we really need that?” He asked.

You shrugged.

“Unless you wanna hoist me up on your shoulders which I’m not opposed to.”

He laughed at the visual in his head.

“Alright, well I’ll go get the ladder and you get the lights out from the bags.” Said Billy with a wide Cheshire cat smile.

He put up the lights in the kitchen first, along with the matte black garland you had picked up also. Trying to be funny, Billy said it was only a little tacky and if it made you happy, then that’s all that mattered to him.

Before you had him get up on the ladder again to wrap lights around the chandelier, you wanted to decorate the dining room table. You put down a black runner on the table with gold skulls on it, some tapered candles in black candelabras that when lit, looked like they were dripping blood, and you put out in a vase the black Bacarra roses you picked up from the florist on your way home.

“See…I told you it would look nice.” You said, pressing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him on the cheek.

“It does look rather nice and not too over the top.” He said. “Nice work, my love.”

“Thank you, baby. Now get up on that ladder and hang those lights for me…pleeeeease!” You begged.

After Billy carefully climbed the step ladder, he began wrapping the chandelier in the purple and orange lights. It was hard not to stare at him as his agile fingers moved quickly to wrap the arms of the chandelier and you chuckled to yourself as you checked out his ass.

You loved Billy in his suits but there was something else about him being in a pair of dark jeans that had you biting down on your lower lip while trying to hold the bottom of the ladder in place.

“Baby?! Are you even listening to me?!” He snapped.

You snapped out of your trance. “Huh? Of course I’m listening.”

“Yeah? What did I just say?” He asked with his head turned over one shoulder, gazing down at you.

“Ok, ok you got me, I wasn’t listening.” You admitted.

Billy narrowed his endless brown eyes at you, slowly shook his head, and asked, “You were checkin’ out my ass, weren’t you?”

“No!” You quipped.

“I don’t blame you, sweet girl. I’d check out my ass too if I was where you’re standing. When I get down, drop something on the floor and I’ll pick it up for you.” He said with a devilish smile and a wink.

That perfect smile melted your insides every single time which made you smile.

“You’re in a very vulnerable position right now, handsome. I could smack you on the ass too.” You replied.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweet girl. So you want the lights over…here?” Asked Billy, leaning slightly forward to give you a better view of his rear.

That made you laugh and you had to remember to keep your foot on the bottom of the ladder.

“Stop makin’ me laugh, baby. I really don’t want you to fall.” You said.

“I’m done anyway, my love. What do ya think? I can fix it if it’s not the way you want it.” He said, climbing down the ladder.

You looked over at the living room window, the autumn sun was disappearing quickly behind the skyscrapers; you knew it would be dark in a little while and you would be able to see Billy’s handy work soon enough.

“Well the sun’s on its way down, we’ll get to see the lights in the dark soon enough! Thank you for doing this for me, Billy. I know this kind of stuff isn’t really your thing.” You said.

Billy inched closer to you, closing the gap between your bodies, and he tilted your chin up so you were looking into his onyx colored eyes. He gently pressed his lips to yours, his beard tickled your chin as his tongue parted your lips so it could twist and knot with yours.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you snaked your arms around his neck; you could feel his kiss all the way down to your toes. The scent of his woodsy cologne clung to his red sweater as you completely dissolved into his kiss and smiled against his lips.

God you loved him.

“But it makes you happy, y/n. And I like making you happy.” Said Billy.

“YOU make me happy, Billy. I love you.” You said, delicately brushing his beard with your thumbs.

“I love you too, sweet girl. Now, I think it’s my turn to check out your ass. Unless you REALLY want to keep lookin’ at mine. It is pretty nice.” He said.

He’s such a cocky little shit but he was all yours.

You gave him a warm smile.

“Nah, I think you’ve earned a look at mine, baby.” You said, taking off toward the bedroom with him following close behind.

You would have plenty of time to look at the lights later.

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf @sweetserendipity65

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[c0la-queen]

Tom Headcanons | The Tired Friend

---

Appearance:

Tom's skin is fairly tan. His hair is a light brown color and he keeps his facial hair at a chin scruff.

He is the shortest of the boys, standing 5'11 tall. The teasing he experiences from the boys due to this makes him grumpy and he is not afraid to punch them in the gut over it.

While he is slightly lanky (not to the same level as Matt, but not as bulky as Tord or Edd) he does have a healthy bit of chub to him.

It's unknown exactly how many tattoos Tom has, or if he even has any at all. He refuses to answer the question. If Reader asks, he'll just ominously say "you'll find out" then change the subject. As for piercings, he has an eyebrow piercing and multiple ear piercings.

Family Life:

Tom is the most tragic of the group in this aspect.

When he was young, his parents passed away in an accident. Since he was a child, his brain blocked out the entire experience, so he can't remember exactly what the accident was- nor does he really want to remember.

He and his brother went and lived with an aunt after this happened- they were still in town, so his friends didn't change.

He was never particularly close with that aunt so he fell out of touch with her after a while.

As for his brother, who is a year younger than him, he talks to him occasionally but not often.

So, overall, doesn't have the best relationship with his biological family- but that's okay, because the roommates are his family now.

Personality:

Seems kind of cold, but he's actually pretty friendly.

He's just tired all the time.

His sense of humor is broken. He would find fail videos the funniest shit. Probably loves the Everlong trend on Tik Tok.

A huge music nerd, but keeps it lowkey because he thinks its embarrassing. He knows all kinds of music, and can probably name a shit ton of songs that play on the radio off the top of his head. Definitely has a whole self full of vinyl records that he's collected.

I like to dip more into his bass playing than a lot of people I've seen ever do. He usually waits until he's home alone or only one other person is in the house to play, just because he doesn't wanna bother the others. Has learned how to play a good handful of songs on his bass. Follows those accounts on Tik Tok that do bass and electric guitar covers of songs.

He's pretty decent at singing, but never sings around others because it makes him flustered. Will occasionally sing lullabies to Reader when she can't sleep or had a nightmare. But she's the only one he'll sing for.

Although he acts like he hates all of them, he cares a lot about the others. He doesn't acknowledge it or admit it, but he does take care of his roommates here and there. Yes, even Tord.

On the flip side, he's shit at taking care of himself. it's honestly a miracle that he's as healthy as he is. Probably ends up falling asleep in random areas of the house the most, leaving the others to sigh and lay a blanket on top of him when they find him.

"Cry about it." "Sucks to suck."

He likes playing Minecraft. Finds it so peaceful, definitely a welcome break from the chaotic household. He'll let Reader lay between his legs while they lay in bed with him and he plays. Learned how to play his favorite Minecraft songs on his bass.

Chronic sloucher. The man has Certified shrimp posture. Help his poor spine.

Tom is a professional photographer! He's very good at what he does and has quite the schedule booked. Makes sure its very clear to his clients that he is not available for bookings on the weekends - those are reserved for his family roommates.

He loves Ghost-type Pokemon. I have no reasoning behind this one, honestly. Just vibes. He's got a Gengar Squishmallow on his bed that he treats like his own son.

A very simple man. Likes the simple and peaceful things in life. Too bad he got his ass irreparably bonded with three (four counting Reader) of the most unhinged, chaotic people in existence.

Yes. Several of his accessories are black and white checkered. Sue him, but he's consistent. Main things to note of this theme are his phone case, a pair of slip-on Vans, and the old skateboard in his closet that he hasn't used since secondary school.

Like Tord, he's got a smoking habit that he's trying to combat with vaping. Still uses cigarettes on particularly stressful or frustrating nights.

Likes drinking Java Monster Energy.

Very proud vinyl record collector. Not picky about what kind of records he gets, though he tends to prefer ska and classic rock (dad rock). One of the best things to get him as a present, he'll love it dearly.

Has so many playlists. Making them is therapeutic for him. It's one of his love languages, a way that he expresses his feelings. Also has playlists for his emotions, and for all kinds of different situations like rainy days or beach trips. Showing Reader his playlists would be him opening up to them in a huge way.

Playlist (From My Spotify Playlist For Him):

Arctic Monkeys

Tame Impala

Fall Out Boy

Green Day

The All-American Rejects

Halestorm

Waterparks

Wallows

Anthony Amorim

Lovejoy

Gorillaz

Cigarettes After Sex

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - age gap,, sexual references

y/nn = your nickname for anyone confused🩷

Chapter 5

For the next two days I locked myself in my room, unable to eat, unable to sleep. Finally my mother said, “This isn’t going to help. Moping around here isn’t going to bring him back. He’s gone. He’ll be getting into his new life, and so should you.”

I forced myself to go to school and found myself swamped by photographers and reporters who were calling me “the girl he left behind” and barraging me with questions.

“How old are you, Miss y/ln?”

“I’m, uh—”

“Your records show you’re only in the ninth grade.”

“Well, ah, yes, that—”

“How long have you known Mr. Sturniolo?”

“About  . . . just a few months.”

“What is your relationship with him?”

“We’re  . . . just friends.”

“Has he called you since he returned?”

“No, but—”

“Did you know he’s seeing Madison Beer?”

“What?”

“Madison Beer.”

Suddenly feeling sick, I excused myself and left.

Each day there were calls from the United States, with offers of first-class round-trip tickets for me to appear on TV. I declined these as well as offers from top European magazines requesting interviews and photo sessions. Letters poured in from lonesome GIs all over the world. I had attracted their attention, perhaps as a soldier’s sweetheart. I also received letters from Matt’s fans, some friendly and some disheartened that maybe they had lost him.

Days passed into weeks and I became more and more resigned to the fact that Matt was now dating Madison Beer and had completely forgotten me. Twenty-one days after he left, the phone rang at three o’clock in the morning. I jumped out of bed, ran to answer it, and heard his wonderful voice.

“Hi, Baby. How’s my Little Girl?”

“Oh, Matt, I’m fine,” I said. “Only I miss you so. I thought you had forgotten me. Everyone was saying you would.”

“I told you I’d call, y/nn,” he assured me.

“I know, Matt, but there were photographers here and reporters and they kept asking me questions, and—oh, Matt, is it true you’re seeing Madison Beer?”

“Hold it. Hold it! Slow down,” he said, laughing. “No it’s not true that I’m seeing Madison Beer.”

“But they said you were.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Little Girl. You’ll find people trying to stir up trouble, just to make you upset. She’s a friend, Baby, just a friend. I’m appearing on her father’s show, and it was all set up for her to be here at my press conference when I returned to the States. I miss you, Baby. I think about you all the time.”

After that first phone call, I spent all my time writing and rewriting letters to him, but he never wrote back. Then one day he called, sounding very excited.

“I’m leaving for California in two days, Baby. I’m starting my first movie since the Army.”

All I could think about was whether he’d fall in love with his costar. As casually as I could, I asked, “Who’s your leading lady?”

Matt burst out laughing. “You don’t have to worry, Baby, I haven’t met her yet, but I hear she’s real tall. Her name’s Juliet Prowse. She’s a dancer and she’s engaged to Frank Sinatra.”

Relieved, I asked, “What’s the name of the film?”

“Wouldn’t you know it,” he answered, “G.I. Blues. I think it’ll be pretty good. I’m a little concerned that there are too many songs in it, but I think it’ll work out. It had better, or I’ll have a few choice words to say.”

A few weeks later Matt called again. His enthusiasm for G.I. Blues had turned to bitter disappointment.

“I just finished looping the goddamn picture,” he said dejectedly. “And I hate it. They have about twelve songs in it that aren’t worth a cat’s ass,” he said angrily, and then added, “I just had a meeting with Colonel William about it. I want half of them out. I feel like a goddamn idiot breaking into a song while I’m talking to some chick on a train.”

“Well, what’d the Colonel say?” I asked.

“Hell, what could he say? I’m locked into this thing. Already been paid,” he complained. “They seemed to think it’s wonderful. I’m goddamn miserable.”

“Maybe the next one will be better,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, starting to calm down. “The Colonel’s requested better scripts. It’s just this is my first film since I’ve been back and it’s a joke.” There was a long pause as static filled the line. Finally Matt said, “I gotta go, y/nn, and I can barely hear you. I’ll call you soon, be good, I love you.”

I was living in a state of suspended life, waiting for Matt’s infrequent calls. There was never a pattern to them. He would phone out of the blue after three weeks—or three months. He always did most of the talking, chatting about his current film or his costar. Occasionally, he’d talk about Nicole, saying their relationship wasn’t what he had expected when he returned from the Army. He was no longer sure he wanted to be with her. I didn’t know where I stood. Time and distance had created doubts and questions; I wanted to ask him, “Where do I fit in your life? Or do I?”

Matt was still mentioning that he really wanted me to see Graceland, especially at Christmas, when it was its most beautiful. He said I’d meet Pauline, the maid. Matt called her Pauline VO5. He laughed and said, “I’ll tell her, ‘O Five, I’ve got a little girl I want you to meet.”

This gave me some hope of a future. I wanted to believe him when he said he still cared for me. But during the periods when I did not hear from him, I couldn’t help but doubt that I would ever see him again. I heard his latest hit record, “(Marie’s the Name) His Latest Flame,” and felt sure that he’d fallen in love with a girl named Marie.

That summer, Paul Anka was on a European tour. He was to make a guest appearance at a nearby Air Force facility in Wiesbaden. I slyly arranged for my mother to drop me off at the time specified for his arrival. My intentions, unknown to her, were highly contrived and they had to do, strictly, with Matt. I wanted to ask him if by chance he knew Matt and if Matt had ever mentioned me. But when he got out of his car he was surrounded by fans, and I was too shy to push through the crowd to speak to him.

I gleaned every bit of news about Matt that I could. I listened constantly to the overseas radio and scanned every article in The Stars and Stripes newspaper. But each story about Matt I read only upset me all the more. Besides Nicole, he seemed to be romantically linked with many beautiful young starlets in Hollywood—Tuesday Weld, Juliet Prowse, and Anne Helm, among others.

I wrote him: “I need you and want you in every way and, believe me, there’s no one else  . . . I wish to God I were with you now. I need you and all your love more than anything in this world.”

It was a cold, snowy day in March 1962, nearly two years since Matt had left Germany. In the late afternoon, I received a call from him. It had been months since we last spoke.

“I’d like to make arrangements for you to visit me in Los Angeles,” he said. “Do you think we can work it out?”

Stunned, I blurted, “What? I’m not sure. Oh God, I wasn’t expecting this. It’s going to take some time, some planning.”

I didn’t think my father could ever be persuaded to let me go. There were several phone calls with Matt trying to say all the right words to please my parents. I had separate talks with my mother, hoping she’d help me convince Dad.

Once again Matt met every one of Dad’s demands: that we wait until I was out of school for the summer, that Matt send me a first-class round-trip ticket, that he send my parents an exact itinerary of my daily activities for the two weeks I’d be in Los Angeles, that I be constantly chaperoned, and that I write my parents every day.

The next few months might as well have been years. I marked off each day on the calendar until we would be together.

Los Angeles

When the plane landed in Los Angeles, I found the terminal bustling with vacationing students. But I easily spotted Nate Doe, who was still working for Matt.

It was good to see Nate. His big smile and warm embrace were comforting. I loved hearing him tell me I looked great. I didn’t think I did. The last time Matt saw me, I had been fourteen years old and five pounds lighter. I was afraid that he might be disappointed when he saw me, that he might send me home the next day.

I got my first glimpse of Los Angeles when we drove in from the airport. It was beautiful, a far cry from the drabness of postwar Germany. As we passed the MGM studios in Culver City, Nate said, “That’s where Matt films most of his movies.” Soon we were speeding along the legendary Sunset Strip and through the large wrought-iron gates of Bel Air. I was entering a world I’d never experienced. Every home along the winding road seemed grander than the one before.

We turned in at Matt’s house on Bellagio Road, a large home modeled after an Italian villa. We were greeted by Matt’s butler, who introduced himself as Arnold and said, “Mr. S is in the den.” As we walked through the door, I could hear loud music playing and people laughing. Nate led me downstairs.

Before entering, I took a deep breath. The years of waiting were now over.

In the dim light I saw people lounging on a couch and others standing over a jukebox, selecting songs. Then I spotted Matt, dressed in dark trousers, a white shirt, and a black captain’s hat. He was leaning over a pool table, ready to make a shot. I wanted to run to him, but this roomful of people was not the setting I had dreamed of for our first meeting. I continued to stand there, watching him.

He looked up and saw me and after a slight pause his face lit with a smile. “There she is!” he shouted, throwing down his cue stick. “There’s y/n!”

He made his way over to me, picked me up in his arms, and kissed me. I held onto him for as long as I could—until he put me down. “It’s about time,” he said, joking. “Where have you been all my life?”

Aware that every eye in the room was on us, I was uncomfortable and embarrassed. I quickly wiped the tears from my face before anyone noticed. Matt took my hand and introduced me around, and then we sat down together.

“Baby, I’m so glad you’re here,” he kept saying. “I can’t wait to show you around. You’ve grown up. You look great. Let me look at you. Stand up.”

As his eyes surveyed me, I became increasingly self-conscious, and I didn’t want him looking too long. He might find flaws.

He looked terrific, although I was surprised to see that the brown hair he’d had in the Army was now dyed black. He looked thinner, happier.

“Don’t go away,” he said. He kissed me lovingly, then returned to the pool table to finish his game. The night seemed to go slowlytoo slowly. While Matt continued his game a few of the girls eased their way over to me and started talking. They said Matt threw parties almost every night.

Hearing this and watching him as the night progressed, I felt out of touch with his new life, even though the girls told me he talked about me often and even showed my pictures around.

Playing pool, Matt laughed and joked around, and when one of the girls bent over the table to attempt a shot, Matt poked her in the backside with his pool cue. She shrieked in surprise and everyone laughed,everyone except me. I couldn’t help noticing that there had been a slight change in Matt. He’d left Germany a gentle, sensitive, and insecure boy; through the course of the evening I’d see that he now was mischievous and self-confident to the point of cockiness.

He also seemed quick to anger. When a girl cautioned him to watch out for a glass that was perched precariously on the edge of the pool table, he shot her a dirty look, as if to tell her, “Move the glass yourself.”

I felt a surge of uneasiness. I was unsure of what to do or say. Between shots he’d come over and give me an affectionate kiss, ask if I was all right, and then move back for his next shot. Meanwhile, the curious stares of his female admirers never left me.

It was after 12:30 a.m. when Matt finally sat down next to me. Now it was like the old days in Germany: He was suggesting that we go to his bedroom. “Up the stairs, the first door to your right,” he said. “The lights are on. I’ll be right up.” I started to rise. “Wait a few minutes, until I get up and leave,” he said. “That way it won’t look so obvious.”

I wasn’t sure if I liked that. I knew he was protecting me, but there were so many pretty girls around, I wanted to make sure everyone knew he was mine—at least for as long as I was here. I’d waited too long to be discreet. I got up, stretched a little, and politely said good night to everyone, hoping they would know exactly where I was going.

I ran up the stairs and easily found Matt’s bedroom. How different it was from his ordinary-looking quarters in Germany. I never imagined him living in such luxury—thick carpets, exquisite furnishings—but the room had a welcoming, lived-in feeling.

And then my eyes fell on the king-size bed in the middle of the room. I immediately thought of how many women might have slept there  . . . whose bodies he had embraced. . . and even worse, whose lips had passionately pressed his and driven him to ecstasy. I couldn’t think about it anymore.

I walked over to the French doors, which overlooked the driveway, and saw Matt’s guests exchanging good nights as they got into their cars. Knowing he’d probably be coming up soon, I rushed into the large adjoining bathroom.

Within ten minutes, I had jumped in and out of the bathtub, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and dusted my entire body with some powder I’d found in the medicine cabinet. I put on my favorite blue pajamas and stood motionless before the door leading to the bedroom. I was so apprehensive that I was unable to open the door. This was the moment I had both longed for and feared. I sat down on a chair and remembered that when I’d been fourteen, Matt had said that I was “too young.” Now that I was sixteen I tried to imagine just what this new Matt, who I hardly knew at all, might be expecting of me.

About fifteen minutes later, I heard him as he opened the bedroom door, yelling down to his cousin, Billy Smith, who also worked for him: “Don’t let me sleep later than three tomorrow, Billy.” Then I heard him close the door, lock it, and call out, “Where are you, Baby?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” I shouted. “I’ll be just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t take too long. I want to see my girl.”

I still couldn’t move.

He called again: “What are you doing in there, y/nn? No one takes this long to get ready for bed.”

It was the moment of truth: Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and walked out. Matt was lying on the bed, facing me. I walked slowly toward him, climbed into the bed, and lay down next to him. Our faces were only inches apart. It was such an unexpected moment of tenderness that I was mesmerised looking into his eyes. We lay there for what seemed like a long time, staring at each other until our eyes filled with tears.

Matt softly touched my face. “God,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. You’ve been an inspiration to me. Don’t ask me why, but I haven’t been able to put you out of my mind since I left you in Germany. It’s been the one thing that’s kept me going.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer: Tears streamed down my face. Matt took me in his arms and held me close, but I couldn’t get close enough. If I could have gotten inside him, I would have.

“It’s gonna be all right, Baby. I promise you. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We’ll have a good time and not think about you going back.”

As we lay in the dim light, he soon discovered that I was still as untouched as he’d left me two years before. Relieved and pleased, he told me how much this meant to him. It was as if every feeling I had as a woman began to emerge, and I began kissing him passionately. I wanted him—I was ready to submit entirely to him. He returned my passion. Then, abruptly, he stopped.

“Wait a minute, Baby,” he said, speaking softly. “This can get out of hand.”

“Is there anything wrong?” I was fearful that I wasn’t pleasing him. He shook his head, kissed me again, then gently put my hand on him so I could feel for myself just how much he desired me, emotionally and physically. He pressed his body to mine and it felt wonderful.

“Matt, I want you.”

He put his finger to my lips and whispered, “Not yet, not now. We have a lot to look forward to. I’m not going to spoil you. I just want to keep you the way you are for now. There’ll be a right time and place, and when the moment comes, I’ll know it.”

Although confused, I wasn’t about to argue. He made it clear that this was what he wanted. He made it sound so romantic, and, in a strange way, it was something to look forward to—just as he had said.

Later that night he told me that I had to stay with friends of his, George and Shirley Barris. Although I protested, Matt said, “I don’t want to go back on my promise to your father. Besides, if he found out you were staying with me, he’d make you go right home.” It didn’t make any sense, but I got out of bed and Matt had Nate drive me over to the Barrises’ house, where I would spend the night. Reluctantly.

Later I found out through one of the wives whom I had befriended the reason for my spending that first night with George and Shirley. Apparently Nicole had been sent back to Boston the day before, and Matt was taking precautions to avoid any awkward situations for himself that might have resulted from late-night phone calls.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - longer chapter to make up for the last shorter one🩷

[amberlynnmurdock]

College Series (Part 1)

Part 1: Moving In

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Series Summary: Matt Murdock scarcely ever let himself get too comfortable with people because comfort was always followed by chaos, or worse, abandonment. But when you move into the co-ed apartment off campus, Matt thinks that maybe this time things will be different. At least, he really hopes so. And that might be the most naive thing he would do in his time studying law at Columbia University. Soon, his nights are filled with red wine, learning about Greek mythology and barely using his own bed to sleep in because yours is right down the hall.

A/N: This is basically me revamping what I always wanted "Library Series" to be, so I hope no one minds another college!Matt Murdock fic. I don't know if this will have a real plot yet, but I'll figure it out along the way. I hope you guys enjoy! :) This chapter is entirely in Matt's POV!

Ao3 Link

Matt Murdock walked down the sidewalk slowly, counting each step as he did until he could sense that he reached his supposed destination. He stopped with his cane in front of him and listened to his surroundings: rustling leaves, a woman walking her dog, and cars turning onto the narrow street in upper Manhattan. 

The building he stood in front of was what he would be calling home for the next semester. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew it was a tall brownstone building with iron rails and large, wide steps. He could hear the creak in the old wood of the front door and the lock attached to it inside. He could hear the people inside the building moving boxes around and adjusting furniture. Strangers that he would be calling neighbors—for the time being, because people never stayed around forever. 

Matt heavily sighs as he adjusts his shoulder bag and lugs his suitcase behind him, which isn’t filled with much: sweaters, shirts, jeans, underwear, sheets, toiletries, his Bible, and Orbit Reader. When he was packing at St. Agnes’ he didn’t think much about what he would need to bring. While some college students made lists and packed, and overpacked, Matt thought nothing more of it than just a new place to stay. Maybe it was because he was so used to packing the same suitcase and moving from destination to destination, that he’d become accustomed to moving around a lot. After all, he truly never had a home since his dad died. That was the only home he’d known. St. Agnes was just a place to stay. 

With heavy shoulders, he walked up the steps one by one and shuffled in his duffle bag for the keys to the building. It was easy for him to pick it out. It was an old-fashioned skeleton key with an intricate gothic design he could trace with his fingertips. Once inside, he shut the heavy door behind him and stood once more before the long flight of stairs that would lead to his temporary apartment. Unfortunately, an elevator wasn’t an option. 

He slowly trekked up the steps, passing each floor and the shut doors of other people moving in. Some were college kids, some weren’t, but he heard each and every conversation as he passed. It reminded him of when he was younger when he would sit in Clinton Church before mass and hear people praying to God. It was uncomfortable to hear personal things, but he’s gotten used to drowning out the noise and moving on. 

After a few more flights, he finally reached the top floor of the building, which led to the apartment. It turned out to be the biggest one in the building. He pulled out the other key to the apartment and let himself inside, immediately hit with the smell of dust and old wood. He couldn’t sense any furniture in the living room, except for a small kitchen island with a marble countertop and an old wooden kitchen table set.

Matt traced his fingers along the wall as he slowly made his way to the hall that led to the bedrooms. First come, first serve he thought. There were two rooms closer to the front of the apartment with large windows—he could feel the cold draft coming in through them—and two rooms tucked towards the back. He immediately gravitated to the room furthest in the back. He didn’t like hearing the city at night, and he knew if he chose one of the rooms up front he’d never get a good night’s sleep. Then again, he seldom ever did. 

When he opened the room’s door, he dropped his bags and held his hands out to feel for the bed. It was in the center of the room, which he didn’t like, so he moved it to fit right in one of the corners. He pressed his hands on the mattress—brand new as the apartment listing said. And he knew it wasn’t a lie because he could smell the fresh, factory smell of the brand-new mattress. In fact, all the beds in the rooms had new mattresses, now that he could smell it in the air. 

There was a dresser against the other wall and a small closet. He didn’t have much to fill both up. In the other corner was a small work desk for homework. He began to unpack his books from his duffle bag and stacked them neatly on the desk. He ran his fingers over one of the titles in braille: Criminal Law & Procedure. 

The second year of law school is allegedly easier than the first. At least, this second year comes with more freedom, such as the option to live off campus rather than in one of the small dorms. At least his first year he got to meet his best friend: Foggy Nelson. 

Which, speaking of, he was bounding up the steps already with three bags he could barely carry by himself. 

“Matt!” He heard his friend shout from the steps, “Hey, Matt! You here yet?”

Matt met Foggy at the top of the stairs and laughed—he could hear the struggle in his friend’s voice. 

“Why don’t you stop laughin’ at me and grab a bag?!” 

After what felt like hours of going up and down the steps helping Foggy with his bags, and carrying a couch up into the living room, followed by a long goodbye from Foggy’s mom, Matt and Foggy plopped themselves on the couch in exhaustion. 

“Man,” Foggy groaned, “I didn’t know the apartment was on the top floor. I’m beat.”

“Maybe that’s why it was so cheap,” Matt thought, “no one wants to walk up those stairs.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Foggy answered. “Welp, guess I gotta pick a room. You don't think whoever we’re rooming with will mind we chose first, right?”

“Nah,” Matt shrugged, “the apartment listing said whoever gets here first picks. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Alright. Where’s your room? I’ll pick the one next to it.”

  “I opted for the one farthest in the back,” Matt said, leaning over as Foggy got up to pick a room. He listened as Foggy shuffled between the rooms and moved his bags into his chosen space. 

Matt stayed on the couch, his hearing strayed to the noise that was outside the front windows. Naturally cocking his head, he could hear a local deli closing up for the evening. He could even smell the lingering scent of stale coffee. He heard people closer to Columbia University laughing and getting ready to go out to whatever frat party was going on that night. In the distance, he heard sirens wailing—for what reason, he didn’t know. He didn’t understand the ache that grew in his chest the longer he continued to listen to them. 

“Matt?” Foggy called for him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Matt stammered. “What did you say?”

“I said let’s get dressed and find a local bar to hang at!” 

That didn’t take much convincing. 

✣✣✣✣

If Matt thought lugging suitcases up the flight of stairs was tough, he wasn’t prepared to walk up the stairs intoxicated. 

“Man, that was a terrible idea. Terrible idea you had,” Foggy slurred as he bumped into Matt on the stairs. Matt let out a laugh as he pushed Foggy back.

“My idea? It was your idea, you asshole,” Matt shot back playfully.

“Was it?” Foggy questioned, “Oh yeah, it was. God, how many stairs are there?”

Everything was spinning inside Matt’s head. He looked up behind his dark glasses and sensed the number of steps. 

“We have four flights left,” Matt said, pausing at the second floor and leaning against the wall.

“Jesus,” Foggy groaned. “Terrible, terrible idea, Matt.”

After fifteen minutes of an agonizingly drunk walk up the stairs, both Matt and Foggy finally made it to their new temporary home and collapsed on the couch at opposite ends. Matt let his head dip back on the couch while Foggy attempted to lift his legs on a spare moving box in front of him. Matt laughed at his attempts; he didn’t have to see to know his friend was struggling. 

“Hopefully our roommates will join us on future bar crawls,” Foggy said aloud. 

“Hopefully they don’t suck.”

“That too,” Foggy agreed. “I think—I think I’m going to call it a night, Matt. I’ll…I’ll talk to you…” and just like that, Foggy Nelson was snoring on the couch with his legs half-propped on a box. Matt forced himself to get up and move to his bed, not before putting a blanket over Foggy and turning the lights off. 

When Matt reached his room, his equilibrium was still making things seem spinning. He stumbled over his suitcase and duffle bag and caught himself on his bed, where he landed on his back. He threw his dark glasses on his desk and shut his eyes, using all his might to avoid listening to the sounds that lay outside the window. Putting himself in the back room was a good idea because it was much easier to ignore what he heard—more importantly, ignore how it made him feel. The liquor in him only swirled those feelings away. 

Matt turned on his side and reached for the Bible he kept under his pillow. He ran his fingers over the braille until he found a particular prayer he was looking for:

“Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. Because of it the ancients were well attested. By faith we understand that the universe was ordered by the word of God, so that what is visible came into being through the invisible.” Hebrews 11:1-3.

Matt rested the Bible on his chest, mind drifting to things of his past, things he only kept hidden and locked away until he was completely alone with himself like he was now. It was heavy. Not the suitcase, not the way his legs felt walking up the steps inebriated, but the weight of the past, creeping up on him when he was alone. 

He fell heavily into a deep sleep. 

✣✣✣✣

Morning came, and so did his hangover. 

Matt was awakened by a knock on his door. Not his door, but the front door. A knock he would not have heard if not for his heightened senses. Throwing his dark glasses on, he rolled out of bed and walked into the living room. On the couch, Foggy still lay asleep, snoring. Matt’s head was pounding and his feet felt like cement as he stalked to the door, the knocking growing more erratic. 

When he opened the door, he was met with an overwhelming waft of sweet beery perfume and bubblegum. The person who stood in front of him—a young woman, he sensed—popped a bubble and clicked the gum inside her mouth. 

“Oh,” a squeaky voice said. “Are you a roomie?”

“Uh…“

“I’m Marci,” the young woman introduced herself. She held out her hand, but Matt made no move to shake it. 

“I’m—I’m Matt,” Matt said. He could sense the young woman’s candor by the way she pulled her hand back immediately and placed it on her hip. 

“Are you blind or are you hungover?” She clicked her gum again, taking note he was wearing dark glasses inside. 

Matt’s mouth twitched upwards. He wasn’t offended by her bluntness, only amused. 

“Both,” he simply said. 

“Hm,” she said, “well, I’m your new roomie.” she peered inside to see Foggy sleeping on the couch. “I’ll need help with my suitcases.”

And yet again, Matt was subjected to the torture of helping people bring their suitcases up the long flight of stairs. But if this was someone he was going to be living with for the next year, he thought it better to make friends and help than make enemies and refuse. Even if she was a little brash. 

“Matt?” Foggy groggily opened his eyes to the movement of boxes being lugged around. “Jesus!” Foggy said in the startling realization that Matt was no longer the only one he shared a space with. When he saw the beautiful blonde with her arms crossed and a look of judgment on her face, Foggy thought he might’ve woken up to an angel. 

“I’m Marci Stahl,” she popped her gum again. “Are you going to help bring my stuff up?”

“Absolutely,” Foggy stumbled to his feet, ignoring the spins he felt. Matt suppressed a chuckle as he placed the final box (he decided it was the final box for him now that Foggy was awake) on the ground. Now, it was up to Foggy.

Well, Foggy couldn’t completely help Marci yet before making a trip to the bathroom and yakking up the previous night’s regrets. Marci waited in the hall with her arms crossed. When Foggy met her outside again, he smiled awkwardly as Marci told him where her remaining boxes were. She had her mother waiting outside as well, who couldn’t be bothered to help bring up boxes. 

Matt took this as an opportunity to lock himself in his room and boot up his Orbit Reader to learn of his new schedule, starting Monday. He scrolled to find his classes and their descriptions, and what books he would need for class. With one earplug in, he listened as it read it to him. But not even the Orbit could help drown out Foggy’s attempts at flirting with Marci.

✣✣✣✣

“You’re not so bad, aren’t you?” Marci asked with suspicious eyes at Foggy. Foggy offered a hearty laugh and sat down on a pink velvet love cushion that belonged to Marci. She took a seat at the end of the couch, closest to Foggy. 

“What do you mean?” Foggy shrugged his shoulders, a goofy grin on his face. His long blonde hair peeked out under his green beanie. He had a terrible goatee, but for some reason, made him all the more endearing. 

“Well, we’re all going to be living together this year. Glad the co-ed space I chose has someone willing to carry all my boxes up the steps without complaint. And you’re not an asshole,” Marci rested her elbow on the arm of the couch, studying Foggy carefully. 

“What can I say? I’m pretty charming,” Foggy smiled.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Marci smirked. 

Matt sat at his desk laughing to himself as he listened to their conversation. 

“What are you studying? You’re a grad student?” Foggy asked, ignoring her retort. 

Marci looked at him like it was an obvious question. “I’m in the law school.” 

“Really?! No way!” Foggy exclaimed. “That’s what we’re here for, too. 2L?”

“Of course,” Marci said. “I wouldn’t be here if it were my first year.”

“Hey, maybe it was your third. I don’t know. What kind of law do you want to do?”

“IP, corporate, civil rights,” Marci shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll let it find me.”

“Badass,” Foggy nodded his head in amusement. Marci chuckled and rolled her eyes. 

“What’s up with your friend in there? Why hasn’t he joined us?”

“You’re right,” Foggy agreed. “Matt! Get your ass outta there and come bond with your roommates!”

Matt sighed and leaned back in his uncomfortable wooden chair. It was only a matter of time before he was summoned to socialize. He shut down his Orbit Reader and joined them in the living room, reaching in front of him to find the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I’m here,” Matt simply said with a small smile. He wasn’t really sure what to say.

“You’re the moody one, aren’t you?” Marci said with slight amusement, resting her chin in her hand. Matt chuckled.

“I wouldn’t say moody,” Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Uhh. Maybe I would, actually.”

“Every friendship duo has to have one. Clearly, your friend Foggy here is the opposite,” Marci teased. “My friend is like you, too. Quite type. Locks herself in her room. She should be here soon,” Marci thought aloud.

Matt quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, “Is she our fourth roommate?”

“Sure is. Let me call her real quick.” Marci got up and into her chosen room, the one in the front with the largest windows. 

Now that it was just Foggy and Matt, Foggy immediately bounded over to sit next to Matt on the couch and squeezed his arm.

“Dude, did we get lucky or what?!” Foggy shout whispered. “Rooming with two chicks?!”

Matt pushed his friend away with a laugh, “Foggy, don’t be like that, that’s gross. We’re supposed to be roommates.”

Foggy held his hands up in defense, “I’m just sayin’ man, let things run their course. Oh man, she’s beautiful. Blonde, has sharp features and—“

“Shh,” Matt hushed his friend. “She just got off the phone.”

“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” Marci announced as she walked back into the living. She paused as she noticed how close Matt and Foggy were sitting. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison, feigning innocence. 

✣✣✣✣

While Foggy and Marci were exchanging life stories and their experiences studying to get into law school, Matt let his senses drift to focus on what else was going on in the building. He didn't want to engage in conversation, especially if the topic was backstories. He wasn’t ashamed of his upbringing at all, nor was he ashamed of where he grew up after his dad died, but he couldn’t deal with the reactions or sympathy his story inevitably brought out of people. He just didn’t feel like dealing with it with Marci, especially given how well her and Foggy’s conversation was already going. What did he have to add to it other than a tragic accident? 

A cool draft floated through the stairs, finding its way in any open creak or door in the building. Some of their downstairs neighbors were still moving in. In another room, someone was twisting a bottle of white wine open. Another attempted to hang a picture frame. Matt could hear the banging of the hammer on the second floor, the vibrations against the wall. He had to hide his grimace when he heard a chair squeak on the hardwood floor. 

Despite these sounds that no one else could hear, Matt had high hopes for the near future. He imagined late-night studying and sleeping in on weekends. He imagined sneaking into frat parties with Foggy and ending the night at local dive bars. 

When he heard the front door open, something shifted in the entire building. Something that caused Matt to move forward on the couch ever so slightly to hear better. The cold draft was replaced by a warmth in the air, followed by the ever-so-faint scent of lavender. Accompanied by the smell was an equally faint heartbeat. This person wasn’t nervous, they were content. He heard them sigh, and at this sound, Matt confirmed he was listening to a young woman. She too had a shoulder bag and suitcase she was lugging around, nothing else. No boxes filled with decorations or other extra things. No family dropped her off. 

Just her. 

She walked up the steps, one by one, and Matt could hear the pauses she took from the amount of stairs. His mouth twitched into a smile, fascinated that she was equally surpassed by the amount of stairs. It was clear that she was their fourth roommate, and it was confirmed when Matt heard her dial a number in her phone and Marci’s began to vibrate. 

“Are you here?” Marci asked through the phone immediately. 

“Yeah,” her friend breathed, “but I didn’t realize how many stairs there were! I’ll be up in five minutes if I’m lucky.”

“Do you need help with your bags? We luckily have two strong, burly men to do any heavy lifting we need,” Marci winked at Foggy. 

“No, I’m okay. I just have two bags. I’ll be right up.”

Marci squealed when she hung up the phone. “She’s here! Let me get the door for her.” 

As Marci walked over to open the front door, both Matt and Foggy stood up from their seats and awaited their fourth roommate’s arrival. Foggy waited like an excited puppy as he watched Marci lean in the doorway for her friend. Matt stood awkwardly, terrible at first encounters. He kept his hands in his pockets and tilted his head low, feeling more comfortable behind his dark glasses and chocolate brown hair that fell right over his eyes. The scent of lavender grew stronger the closer she made it to the apartment. 

And when she walked in, no longer did Matt hear the creak in the wood, the downstairs neighbors’ chatter, the outside city noises. No longer did he feel the cool draft from outside, or his own nervous heart beating in his chest. All of his senses, and all of his focus, were on her. The one other roommate who showed up alone, with no family, with nothing but two bags, and possibly an equally lonely heart. 

TAGS: @marvelcinematiquniverse

[averagejoesolomon]

Welcome back! Here's Matt and Abby being really good friends. These two would not stop talking, and it was a delight to put them together again. If you're new here, you can read all of Full Circle on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Three

Once Cameron starts crying, she doesn’t stop.

From noon to midnight, then midnight to noon. When she’s hungry, when she’s gassy, when she’s tired, and right when she wakes up. She cries before, during, and after every diaper change. She cries in Rachel’s arms. She cries in Matt’s. The bassinet, the bathtub, the backseat of the car—any time, any place, this kid is an equal opportunity crier.

Quiet moments are few and far between, and they’re usually spent staring distantly at the nearest wall, waiting for the next round of crying to begin. The rest of the time, Matt and Rachel operate like a two-man surveillance crew, alternating watches so the other person can eat, and shower, and maybe, maybe get some shut-eye. They haven’t said more than five consecutive words to one another since arriving home. 

Has she eaten? Yes. 

Did she sleep? No. 

When was her last change? Ten minutes ago.

Did she ever stop crying? No.

Everyone from here to Timbuktu told him the newborn stage would be hard, but even so, it’s been wildly undersold. Matt does hard things for a living and before that, he spent a childhood doing hard things on the farm. This ain’t hard. This is impossible.

At least, that’s the conclusion he comes to during his third—or, maybe, fourth—wall-stare of the day. Rachel’s upstairs with the baby, using some sort of motherly magic to coax a ten-minute nap out of the afternoon. Matt tries to make the most of the moment by brushing his teeth for the first time in three days, downstairs in the kitchen, because they already learned the hard way that the bathroom pipes make too much noise in the nursery.

This is the longest break he’ll get for the next twenty-four hours, so he sinks into it. Unwinds the tension in his muscles and settles his shoulders back to the place they’re supposed to sit. The back-and-forth motion of his brush against his teeth serves as a steady rhythm after days of constant chaos.

His brief peace is immediately shattered the moment Abigail Cameron bursts through his front door.

For a woman who was born and raised into a covert lifestyle, Abby sure knows how to make an entrance. She leads with a kick, which leaves a shoe print right next to the deadbolt, then marches in with balloons, teddies, chocolates, and a gift-wrapped bag featuring the word B-A-B-Y written out in wooden blocks. She tops it all off with a delighted, excited, “The cool aunt has finally arrived.”

This, unfortunately, is met with more crying. 

“Shit, sorry,” says Abby, dropping her voice to something that’s shaped like a whisper, but ain’t actually that much quieter than her true voice. “I forgot about baby rules. Is it nap time?”

Matt hangs his head over the sink. He gives up on brushing, which is just as well, because he’s just now realizing he forgot the toothpaste anyway. “Hi Abby.”

She lumbers into the kitchen with all her goodies in tow, dumping everything onto the kitchen table. Her stuff joins the mountain of formula, diapers, blankets, creams, and everything else in their small arsenal of baby supplies. “Sorry I’m late,” she says. “The Peruvian government really makes a stink when they catch you trying to smuggle guns across their border.”

“The trip went well, then?” Matt asks.

“As well as sting operations ever go when there’s a hundred automatic rifles involved.” She gives a casual wave of her hand as she sits, crossing one nyloned leg over the other while a tall red pump bounces with Abby’s trademark restlessness. “How’s the baby—can I see her? Hold her? Squeeze her cheeks, etcetera, etcetera?”

He turns to face her, leaning against the counter to stay upright against his own exhaustion. He’s suddenly all too aware of the scruff on his jaw, the stains on his shirt, and the smell of indeterminate baby fluids lingering on some indeterminate part of his body. “Rachel’s trying to get her down,” he explains. “You’re welcome to wait until she wakes up from her nap.”

Abby’s face twists, like it always does when she doesn’t get her way. “I’m between ops,” she says. “Langley wants me debriefed and on another plane in the next twenty-four hours, so I don’t exactly have a lot of time to spare.”

Matt has to work hard not to laugh right in her face. “You won’t need it,” he says. “The way this kid sleeps, you’ll just need an extra ten minutes.”

By some miracle, Rachel’s managed to reign in the crying a second time, old DC floorboards squeaking overhead as the nursery’s rocking chair rolls over each one, back and forth, back and forth. He eyes Abby, wondering if she knows how lucky she is to experience the quiet twice in such a short amount of time. 

She must not, or else she wouldn’t talk right through it. “I suppose if anyone’s worth waiting for, it’s my niece,” she says. “But she better be cute.”

“Ridiculously cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Even cuter when she’s not crying.”

“Isn’t that kind of what babies do?”

Matt shrugs. “So I’m told.”

“So parenthood is everything you’ve ever dreamed of,” she concludes.

“It’s good,” he says. “Glad to have her home.”

A beat. Abby studies him, in that way only Abby can, and Matt’s too tired to figure out what it means. “That’s great,” she says. “Do you wanna say that again like you mean it, or do you wanna tell me how you actually feel?”

It’s a quick and efficient reminder that before there was Rachel, there was Abby, and those Cameron sisters have always, always been able to get a clean read on him. No sense in hiding from someone who already knows all his covers. “This is torture.”

She smiles, satisfied. “This isn’t torture. You’ve actually been tortured.”

“Not like this,” Matt insists. “This is something else.”

“Weren’t you detained by some Russian mobsters a few years back?” This is phrased like a question, but Abby ain’t looking for an answer. Instead, she says, “You’re telling me your newborn is tougher than the literal Russian mob?”

“At least the Russian mob gave me beans and rice,” he says. “My last three meals have been Wonder Bread straight out of the bag.”

It’s pity, or sympathy, or maybe disgust when she says, “Oh, Matt.”

“The one before that was peanut butter, still on the knife, because Cam started crying before I could make a full sandwich.”

In her eyes, he sees himself once mighty and now fallen. “Get it together, dude.”

“This is what I’m talking about.” He slugs toward the table one heavy footstep at a time, opting to join her rather than waste all that energy standing. “We’re not eating, we’re not sleeping. We haven’t had a normal conversation in days. I’ve been pooped on too many times to count—swear to God, it’s like this little girl’s never even heard of the Geneva Conventions.”

“Hold on,” she says, putting a hand up. “First of all, she’s six days old, of course she hasn’t heard of the Geneva Conventions. Get a grip. Second of all, are you trying to say that getting pooped on by a baby is a war crime? Is that really the claim you’re trying to make right now?”

Matt starts to recite, “Outrages upon personal dignity, in particular, humiliating and degrading treatment are and shall remain prohibited—”

“I know the Geneva Conventions,” she says. “But you seem to have forgotten you’re not currently a prisoner of war.”

“I’m a prisoner of something.”

“Matt.”

“I’ve met actual dictators less oppressive than this.”

“Matt.” She’s as playful as always, but there’s a stern undertone to this particular scolding. “Listen, I don’t have a maternal bone in my body, but even I know you’re not supposed to compare your baby to dictators.”

A lot of folks think espionage is all about gadgets, and stakeouts, and sneaking around. Those things have their place, for sure, but relationships are the real heart of it all. Matt can spot an ally before he even learns their name, and he always knows exactly how to win them over to his side. It’s all about the inflection in their tone, the ease of their laughter, the one little thing that makes them trust him over anyone else for just one fleeting moment.

After years in this business, Matt’s gotten real good at spotting when someone’s on his side. But it doesn’t take years of experience to see that he’s losing Abby quick. 

So he breaks his gaze, backtracking with the shake of his head. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” she replies.

“It’s the sleep thing,” Matt says, twiddling near his temple. “It’s giving me Dad Brain.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t envy you that.” He spots a tentative allowance in her eye as she slowly comes back around to him. “But it’s worth it, yeah? One look at your kid and you’re, like, the happiest you’ve ever been or whatever?”

Matt’s too tired to name the exact emotion this makes him feel, but it’s something close to shame, something close to guilt, something close to disappointment. While he knows in the deepest parts of his chest that he loves his little girl, would do absolutely anything for his little girl, Matt’s not actually sure he likes his little girl all that much. He can’t blame Abby for asking the question—after all, he’s supposed to feel happy about his own kid—but in the absence of paternal bliss, it sends up his defenses. Makes him feel short and hot. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah. All worth it.”

Abby doesn’t buy it, skepticism written in her features, but she doesn’t press. Changes the subject instead. “How’s Rachel handling everything?” she asks. “Has she cataloged the onesies, yet? Charted the baby’s sleep schedule by the minute?”

All Rachel’s managed to do since the hospital is keep the baby alive. It’s one hell of an accomplishment, but a far cry from the logistical, meticulous, cataloging version of Rachel that Abby has in her head. This ain’t their usual dog and pony show. They’re not the same people they were a week ago. For Matt, the crying has become a steady thrum that sends him into autopilot, but it’s doing something different to Rachel. It’s playing with her instincts, sending her nerves fraying until Matt’s walking on eggshells with someone who never used to crack. 

“She’s,” he begins, searching for the words, “not doing great.”

Abby perks up at this, uncrossing her legs to lean forward. “What do you mean?”

“She seems, I dunno. Frazzled.”

“Rachel doesn’t get frazzled.”

This is true, or at least it was before the baby came. Matt worries, secretly, that it’s still true and frazzled ain't a strong enough word. The books mentioned this sort of thing could happen—discontentment, depression, even psychosis. Throughout her pregnancy, Rachel had insisted that she had too strong a will to succumb to any of it. Now, watching her with Cam, Matt ain’t too certain.

“Maybe not frazzled,” he admits. “It’s normal, I think. Turns out hormones keep messing with, well, everything. Even after the baby’s born.”

"Don't tell me we finally found the one thing Rachel's not good at."

"I'm not kidding."

"Neither am I."

"Well then, that ain't a nice thing to say."

Abby's smile fades, gently admonished. "Right," she says. “But she’s okay?” 

Matt wishes he had an answer for her. “She’s just… down.”

Abby considers this, weighing his words behind a scrutinizing squint. She must come to some conclusion because she stands, that Cameron resolve settling into the set of her jaw. “Well,” she says. “Nothing a little sisterly bonding can’t fix.”

Matt knows first-hand that no one can make Rachel happier than Abby can. At the same time, no one can make Rachel angrier than Abby can. That’s a fifty-fifty chance Matt just ain’t willing to take right now, which is why he stands to reach after her. “Abby—”

She starts toward the stairs. “Matt, trust me,” she says. “There are some things only a sister can understand.”

He calls after her again, trying to keep his voice down. “Abby, don’t.”

Abby has no such regard for volume, climbing up one, two, three steps. “I don’t expect you to know—”

“Abby, either you sit back down at the table or you leave.” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice. Hopes to God it doesn’t reach the nursery. He drops back down to a hiss when he says, “Those are your options.”

She turns back, literally looking down on him with an expression she’s only worn once or twice before. Decades of specialized training assess his position, his mental state, his intensity, his words, running through her head like a checklist. Back home, he might just say she’s sizing him up. Trying to decide if she could win whatever fight they’re about to have.

Except Abby ain’t gonna fight him. Abby almost never does.

Instead, she sways back down the steps until they’re eye-to-eye. “Alright, big shot,” she says with a wicked grin. “I’ll stay down here.”

Matt’s gotten better at staring contests with Abby, but he still can’t come close to winning them. He’s the first to drop his gaze. “Thank you.”

“And instead,” she goes on, brushing past him. Her heels click against the hardwood. “You’re going to tell me what’s got you this worked up.”

Matt ain’t an angry guy, but Abby’s got one Hell of a gift for drawing it out of him. “I just told you,” he says, trailing behind her. “Wonder Bread. Geneva Conventions. Frazzled. Can’t a guy get worked up over a hard week?”

“Sure you can,” she says. “You aren’t, but you can.”

“Abby, I’m not sleeping. I’m not eating.”

“So you’ve said.”

“The baby only stops crying when she sleeps, and she only sleeps when she’s not crying.”

“Must be tough.”

“My record for consecutive hours without getting puked on is two.”

“Uh-huh.” She finds a spot on the countertop this time, popping herself next to the microwave. “And what about Joe?”

Matt stops in his tracks. “What about Joe?”

“You’ve got a long fuse, my friend,” she says, drawing an imaginary wire through the air with red-tipped fingers. “And Joe’s the only one who can cut it this short.”

Matt and Abby have been friends for nearly a decade. He’s saved her life. She’s saved his far more. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that she can reach inside his head, root around, and pluck out the one thing he’s not willing to talk about. But every time she does it, he’s still caught flat-footed. “Joe’s fine. He’s fine—he’s…”

Abby drops her chin, leveling him with a single look.

It doesn’t leave him with much wiggle room. “He’s missed a couple of call-ins.”

Abby nods, long and slow. Without the sucker she used to carry around, she bites her bold red lip in thought. “How many is a couple?”

“Two,” Matt admits.

“Joe’s missed two call-ins,” she repeats. “Has that happened before?”

“He’s missed one,” says Matt. “Never misses two. He’s too good for that.”

“So let me get this straight,” she says. “You’ve got a baby that won’t stop crying, a wife who isn’t herself, and your best friend has missed two call-ins.”

She lays each point out on a finger, landing on three total. When she lays it all out, he sees a birds-eye view of his life for the first time in days—and it ain’t pretty. As someone who’s had a lot of hard weeks in his lifetime, this one might just be the hardest.

Rather than own up to the overwhelm, he shifts the focus back to her. “Yeah, maybe, except you’re my best friend.”

“No. You’re my best friend,” she corrects. “But Joe’s your best friend. Nice try.”

This has more truth to it than he cares to admit, but she doesn’t say it with any hurt. It’s a fact, plain and simple, like she’s reciting it from a book. Matt, for his part, would rather not linger on it, so he ping pongs back to himself. He realizes too late that this is probably exactly what she was aiming for. “We got into a, I dunno—a tiff. Before I left.”

“Before you left…?”

“For DC. We were running an op and right from the start, I told him that if Rachel needed me—”

She stops him again, hand held against the center of his sentence. “You were running an op when your wife was thirty-nine weeks pregnant?”

“Rachel had one of your dad’s jets on standby in Frankfurt—”

“You were on a mission in Germany when your wife was thirty-nine weeks pregnant?”

“It was her idea. She had this whole plan to get me back once she started having contractions.” Matt now knows that plans mean nothing when it comes to delivering a baby and has a newfound appreciation for all the angels that made sure he was on time to his kid’s birth, despite the eight hours between them. “We were following up on a lead she had to drop when she went on maternity leave.”

“I will never understand your relationship.” She shakes off her bewilderment and gets back to the matter at hand. “So you and Joe had a fight?”

“A tiff,” Matt insists. “Just a little spat. But it felt—it’s just that I didn’t leave things on a good note. Left in a hurry. And now he’s missing call-ins.”

Missed call-ins are the ghost stories of the spy world. They’re one of the few things that can truly spook the international spooks of the world. Every agent has a story about a phone call they were supposed to get, then didn’t. The unlucky ones also have stories about the funeral that followed, usually kept quiet, always without a body—and that’s if there’s a funeral at all. The worst cases get caught up in the seven years it takes for MIA to become KIA, waiting to be put to rest. It’s nasty business, and it all starts with a silent phone on the hook.

Matt always suspected Joe would go out in silence, but he thought they’d be a little older when he did. Then again, maybe they’re not young men anymore. Maybe the years have finally caught up with them.

“If it helps,” says Abby, “my dad says you don’t have to worry until number three.”

“Yeah?” says Matt, looking for any reason not to worry. “Three’s the magic number?”

“I don’t know about magic,” says Abby. “But statistically, three’s the nail in the coffin. If they miss the third one, it’ll take a miracle to get them back.”

Joe’s third call is scheduled for tomorrow morning and Matt’s not sure what he’ll do if the phone doesn’t ring. Before he has a chance to figure it out, Cameron starts to cry again.

From upstairs, he hears Rachel call out, “Matthew.”

And that’s his cue. “Sounds like I’m up to bat,” he says. “What do you say, Abby? Time to meet your niece?”

[river3000]

An overview of Rachel Elizabeth Dare’s hair, and her hairbrush (and why the hairbrush should be appreciated more)

I’ve seen lots of people saying that Rachel bringing a hairbrush is unrealistic, and people with WAVY hair (which is way different from curly hair) saying it's unrealistic too, so this post is telling them why they’re wrong. So I LOVE Rachel, not just because she looks like me (same pasty, easily sunburned skin, and plethora of freckles; her poor bank account, spending so much on sunscreen), but also because I relate to her so much! One reason I relate to her is that HER HAIR LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE MINE, HER OFFICIAL ART HAIR LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE MY HAIR, way too curly, way too frizzy, and easily tangled. So, for all the straight-haired people reading this (also I will be showing this to all my friends, all of whom have straight or wavy hair, except one of them has two waves down the back of her hair and is delusional because she thinks her hair is curly) this is my hair brushing routine and other things about my hair so you understand what I mean when I say that taking care of hair like that is HARD:

I take a shower and use curly hair-specific shampoo (which is expensive)

I also do a wash-out untangle thing to make it easier to brush

I use curly hair-specific conditioner, a detangling spray, and two hair mask things to make the brushing easier

I use either a WET brush or a detangling brush, but usually the WET brush

I keep a spray bottle on hand to keep it wet the whole time

It takes at least 30-45 minutes for me to brush my hair

I wash my hair out again to get the conditioner and hair masks out

I use a wide tooth comb after that because water makes it a little tangled

Sometimes after that, I use a leave-in conditioner, but not often

If I brushed it for a fancy event or something then I use my diffuser to dry it, if not I braid it and go to bed because I take night showers unless it's a fancy event or sometimes a weekend

I sleep in a silk bonnet and use only a silk pillowcase

I can only brush my hair wet

I can’t run my fingers through it a lot

I have to go to a haircut place that specializes in curly hair

I can't brush it in the morning or casually

I brush it every three days because I can’t get it wet lots because that's bad for it

To get the Frizz™ that’s on the top of my head every morning to calm down when I put it up I wet it with my sink water

The only hair ties I can use in my hair on a normal basis are scrunchies

I only wear my hair down the day after or after I brush my hair

I wear it up every day

My friends can't do my hair a lot of the time unless I instruct them or find a tutorial video of a style of curly hair like mine, and they call me controlling when I do that

My friends with wavy hair say that wavy hair is harder to take care of than curly hair and I hate it because they don’t know what they’re talking about

If I don’t brush my hair it all becomes one giant matt on the back of my head and if that goes on too long it becomes painful and I get a scalp rash

Buying products is an expensive necessity

One I hadn’t brushed my hair for a week and when I took it down to redo my bun my friend looked at me in Horror™

Only one of my friends actually puts in the work to do my hair and helps me with it because she enjoys styling it and understands it’s hard to take care of after helping me brush it a few times, surprise surprise she’s my best friend

No hair clips, they get stuck in my hair

Once I was brushing it and my hairbrush just broke in half

I have an undercut that you can’t see with my hair down, just to make it easier to deal with; it’s an inch-or-half-an-inch-idk-which-one-thick, inch tall stripe that’s right above the back of my neck, at the base of my skull

I shed like a fucking dog

My hair also becomes so frizzy it looks like I brushed it dry when it's humid, and I live in a humid and hot place

Ginger hair makes you sunburn easier (and unable to tan)

I got bullied in school for being ginger because there’s something wrong with that in the minds of middle schoolers (I was also bullied for being gay and not ashamed of being queer but that’s not the point)

I would be called a leprechaun a lot as a kid, Saint Patrick's Day was and still is hell

Every time someone with straight hair complains about their hair being frizzy, I die a little more inside

Being pale an ginger, doing makeup, dying hair, and literally buying clothes is hard

especially makeup

I use the palest concealer they have at Target (it's called porcelain)

That’s all I can think of right now but I know there’s more. It’s entirely realistic that Rachel would bring a hairbrush because she has experienced all of this, and all of this started to happen to me when I was years younger than her. I said that I couldn’t brush my hair dry and Rachel could have had to, or maybe she would have waited for a part of the labyrinth with water to wet it and then brushed it, or had Percy use his water powers to wet it (Platonic Perachel is amazing, and I need more of it, they’re one of my fav brotps). So anyways guys, respect Rachel and stop questioning her hairbrush, they were in the labyrinth for a while, she needed that thing and it had done its fair share of service. That hairbrush has done more than being thrown at Kronos' eye.

[loovetiiedd]

A Moments Peace

By Wyatt Parson

When I was 18, I ate chocolate and rode my bike. I created beautiful scenery in my head for my first world. When you own property you own the land up and down. At 3, I learned to pee in my backyard with my mom on our property. The soil, the air, the sky, and the bugs crawling under your bed. When I revisit these memories I think of summer heat. The heat that burns a little. The sky was completely blue and only a couple straggled clouds stayed in the sky. When you're so young, where you live is your world.

My mom always said I was a big kid. I feel like my biggest dream was to just be there for people. But that didn't always last. Most of the time I found myself just eating and sleeping. They tried to get me into sports but there was nothing I was really interested in. All I saw myself doing was watching the wind blow through the garden. It was planted five years ago but now that I have the house to myself, I've let it grow over. I like to know the bees are happy. I was working full time, so sometimes I listened to them when I got home. No one told me how to live, so I kind of made it up along the way. Money was important. Without cash I don’t think the world can move. This was the time when I didn't have money, and it was the worst time of my life. I was working fast food, but it helped with hunger. It's interesting how where you are in the world can change so much of what your life is like. Everyday feels like it's the same story my mother used to read to me before bed. I got used to this predictability. Maybe I'm glad this all changed…………

In 2004, I picked my mom up from work. She worked in the mall; one of those stores for women. My dad was a drunk and lived in our basement. My dad loves me because he sees parts of himself in me. That's why he hates me too.

I saw him once a week, so I spent most of my time with my mom. I was her reliable transportation. That night, I picked her up and I asked her how her day was. She said it was “another day.” I think that's how most days are for her. I feel like it's hard to make change when you fold clothes all day, but I don't know anything about fashion. I have to take the city roads home every night. Driving through the city is always scary, it feels like when there are so many people all you can do is sit in awe of the amount of work it has taken to get here. All of the homeowners, business-owners, and landowners come together to make this huge city. Luckily, we were just passing through. There was a house deep into the country, close by the south end of the Mississippi river. We wanted to change our schedule, and this was a hidden gem my mom knew about. As we were leaving, the tension of the city continued into the countryside. The energy of our surroundings shifted as we saw more cornfields. As you leave the tall buildings and dense groups of people, we are displaced into nothing. It took us a couple hours to get far into the country, but we both called off work the next day so we could spare the time.

I drove a 1994 Chevy pickup in a bright cherry red.

It was beaten up and the paint was getting eaten away with a sort of matte rust going over the top. Country roads were different from the city. I hadn't ever been out this far, but she acted like she knew where to go. My mom lived here her whole life, so I believed her. Eventually, she told me to make a left turn down this street called Vision Street. We were four hours out and the fields ahead of us were foggier than the mountains we were leaving. Haze was dancing around my low-beam lights as I drove over the gravel path. The car went cold and I could feel a sinking feeling between us. My mother was entranced with the mist around us, it reminded me of the rays of light and clouds I saw in the bible as a kid.

I had dreamt of God in my youth, but I never went to church. Right then, I needed god.

My mom wasn't speaking and my eyes fell off the road as I felt my body reject my current energy. She screamed as the road got bumpier and we began to swerve off. My mother grabbed the wheel and turned it completely in her direction. The car slammed into an upcoming grain silo and the right side of my car crashed into itself, collapsing the entire right side of the vehicle, crushing my mom. The car engine added to the cloud outside and bursted into a fog, smelling like a mix of chlorine and a deep engine oil or gas. My body transformed into a different sense of self and a newer heightened level of disbelief had entered my conscience. As I looked at my mother covered in her own blood and motionless, I realized that I was the only one that could help her. I tried everything.I spent five minutes doing mouth to mouth. I could feel her cold lips upon mine but I had to ignore it to stay sane enough to keep her alive. I then tried chest compressions. I didn’t pay attention in health class that day. I was too tired from working the night before. I didn't know how else to help her and nothing would get her to breathe again. Her eyes were locked in place and her muscles stiffened. I looked at her lifeless, and it reminded me of her dressing the mannequins to display at the mall.

Her corpse was on display for me.

My mom was gone.

I opened her mouth and shifted my eye above it. I just let my tears fall into her mouth. It was my last attempt to bring her back, but there was nothing magic about me. I sat there next to her carcass. When our dogs died, my dad would always bury them for us, so I wasn't trained in this service. The next four hours were spent digging a hole next to the silo. The whole time I was covered in my own tears and sweat. We were too far gone from the city and I didnt know how to get back. She never wanted to be buried in a casket so I needed to honor her wish. I did what I could for her. I kissed her lips and cut a grip of hair from my scalp and braided it into hers. After holding her hand for the last time, I cut a line across both of our hands with the pocket knife I found in the park. Our blood spilled out and that was the last sign of any humanity in her. I dragged her into the grave and covered her over with the dirt I piled up. I sat there on top of her; piled over the layers of earth and nothing felt the same. My entire life, my entire body, everything I was familiar with, was different. I wept into the soil so maybe grass would grow a little faster over her. I used the grain that spilled out from the silo to surround her body to mark this land as her own. All the land below, and all the land above.

I shut my eyes of exhaustion and rested with her in my own fucked up moment of peace

[grapejuiceplease]

Matthew and Sarah in: "Rules Were Made to be Broken" OR "Baby, You Take My Size Away"

Slowly, Matthew gripped the needle in his left hand and pushed it through the sheets and into the mattress, then the right-hand needle a little higher, his feet dangling above the carpet a full foot and a half below. He wasn't quite so small that he could completely trust the thin metal rods to hold his weight without pulling out of the fabric, but by angling the needles down as he pushed them in, he seemed to be anchoring himself well enough. Besides, the view that awaited him was well worth the risk of falling.

As he crested the ridge that was the top of the mattress, he was greeted by the gentle warm breeze of Sarah's soft breathing. She was fast asleep, a few errant strands of copper hair fluttering in his direction with every breath she let out. He carefully reached back over the edge of the bed and pushed his climbing needles into the mattress all the way up to the pin heads. The last thing he wanted was for Sarah to prick herself on one while she slept.

In the heat of the summer, it seemed Sarah had thrown back the blankets so that Matt had a glorious view of the landscape that was her body. She was dressed in her favorite pair of pink panties and a loose-fitting white tank top that was dangerously close to concealing nothing at all. God, she was beautiful.

Matt barely resisted the urge to run up to the enormous waiting lips of his beloved and plant kiss after tiny kiss on them, but that wasn't a very good idea, he knew. Apart from the risk of waking her and receiving a stern talking to about how reckless he was being, there was the greater danger of her sleeping mind interpreting his presence at her lips as something a bit more.....edible.

At six inches tall, Matt wasn't worried about being eaten, exactly, but he thought Sarah might die of heartbreak if she awoke to find she'd bitten Matt in her sleep, and frankly, he didn't relish the thought of having to fight his way out of her mouth, not when she wasn't awake to let him win, anyway.

Slowly, turning his back on her beautiful looming face, he crept toward Sarah's hand. Each warm breath from behind felt like a gentle kiss that ran a shiver up his spine. Occasionally she'd move or turn slightly causing him to loose his balance completely and tumble over the sheets, but thankfully she never rolled over completely.

When he reached her hand, lying half closed upon the mattress, he knelt down and kissed her thumb as a sort of tribute; a toll of devotion paid for the privilege of exploring her. He reeled back nervously as she twitched in response, but the gesture was slight, even to him.

Taking this as a cue that it was safe to do so, he gingerly placed one foot on the back of Sarah's hand, then the other, and began to walk up her arm toward her bare shoulder, with the idea he might slip down into her cleavage and sleep there, surrounded by her - completely protected.

His progress was slow, halting every few steps to regain his balance on her shifting form. He was only about halfway up her arm when he noticed: Sarah was far, far too still. She still gave little twitches at each of his careful movements, but it felt gentler now, and almost....deliberate. Slowly, Matt turned around to confirm what he already knew, and sure enough, two gorgeous round emeralds, each bigger than his own head, were glittering at him through the semi-darkness.

By this point in their relationship, having Sarah's full attention wasn't the massive weight on Matthew's psyche that it once was. Meeting her gaze was no longer like being noticed by an earthquake, but it was still amazing to Matt how just by looking at him, Sarah could instantly make him feel an inch shorter than he really was, a difference that, while quite significant to Matt himself, being over fifteen percent of his height, would probably barely even register to Sarah, and somehow, just the thought of how inconsequential the effect she had on him would be to her was enough to rob him of another mental inch.

To Sarah, of course, that idea couldn't have been further from the truth. She was acutely aware of Matt's proportions, being quite as enamored with his physical presence as he was with hers. In fact, had Matt known just how large the idea of him was in Sarah's mind, he might've felt like he was the giant one, and she the tiny. Of course, on some level, Matt did understand this. They were, after all, in love with each other. It was a two way street, but you know what they say about forests and trees, and for Matt, Sarah was a very big tree, massive, in fact.

"Having fun?" asked Sarah, her dry tone evident even through her groggy whisper. He couldn't quite be sure how long she'd been awake watching his progress.

"Not as much as I was about to," replied Matt, eyeing Sarah's chest hopefully. "Why don't you just close those big beautiful eyes of yours and I'll be about my business."

Noticing where he was looking, Sarah raised an eyebrow at him and he shrank even more in his mind. How does she do that?? Does she even know she's doing it?

Something of his embarrassment must've shown, and she gave him an impish little smile that very clearly said, "Oh, I know exactly what I'm doing to you, and I love it!"

Clearly, she wasn't too upset to find him breaking a rule, but even so, when she spoke, her tone was serious. "We have a rule about the bed, don't we? It's dangerous for you when I'm sleeping. I could end up crushing you."

"Not where I'm headed. You're way too squishy there to do any squishing."

"I could still smother you."

"Sounds like a good way to go."

"I'm serious, Matt!" Sarah said, undercutting herself by laughing, and the force of it sent Matt tumbling from his perch on her arm to the bed sheet below.

"See? Look at you," she said, giggling. "Exactly," said Matt. "Not a scratch!" He sprang to his feet and gave a little bow like a gymnast on a dismount. "Oh really?" she pushed Matt over again and pinned him gently against the bed with a finger. "What now, tough guy?"

Using the softness of the mattress to his advantage, Matt pushed as hard as he could against Sarah's unmoving finger and deftly maneuvered to the side, quickly escaping and getting up in a fighting pose. "That all ya got?" he teased.

"Come here and find out."

This time, she didn't give him an out. Before he could react, she had a hand at his back and was pulling him straight into a full-frontal assault of lips and tongue. In a moment, she had his wrists pinned against the pillow with two of her fingers and was showering him with love.

It was skillful, Matt thought, as Sarah explored him voraciously from head to toe. She knew exactly how much pressure to exert; heavy enough to overwhelm him, make him feel exactly how small and helpless he was to her, to leave him with no doubt who was in control at that moment, but soft enough that he never felt used. He always felt her love, her care, her adoration. It was a delicate balance to maintain and the effect was impossibly addictive.

He surrendered to her completely, hardly noticing when one of his restraints disappeared southward so that Sarah could give herself some attention. He let himself melt into her soft embrace, and the last thing he felt before passing out from pleasure was the low rumble in his chest of her soft giggles and gasps, so close, so enormous, and he was barely a speck in the vastness of her love.

----

Life's been hectic and I haven't had much time for rendering. I don't have much experience writing, but I woke up one morning with this scenario playing out in my head (good way to wake up, btw, 10/10 would recommend). It was super fun to write out, but I don't know if it's any good. Lmk if you liked it, or lmk if it sucked and you never want to hear about Matt and Sarah ever again.

Either way, new pics are coming, I promise.

[royalblades-cosmicfates]

||MUSE HC/ASK/AU MASTERPOST

______

Just alfor and Kolivan's logs of anything that relates to them((at least anything key or hc, so not just art and other! --below i added other asks related to other muses

Alfor Headcanon___Alfor has a tendency to become chaoticlly organized

Alfor Headcanon___Alfor is daring, before mellowing out when Allura was born, he was one to have one set of eyes on him at all times.

Hey, so...this probably isn't for here but what WOULD be the reality where alfor isn't with melendor? Do they have good terms? How exists? Also is alliura there or she get snapped? [[AU related]

Wait- is alfor always gonna have a kit? In all or most threads? [to mun]

《《《▪︎▪︎▪︎☆ Pizza bagels

Alfor is an extremely skilled swordsman

Antok and ____

Kolivan Headcanon___Has a strong tendency to ignore or forget his own needs

_______{{||The blade's leader practices [[Kolivn mention

|TAGGED POSTS

[[ KOLIVAN [[ALFOR [[KEITH [[ROMELLE

[[CHARACTER FLAWS__[[Alfor [[Kolivan

[[SLEEPING HABITS__[[Alfor, [[Kolivan

[[MUSE GREETINGS__[[Alfor [[Kolivan

CUTBELOW___Various headcanon/Asks/e.t.c

[[Not every ask is here but most of the important/longer ones here!

Have a Protection Squad: Which muse(s) seem the most sheltered and/or naive? Are there other characters who look out for them? Is so, who are they?

❣️ - What are their love languages? 💓 - What are some signs they’ve fallen for someone? How do they show their affection? 💖 - How and how often do they try to impress their partner(s)? How and how often do their partner(s) impress them? For anyone muse needs your attention and love~

So have you tried earth candy yet

Is your muse difficult to ship with? [mun directed

Care to give us any silly things?

Psst mun, can you bestow us HCs aside from Alfor and Kolvian???

Okay, which muse would enjoy peppermint, and who would think it takes like medicine/toothpaste?

🥃 - Alcohol! The stronger, the better, or do they have a low tolerance for those types of things? Do they drink alcohol by itself, or do they commonly have it with a meal?

Valentine's Day is coming? Are there any plans for dates, romantic or platonic?

MUSE DIRECTED

Hey Olia- are you and Ozar orphaned? You seem to be since you and him call te-osh mama or something like data

The shoebox's first mentions [ghost-thread related]

Kova is stronger than a Mlade of Mormoa. Kova is more the top kitty.

Matt, did you teach Phantasma about furries? Or did she find out that herself?

Fluffy boi___Tavo's first ask

So question, if I have a laser point and turn it on, who would chase the light? And this includes if those lions do it too.

Thace, how much do you adore alfor? I think you might be spoiling alfor in the future@

Freedom guys! What's the options on the galra? Do you hte them, want them to die? They took a lot from ye.

How many tall ladies? (Regris)

ALFOR ASKS__

Why do you have scars on your arms?

Alfor you sure you won't wanna go back? I mean you kinda have someone or commanders kiddo on the way

So how are you going to tell Thace about the kitt? Like after you get the courage to meet him?

So how many kits do you get?

How are you going to raise the baby? Also fluffy Kova

Juniberry... It's a flower... I thought it was a fruit. I feel bamboozled

Wow. Alfor gets a nice new wardrobe... while Thace only gets jammies.

You know, Halo forms are cool. I wonder what they can and can't do with it. Could they eat and digest? Could they use their original strength in such a tiny body?

Alfor, you've done a lot of harm for thousands of years. Ya know that right?

So...Alfor, what entertainment do you have with the galra? Or what have you had with entertainment with the galra? I mean they gotta have something since Zarkon's an emperor and that.

[[[experiences__Alfor's time with the empire's fleets

Alfor, what happens when sendak comes back? Will he try and take tavo or just bring you back since your kinda zarkons trophy

Tavo is gonna be sendaks spitting imagine when he grows up. Sucks.

[gabekidd]

Murky Waters, Part 2

A Bullet Club horror AU

Pairings: David Finlay x OFC; Jay White x OFC; past Matt Jackson x OFC Word Count: 2,656 Warnings: Only alcohol use and language in this part

The group arrives at the cabin, and an unwelcome guest turns up.

Read it on AO3 | Masterlist

Tag squad: @aussiearrow @statdaddy @knifepervert @sldghmmr @rusevday @missbrownstone @meteora-fc @bec0m @thatgirlforever5 @rocca09

The sun had just kissed the horizon when they arrived at the lake, and it cast everything in a soft golden glow. The water sat still and sparkling and deep, and tall pines trees reached up toward a clear blue late summer sky. Even the cabin looked surprisingly quaint and inviting, and it almost felt like they’d stumbled into a fairytale after a long journey.

But Chloe hoped it was the watered-down Disney version and not the horrifying original.   

“Haunted or not, this place is sick,” Riley decided as they entered the cabin. It looked like a mountain lake house Pinterest board come to life, cozy and rustic with pine-knotted walls and themed décor. Large picture windows flooded the two-story living room with natural light, and French doors led out to a deck with a fire pit table and a large hot tub. The kitchen was small but fully equipped, with a live-edge wood bar top and forest green cabinets. A narrow staircase to the right of the entrance led to an open loft with both an air hockey table and a full-size arcade cabinet. They might be in the middle of nowhere, but they’d have absolutely no problem entertaining themselves for the weekend.

“Alright, there’re two bedrooms down here and two upstairs,” Nick explained as they all gathered in the living room.

“So we’re short a bed, then,” Riley figured.

“Chloe and David can share,” Jay smirked.

“Subtle,” David returned. Chloe just laughed to herself.

“Well, the couch is a pull-out, so not really,” Nick informed them with a point at the couch. “But you guys can work that out yourselves; I automatically get a bed because I drove.”

With that, Nick disappeared upstairs to stake his claim, and the rest of them looked hesitantly around at each other. It seemed obvious that either Riley or David would end up on the pull-out; as the only couple, Jay and Alyssa were entitled to a bed, too, and no one was so cruel as to make Chloe sleep on the couch.

“I’ll take the couch,” David finally offered.

“Works for me!” Riley proclaimed, and he grabbed his bag and bounded upstairs; he’d obviously been hoping David would volunteer. Alyssa rolled her eyes as he ran off.

“I guess that means we’re choosing from the two rooms down here,” she stated.

“I’ll take whichever’s smaller. Which is probably this one,” Chloe said with a nudge of her chin at a room just off the kitchen.

“Where’s the other one?” Jay wondered, and he and Alyssa went in search of the second bedroom while Chloe went to inspect the first. Like the rest of the cabin, it was charming and snug. A full-sized bed took up most of the space, and a window on the far wall offered a view of the lake through the trees, still glittering in the late afternoon sun. The water was a lot closer than she’d realized, just a stone’s throw from the house, and a small pier led out from the sloped backyard into it, an old canoe pulled up onto the rocky shore. It painted a peaceful, serene picture. It was beautiful. But the longer Chloe looked out at the lake, the more a niggling feeling grew in the pit of her stomach that something dark lurked just beneath the surface.

Knock, knock.

Someone knocked lightly on the open door. She turned around and saw David in the doorway, two beers in hand.

“I figured you could use one of these,” he said.

Chloe breathed out in appreciation. “You figured right.” She took one of the bottles and twisted open the cap. It was lukewarm from the drive, but the familiar rich, malty taste helped settle her nerves, if only a bit.

“Unlike Jay, I didn’t want to just assume you’d be okay with sharing a bed,” David said.

Chloe coyly tucked her hair behind her ear. “I appreciate that,” she nodded. “But, you know… we’ll see how the night goes.”

She smirked at him, and David returned it, an unspoken sentiment between them. They both knew damn well he wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch.

Smack!

“Jesus!” Chloe jumped and put a hand to her chest at an unexpected sound from inside the room. Her heart hammered under her palm. “What the fuck was that?”

“It sounded like something fell in the closet,” David said. He pivoted toward the closet and slid open the pocket door. “Oh, shit.”

Chloe didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”

David bent down and picked something up off the closet floor. A long, flat box—and Chloe froze when she saw the word printed on the side of it. Ouija.

“Our creepy friend at the gas station wouldn’t be happy to see this,” David quipped.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Chloe breathed. Her heart was practically thrumming out of her chest now. “It just fell? From where?”

David peered into the closet. “The shelf, I guess.”

Chloe crossed the room to get a look inside herself. The closet was small and simple, with a single shelf and rod. Unless the box had already been teetering on the edge, she wasn’t sure how it could have fallen, much less with as much force as it had. It had sounded like someone had shoved it. Like something had wanted them to find it.

“It looks like it’s been in there a while,” David noticed. He wasn’t wrong; the box was old and covered in a thin layer of dust, one of the corners ripped and flimsy. It could’ve been sitting there decades, for all they knew. The sour taste of warm beer crept back up Chloe’s throat.

“Well, it’s not gonna be in there anymore.”

She took the box and walked back out into the living room, looking for somewhere to quickly stash it out of sight. Her eyes landed on the entertainment center; that was good enough. She opened one of the cabinets, pushed the Ouija board inside, and firmly shut the door. No one else needed to know it was there.

“Feel better?” David asked.

“A little,” she said, wiping the dust from her hands on her jeans. “But you might as well just go ahead and put your stuff in the room now. I’m not sleeping in there alone.”

* * * *

The temperature dropped with the sun, and once they’d all settled in, everyone gathered around the fire pit on the deck, drinks in hand, music streaming from a portable Bluetooth speaker Riley had brought; and between the alcohol and the atmosphere, the White Lady wasn’t a thought in anyone’s mind.

“Whose turn is it?” Jay asked.

“Mine,” Nick answered. He leaned forward and drew a card from a stack on the table—a drinking game that Alyssa had purchased just for the occasion. “The person who most recently used the bathroom drinks,” he read. He looked over at Alyssa. “Bottoms up.”

She rolled her eyes and took a drink. “Shouldn’t have broken the seal!” Jay proclaimed.

It was Alyssa’s turn next. She drew a card—and her expression went flat. “Everyone who is shorter than you drinks.”

Riley laughed. “So no one then.”

She just flipped him off.

“Draw another one,” Chloe said, but Alyssa was already on it.

“Flip a coin. If it’s heads, you drink. If it’s tails, everyone else drinks,” she read.

Riley groaned. “These are boring. Where’re all the sexy cards?” he complained, but Alyssa paid him no mind.

“Does anyone even have a coin?” she asked.

“Here,” David grabbed a discarded bottle cap and tossed it to her. “Top is heads, bottom is tails.”

She balanced the bottle cap atop her thumb and flicked it into the air. It landed on the deck top-down. “Drink up, bitches!” she proclaimed, and everyone else took a drink; some larger than others.

Riley was up next. “Alright, give me something good,” he willed as he drew a card. He flipped it over with a flourish—and a mischievous grin spread over his lips. “Okay. The person after you can ask you any question. You can either answer truthfully or refuse to answer and drink.” He looked at Chloe; that meant her. “Don’t disappoint me, Chlo.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes at him, thinking. Knowing Riley, he wanted her to ask him a certain kind of question; and luckily for him, she had enough of a buzz going that she was willing to oblige.

“Alright. Tell me, Riley: do you have a daddy kink?”

“HA!” Jay laughed out loud. “Come on, you can’t just tell he does? It’s practically stamped on his sleazy, mulleted forehead.”

“Well, he needs to answer or drink,” she said. Riley smirked at her.

“I don’t know, Chlo. I could answer now… or you could find out later.”

David and Alyssa both scoffed. But Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re even good enough to get me to call you that.”

At that, everyone loudly oooed and winced and laughed at Riley's expense. “Jesus, where the hell has this Chloe been?” Jay asked.

“For real. Matt was hiding her, apparently,” Riley remarked.

“Alright, if you’re not gonna actually answer, you might as well drink,” Nick said, and the mood notably shifted. Riley shot him a sidelong glance and took a drinked of his beer. Chloe shifted awkwardly in her seat and pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands.

“It’s your turn, Chlo,” Alyssa urged to get the game back on track. Eager to do the same, Chloe drew a card and cleared her throat.

“Everyone who is single drinks,” she read.

“Cheers,” David said to her, and they clinked their beer bottles together and drank. On the other side of the circle, Nick and Riley drank, too.

David was up next. He picked a card, and a slow grin pulled at his lips as he read it to himself before reading aloud.

“Pick someone and guess the color of their underwear. If you guess correctly, they drink. Otherwise, you drink.”

“Chloe,” Jay coughed. Chloe bit her lip and fidgeted in her seat again, fighting back the blush creeping its way into her cheeks. But she lost the battle when she noticed David studying her.

“I’m gonna say… gray,” he guessed.

There was a pause as everyone waited to see if he’d guessed correctly—and then Chloe drank.

“Nice,” Jay smirked.

“They’re gray with black flowers on them,” she revealed.

David just grinned at her. Her blush deepened.

“My turn!” Jay announced, and he eagerly pulled a card from the deck. His eyes lit up in the firelight when he saw what it said. “Oh, here we go. Pick someone to dare. They can either perform the dare or refuse to and drink.”

“Just drink?” Nick questioned. “That makes it way too easy to get out of the dare. You should have to shotgun a beer, or something.”

“True, but I’m daring Riley, and we all know he’ll do anything.”

Riley nonchalantly beckoned Jay with a hand. “Bring it, then.”

Jay watched him for a minute, drawing it out. And then he said, “Why don’t you go for a little dip in the lake?”

There was a pause as the legend of the White Lady was suddenly brought back to the forefront, the danger of going for a swim after dark.

But Riley wasn’t nervous about it. “Fine. I’ve never cheated on anyone, so I don’t have anything to worry about.” He stood up and removed his beanie and hoodie and toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks.

“Okay, White Lady or not, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Alyssa said. “It’s pitch black out there and you’ve been drinking.”

“So come supervise, then,” Riley said, and before Alyssa could point out that she’d been drinking, too, he started down the steps off the deck that lead to the water.

“Actually, we probably should make sure he doesn’t die,” Jay said, and he got up and went after him. Alyssa followed, and Nick went, too, leaving Chloe and David alone by the dwindling fire.

“You don’t want to go?” David asked her.

She quickly shook her head. “No. I’d rather go get in the hot tub.” She stood up and sent him a look over her shoulder. “Want to join me?”

A corner of David’s mouth quirked up. “Absolutely.”

* * * *

David changed in the bathroom so that Chloe could change in the room. When she returned to the deck, he was climbing into the hot tub.

“Did you have any trouble getting it going?” she asked as she walked over.

He shook his head. “Nah,” he returned, and he did a double take when he saw her in her bikini. It boosted Chloe’s confidence. That was the reaction she’d been hoping for.

She climbed up onto the edge of the hot tub, and David offered her his hand as she slid into the bubbling, illuminated water next to him. They sat close, his arm resting behind her, their knees touching under the water, and Chloe couldn’t help but notice that she’d never felt as comfortable in her own skin with Matt as she did with David right now.

“Are they still out there?” she curiously asked. She’d thought the others would have returned by now from Jay’s dare. But they weren’t, and the only thing Chloe could hear other than Riley’s playlist still streaming through the portable speaker was the distant song of crickets and frogs in the night.

David turned and looked behind them into the dark, in the direction of the water. “I guess so,” he said. “They can take their time, as far as I’m concerned.”

Chloe bit back a grin. Part of her wanted to just throw caution to the wind and kiss David right then and there. But he spoke again before she could.

“So… I know things didn’t end well between you and Matt, and I know it hasn’t been long since all that happened, so I completely understand if you don’t want to get into anything right now. But… I’m just letting you know that I’m interested, because I’d kick myself if I didn’t.”

Chloe looked bashfully down into the water. “Oh, so you’re interested?”

“I’m very interested,” he confirmed with a grin.

She looked back up at him. “I am, too.”

His smile widened. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “What happened with Matt is over and done with; I’ve processed it and moved on. And if I’m being honest… I don’t think he and I would have ever gotten together if you hadn’t gone to Germany, anyway.”

David didn’t hesitate. “I know you wouldn’t have.”

There were the tingles again, all over, a warmth spreading out from Chloe’s core, and then David was leaning in. She closed her eyes and tilted her mouth toward his—

“Is anyone out here?”

Chloe reopened her eyes and whipped her head around in shock. It couldn’t be—but it was. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. “Matt?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” David breathed.

Matt walked out onto the deck, a delighted smirk on his face at finding Chloe in the hot tub. But it visibly faltered when he realized she wasn’t alone. “Hey, Chlo. David.”

David didn’t respond. Chloe wasn’t much more welcoming.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Matt’s eyebrows arched. “It’s nice to see you, too.” He eyed them, David’s arm still around her. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Little bit,” David muttered just loud enough for him to hear. Chloe tried not to laugh and put her hand on his thigh under the water. She wanted him to know that Matt’s sudden appearance didn’t change anything of what she’d said.

“Okay,” Matt breathed, deliberately ignoring the remark, “well, where’s everyone else? I didn’t see any—”

“AHHHHHH!”

He didn’t get to finish his question. A blood-curdling scream ripped through the night—and it came from the direction of the lake.

[photogrivy]

Ivy jolted suddenly, the harsh, grating sound of her phone vibrating against the bedside table forcing her awake. Groaning, she tugged the duvet closer and nuzzled against the man beside her, pressing her face against his neck. She pressed a lazy, fleeting kiss to his collarbone as she felt his arm wrap tighter around her in his sleep. Her phone buzzed again and she silently cursed Wardo; she’d been working last night and got laid, but she was sure he could survive without her. After the third buzz, and a petulant whine from the body next to her, she finally peeked out from under the duvet, squinting at the slither of sunshine that had slipped through the gap in his curtains. Reaching across, not daring to pull free from the hold her one night stand had on her, she snatched the phone up with the intention of silencing it. 

Just as suspected, she had three separate texts from Wardo, all prompting an eyeroll from Ivy. Just as she was about to turn the damned thing off entirely, it buzzed in her hand again, this time capturing her full attention. 

“Crap, sorry. I’m just gonna read this real quick,” she muttered, keeping her voice low. 

It wasn’t like she needed to reassure the guy next to her. Sure, Ivy was in his bed, in his apartment, with his naked body entangled with her own, but she didn’t owe him anything. She’d already sucked him dry and let him return the favour multiple times; what more could he want from her? But, still, she had manners when she wanted to. She’d had a late shift last night and with Raff up to his eyeballs breaking up fights and dealing with morons, she’d had nobody to entertain her from behind the bar, which meant flirting with customers was just about the only thing she could do to keep her sane. When Tall, Dark and Horny had leaned across the bar, Ivy had been smitten almost instantly. Hell, she wasn’t blind, and she was also horny, so it wouldn’t have taken much for her to jump into bed with the guy. It just so happened that he’d been devastatingly sexy, funny, and a little too charming for her to be normal about it. 

Usually, Ivy was prone to a quicky in a bathroom stall, or a one night stand that left her slipping out at 3am to head home and finish the job herself. Sometimes, however, she met people that she thought might be worth keeping around for an orgasm or two at a later date; a booty call, if you will. This guy – Matt, she thought his name might be? She hadn’t actually bothered to ask – fit the bill perfectly. In the last ten years or so, between tackling snippets of her trauma (or at least, laughing through it and repressing the hell out of it) and getting a gig working behind her bar, Ivy had decided to say screw it to her No Drinking rule and joined the dark side. Sure, she’d never been wasted and had barely ever even crossed the line over to tipsy, but she didn’t mind nursing a drink or two after a rough night. So, she’d clocked off from her shift, sought out the guy who’d been hitting on her at the bar, and the two had stumbled into bed mere hours later. She’d stayed the night, figuring it would be stupid to walk away from a dick that big and, parched as she tended to be in the morning, she knew she’d be able to put her mouth to use if the length pressed against her bare thigh was anything to go by. 

Clicking into her notification, Ivy’s email app lit up her screen and she eagerly tapped into the one at the top of her inbox. While Ivy was generally pretty Anti Sports, she’d recently applied for a photography job working for some hockey team called The New York Rangers. She wasn’t sure how it was gonna work out for her, but any experience was good, and Ivy was always interested in trying out different fields and perfecting her craft. She waited impatiently for it to load, duvet slipping as – Matt? Mike? – whatever his name was shuffled beside her, a chill catching her naked skin. She hadn’t really thought to ask him for his wifi password, so she waited, nervously gnawing at her lower lip. Absently, Ivy shifted closer to him, her back pressed against his chest, an unconscious need for comfort. 

Finally, it loaded, and her heart sank. 

Dear Ivy Rogers, 

Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us to discuss our recent opening for a new Team Photographer for the New York Rangers. It was an absolute pleasure getting to meet you and to learn more about your skillset and past experience. 

Unfortunately, we will not be considering you for the role. 

Your portfolio was very impressive, but we have decided to go in a different direction as we wanted to hire somebody with more experience in the field. 

Competition is always strong here at the New York Rangers, though we understand you must be very disappointed. Please do not be afraid to reach out to us if you have any further questions regarding the role, or if you would like to further discuss the decision that we came to. 

Despite our offering of bad news, we would like to offer an olive branch, of sorts. Upon offering the role to Max Hayashi, and with some consideration, we have decided that we would like to give you an opportunity to still join our team. We would love it if you could join us, on a trial basis, shadowing our new Team Photographer as his personal intern and Photographer’s Assistant. He is extraordinarily skilled within the Sports sector, and we think you could learn so much from him. 

We hope you take our offer into consideration. 

Ivy didn’t bother reading the sign off, already feeling sick to her stomach. Her throat was thick as she blinked back tears. She felt stupid – she didn’t even like Hockey! It never stopped feeling humiliating, the sting of rejection. Ivy knew she had a disadvantage in life with her overwhelming lack of education and a criminal record to boot, but how was she ever supposed to excel in any job if nobody gave her a chance? And who the fuck was Max Hayashi anyway? 

Furiously tapping his dumb bitch name into google, a scowl now firmly etched across her face, Ivy froze as the page slowly loaded. Links to the New York Rangers website filled the top of her search result, with thumbnails featuring various images of the tall, chiseled bastard that had stolen her job. 

“Oh, you have GOT to be fucking kidding me!” she yelled, scrambling out of bed with a loud thump. 

[nylabear95]

.

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? Spotify is your room messy or clean? clean what color are your eyes? green/blue/grey do you like your name? why? nic is cute what is your relationship status? free describe your personality in 3 words or less eat chip lie what color hair do you have? dark red what kind of car do you drive? color? n/a where do you shop? places how would you describe your style? 🪭🎞️📷🌹🌸 idk favorite social media account twitter what size bed do you have? queen any siblings? younger brother if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? idk. somewhere halfway between the city and the coast favorite snapchat filter? i don't use sc favorite makeup brand(s) idk but i like to buy from mecca how many times a week do you shower? 5-6 favorite tv show? supernatural shoe size? 8 and a half

how tall are you? 163cm/5′4 sandals or sneakers? sneakers do you go to the gym? no describe your dream date somewhere i can take lots of photos, with a nice breeze and sunset how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? like $15 what color socks are you wearing? pink how many pillows do you sleep with? 4 do you have a job? what do you do? not atm lmao. IT! how many friends do you have? i'd say i have 3 bestfriends and a couple of other closer friends i talk to frequently whats the worst thing you have ever done? i cut a close friend out of my life because i was too scared to have a potentially hard/awkward conversation with them. happened several years ago and we reconnected not long afterwards and made amends, and are still bestfriends to this day. we still talk every single day.<3 whats your favorite candle scent? jasmine/sandalwood 3 favorite boy names felix oscar dmitri 3 favorite girl names bella cassie sky favorite actor? matt damon, jake gyllenhaal, ewan mcgregor, tony leung, timothee chalamet favorite actress? anya taylor-joy, kirsten dunst, mia goth, lucy liu who is your celebrity crush? jensen ackles favorite movie? in the mood for love, revenge of the sith, whiplash, marie antionette do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? no money or brains? brains do you have a nickname? what is it? nic, nicky, nickynic, dummy how many times have you been to the hospital? to visit - 100's of times. myself - a few. top 10 favorite songs simple minds don’t you forget about me do you take any medications daily? no what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) im dehydrated so oily. what is your biggest fear? deep water how many kids do you want? 0 whats your go to hair style? just down and curled a lil bit what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) small who is your role model? lucy liu, lol what was the last compliment you received? my hair looks pretty what was the last text you sent? 'how much was da pizza?' how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? no idea what is your dream car? 1987 bmw m3 e30 opinion on smoking? no thank you do you go to college? no what is your dream job? i don’t dream about work would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? suburbs do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? nope do you have freckles? yes do you smile for pictures? sometimes how many pictures do you have on your phone? 10,215 have you ever peed in the woods? no do you still watch cartoons? no do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? never tried wendy’s so maccas Favorite dipping sauce? sweet & sour what do you wear to bed? singlet and pants/underwear have you ever won a spelling bee? in class, yes what are your hobbies? video games, watching movies, photography and other related creative stuff w/ photos like moodboarding, photo editing, i like video editing can you draw? used to do you play an instrument? no what was the last concert you saw? never been to one tea or coffee? iced coffee Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? starbucks i guess do you want to get married? i have no idea. what is your crush’s first and last initial? i am not disclosing this information even to myself are you going to change your last name when you get married? i don’t want to what color looks best on you? black, red and blue do you miss anyone right now? dean winchester. the undisclosed person from 3 questions ago.

do you sleep with your door open or closed? closed do you believe in ghosts? don’t like to think about it what is your biggest pet peeve? people talking to me while i have headphones on. people asking me if something's wrong. last person you called my brother! favorite ice cream flavor? peppermint choc chip regular oreos or golden oreos? regular chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? rainbow what shirt are you wearing? this cute red velvet cami for halloween what is your phone background? pink orchids are you outgoing or shy? more on the shy side do you like it when people play with your hair? no do you like your neighbors? no do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? yes every morning have you ever been high? yes have you ever been drunk? yes last thing you ate? crackers with cheese and vegemite + red bull favorite lyrics right now idk but i have a line from don't cha by pussycat dolls stuck in my head because of a dean/crowley video summer or winter? autumn:) day or night? night dark, milk, or white chocolate? all three :) favorite month? january what is your zodiac sign capricorn who was the last person you cried in front of? probably tim lol

[alittle-eccentric]

Day 2 - I woke up at 4am-ish thanks to good old jet lag. Which I was a bit bummed about as I had booked to wear a Kimono all day in Kyoto so wanted to feel good and rested and also look nice and not like I had been punched in the face. However I seemed to find a second wind and was fine all day and it was so bright and hot I had my sunglasses on most the time, so you couldn't seen my tired eyes much lol.

We ended up getting up super early, eating our breakfast I pre-bought the night before so we could save time to get to Kyoto quickly the night before. Then just started getting ready a slow pace. It was a nice start to the morning.

We caught the train to Kyoto which ended up starting off very busy as we started the day early, we hit rush hour. But after that it thinned out and we enjoyed a lovely train ride to Kyoto.

We were a bit early for the rental so grabbed something else to eat as we were hungry again and slowly walked to the rental place. It was so so hot that day. It was around 30 degrees, mostly clear skies and lots of sunshine. We found a nice park where we sat in the shade until it was time and I went to get changed. It was very daunting going alone, but I plucked up the courage and went for it.

It was a nice experience overall. I had to pick from the tall and wider section which meant my choice was quite small, but I actually preferred that as there were so many in the main section, I think I would of been quite overwhelmed with which to go for. The dressing progress wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it might be, and although tight and fairly weighty the Kimono wasn't too uncomfortable. After a few minutes I got used to it. I had my hair done and then out the door to meet Matt. I think it would of been a lot of fun going with friends. But they said to not bring anyone who wasn't getting dressed, so being alone was ok but I would love to do it with a friend if I ever did it again.

Matt and I set off to explore the local Shrine. To be honest I hadn't planned this out that well and we just sort of wondered around. Then we stumbled upon Kiyomizudera Temple and Yasaka-no-to Pagoda. I'd seen photos of these places but didn't think to note where they were. Anyway, it was quite a steep climb up especially in my kimono and sandals. But it was lovely and leisurely. After our disastrous trip to Kyoto last time and to Inari Shrine I finally got to see some real Kyoto and it didn't disappoint.

I did feel like I had stepped into 'Spirited Away' at times. We walked to the top and looked out over the beautiful countryside and views. It was so stunning at the top and looking across at the panoramic view of Kyoto and seeing the temple's wooden stage across from the other side. We ate Matcha Ice Cream, Dangos and Meat buns, and visited lots of little shops and I bought a cat purse, as we slowly wound our way back down. I am glad we started early as by the time we were coming down it was insanely busy. My feet unfortunately couldn't handle doing over 20k steps in the sandal sock combo I had on, so we headed back to the Kimono shop a little early (I had to return it by 5:30pm and we headed back just gone 4pm).

I popped to the loo before I went in and of course fell on my face and couldn't get up on my own. Crying and hands bleeding I decided that was the end of the day and I need to cool off and get some sleep.

Once back in Osaka and freshened up we headed into Dotonburi and went to CoCo Curry where Matt had a level 5 curry and it was very hot and we had a lovely dinner and headed back to the hotel.

Overall it was a fantastic day and one of my favourite days of the whole trip (minus the falling over). Although I wouldn't rush to wear a Kimono again, I am so glad I could experience it and I really loved the day.

[professionalfangirl24601]

I've always wondered if Andrew slept on the top or the bottom bunk. Since he's afraid of heights, I thought it was the bottom bunk, but then we know he gives his bed up to Robin and shares with Neil in his last year. So he must be sleeping on the top bunk at one point of the books.

I know that Andrew intentionally goes to the roof to feel fear, but there's time and place for everything. Nothing bad has happened to Andrew on a rooftop (that we know of), so it's a safe place to practice feelings. Plus, he decides when to go there. I don't think feeling afraid in his bed would be a good idea for him.

Today I've solved this dilemma by deciding that Andrew used to sleep on the bottom bunk, but then moved to the top one. He doesn't feel afraid because he has a wall against his back and a Neil in front of him.

[ryeriy]

Requested: no

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I'll Keep You Company - Mark Estapa

warnings: just fluff

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Staring at Lucy dancing around with her newly husband on the dance floor. I was sitting at a round table completely exhausted from all the partying. I mean I only get to see my sister get married once. Hopefully.

My five year old niece, Gemma, was sitting on my lap sleeping. Her head was laying on my shoulder. I was rubbing her back with one hand and the other supporting her bottom so she didn't fall.

I was dozing of a bit but I kept myself up. I didn't want Gemma to fall. I was kind of comfortable too. I saw a very tall man sit in a seat next to me.

Looking over at him he had a soft smile on his face. I put one on mine too.

"Hi." The man said while looking at me. He has a child face but a body like an athlete.

"Hi." I replied back to him. He must be from the grooms side.

"I'm Mark." Awkwardly saying to me. He went for a handshake but shortly realized my hands were full with a sleeping five year old.

"I'm (y/n). You must be from the grooms side? I don't recognize you from the brides. I'm Lucy's sister by the way. If you care." I chuckled l as I said that. He probably didn't care.

"Yeah no I am. Matt's a family friend to me. I just came over to come talk to you because you are pretty and look lonely. If you care." He chuckles at me. That put a soft smile on my face.

"Thank you. As long as you don't mind I have a sleeping five year old on top of me I'd love to talk to you." Smiling at him.

"I don't mind at all." He replys.

"Great. So tell me about yourself Mark." I asked him while Gemma was adjusting herself on me.

"Well I'm twenty-one, I play divison one hockey for Unvirsity of Michigan and that's where I go to college, ummm and im single. That's all I got right now. What about you?" He says while looking at me. I'm so fascinated in this man and I don't know why.

"I'm twenty. I am currently studying to be a marine biologist at University of Maine. Since it's right on the ocean. That's about it really. Oh yeah, and if you're wondering this isn't my daughter it's my niece." I told him.

"Yeah I know Gemma. I used to babysit her when she was little. Matt and Lucy use to live not far from where I did and so they offered me to watch her and I said yeah." He said while looking at the child sleeping on me and smiled.

"I never knew that."

"Not a lot of people do." He chuckled.

"Your really cute." I was starting to get lost in the laze of his eyes. Not even noticing how his face was getting closer to mine. And how his lips were moving apart from each other.

"Speak for yourself." He said softly to me.

Sooner or later I found myself connecting lips with Mark. Giving me a soft kiss before pulling away. Then going back in for another.

"Can I get your number and we can hang out sometime?" He softly spoke to me.

"(###-###-####)" He was typing in the numbers as I said them out loud to them.

"Perfect." I saw him make a contact for me and put me as, (y/n)<3, I have a heart next to my name. How sweet.

"Do you want to keep me company for the rest of the night?" I offered up to Mark.

"It would be my pleasure." Both of us smiling wide at each other. I couldn't wait to see what the future had in store for the two us.