#also have to reorganize how the pots are placed so i can get to all of them better

[jedi-bird]

Woke up early today and despite knocking a bunch of stuff down and breaking something, I managed not to break any dishes washing them. Did drop a plate of cat food on one of the cats though (it was a plastic plate designed for babies so it's very light, she's fine, just pouting because she doesn't like getting messy). Went back to sleep for about two hours and felt great upon getting up. Half an hour later I feel like shit and kind of just want to go back to sleep for the rest of the day.

[ms-demeanor]

my thing is I'm capable of any of this stuff up to at least level 3 and can do them for special occasions and if I've rested enough no problem, but I can't do it OFTEN because it just uses up too many spoons. any thoughts on this? besides practice, I already cook as often as I can (which is not very)

Mise en place your life as much as possible. I've talked about this before but this is what I do to make things easier on myself. My baking station with all the ingredients out and clearly labeled instead of at the bottom of the pantry where I have to dig for them makes it much, much, much easier to bake. My knife strip on the wall and the dozen cutting boards in a rack on the wall and the frying pan that lives on the stove instead of under the counter all make it much easier for me to cook.

Like, a lot of what I've been going through and doing in terms of home improvement/home decor is attempting to configure the house in such a way that large bastard and i can easily do the things we want to/need to do. We need batteries all the time, so the batteries live in an organized box where we can see it instead of in the back of the cabinet. We also need to *discard* batteries all the time, so the battery discard tub is right next to that box otherwise we'll start accumulating used batteries on surfaces.

The instruments that live on my kitchen counter are the ones that get used most often so that I don't need to go looking for them and so that I know at a glance if they're clean (if so they're in the canister on the counter) or need to be washed. The appliances that I use the most either live on the counter or get put places where it's convenient - I don't have enough bowls and plates that I need to use the top three shelves of my cabinet for bowls and plates like my parents did, but I do use my rice cooker twice a week so my rice cooker lives in the same cabinet as my dishes (as does my tofu press, my waffle maker, and the easiest-to-use 16oz food storage containers).

And you know what sometimes i just can't do it. Sometimes my back isn't working or my hip isn't working or i got glutened recently and I can't do much of anything.

I've got a variety of low spoon foods that I always have ingredients for (one recent addition to this list is tofu; i went from eating no tofu to eating tofu twice a week because two days a week i can't really use one of my arms to make dinner so i just prep the tofu at lunchtime and when i get home from the plasma center all i have to do is season and pan fry it and make a pot of rice. And I also make a shitload of extra rice because rice with eggs and sweet-spicy sauce is now one of my easiest and best go-to lunches) and whenever I make a pot of soup (something that I do pretty much every weekend when it's cool enough) I will make enough for lunch that week plus usually some extra to go in the freezer as backup "I don't feel like cooking" meals.

So, yeah I guess what I'm saying is get a good list of low-spoon foods that you like and can keep the ingredients handy for (ground beef goes bad in a week, tofu lasts like a month, i love tofu, it's so easy and so cheap to keep a bunch of tofu handy), and throw out the idea of what a kitchen is "supposed" to be like and figure out if there are ways to make your kitchen more adaptive for you.

Get anti-fatigue mats for your home kitchen. Get a tall stool that you can sit at while cooking at the stove instead of standing. Reorganize your cabinets for maximum efficiency for your needs. (large bastard and I have been doing this both with organized visible storage like wall racks as well as putting his stuff up high because bending over isn't easy for him but it is easy for me).

And also, like, consider if it's worth it, or how it can be worth it. How do you want to be a better cook? Do you want to be better at making meals for large groups or do you want to be more comfortable cooking for yourself or do you want a wider repertoire of recipes - all of those things will take a different path and some will be harder than others if you're wrangling disabilities that make it difficult to cook. I'm probably never going to be great at cooking for large groups because it doesn't really suit my lifestyle and it hurts! It hurts a lot and after hosting thanksgiving last year i needed to use my cane for a week because of how much it hurt my back! But I can work on stuff that makes it easier for me to cook, like having my baking station or keeping my rice cooker in an easy-to-reach cabinet.

[clevermrclandestine]

LIFE UPDATE 0

Well, it's been a while. Dips in mood do that. My bad.

FAMILY Honestly, haven't seen 'em much. Feels good. The few times I have seen them, though, were great! I saw my mom last week when I did my laundry at her house (she always says "Oh, don't forget to bring ALL of your laundry this time! That includes your bedding."). Thank you, Mom. I appreciate you sharing your resources with the needy. She works from home one day a week which gives us time to catch up. I usually don't have much to update her on (I live a nice, boring life), but I always love to hear how she's been and what she's been up to. All that jazz. Had dinner with my two older sisters and their families including my three nephews as well as my dad and his family. It was a nice time. The service at the restaurant was slow as fuck, though. Exceptionally so, in fact. My thought was, "Wow, they must not have wages high enough to ensure competent, reliable workers. Fuckin' management." Having worked in food service for a significant portion of my life, there is little the staff can do other than their best. Aside from that, it was awesome getting to see my nephews talking and interacting with everyone at the table. To me, kids are useless until they start developing sentience. Then things start to pay off. Oh, Nova (my cat) is doing great! Still shedding like crazy, but I'm still willing to look past that. I got here a cheap toy from a thrift store down the road and that mother fucker doesn't even play with it! Like, come on! I'm really tryin', here. Kidding aside, it's nice having something to take care of. But a potted plant would be a lot easier… we'll see.

JOB SEARCH I am taking my mom's advice and looking for a long-term, chemistry-related job. After all, I went to school for chemistry. Been coming up with a cover letter (my first, actually) for whatever places near me are hiring. So far, I have one that has openings listed. Maybe I should just call the other places and inquire directly. A part of me thinks they would appreciate the effort, but another part thinks they would think I am wasting their time. Either way, I will do whatever I need to… things gotta' change.

MENTAL HEALTH No updates, really. Except that I have been getting "brain zaps" again which is odd given that I haven't missed any doses of Paroxetine. They only occur with lateral eye movements (No idea why. Don't ask me.) on some days. Overall, it isn't much of a concern. It's just interesting. Need a blood draw for a lithium level per request of my psychiatrist. Actually, a PNP: they're cheaper. You get used to needles over time. It hurts to say, but I need to stop ingesting political content. It just stresses me out. Also, some good news: I have been drinking less. A lot less. Now, just kick the nicotine and I'll finally be free… but let's be realistic.

PHYSICAL HEALTH Been running a lot. My version of a lot, anyway: 5 days/wk for >3mi @ ~8.5-9min/mi Was really proud of myself the other day when I went for 5 miles, but, shit, I was exhausted. Gonna have to take a break from running, though; shin splints, such bullshit. I guess my stationary bike should suffice, and if I don't build up my core strength then I will never reach my goal of a comfortable 5mi @ <8.5mi/min. That is why God invented situp benches. I'm kidding. People invented those. They also invented gods, now that I think about it. My diet has been leaner the past few weeks. Thank christ that I am not baking anymore. It's for my own good: I always eat whatever I decide to bake. And yes, it is always sugary, salty, and fucking delicious. So carbs are a no go for me, right now. I'll celebrate with a cheat day once I get below 170lbs… just 5 more pounds, mother fucker.

HOBBIES N' SHIT As the first line in this post suggests, I really haven't done many things I enjoy. Sure, I jot down the random ideas I have throughout the day, reorganize my papers and files, and read about the things I like. But I haven't been doing them consistently. Doing them has taken too much effort the past few weeks. Hell, I'm surprised I've been running as much as I have. I feel proud of it, sure, but… I don't know.

'Til next time.

CMC

[snowmuttgetsweird]

3/6/23 (technically- it's after midnight but for me it's still Sunday till I go to sleep and wake up again. Same thing with the last post- it was technically already Sunday, but for me it still felt like Saturday.)

The pot roast came out great. I didn't actually have a bowl myself cause I've noticed that overeating tends to exacerbate the panic attacks, and I was still pretty full from a late lunch, but I taste-tested it for seasoning and to make sure the veggies softened, and it was pretty dope. I just walked to a MeeTea and picked up a green milk tea with some sago instead- super yummy, very satisfying.

SALT YOUR MEAT AHEAD OF TIME. It makes a BIG difference- just salt it generously and put it on a plate in the fridge, uncovered, 24 hours in advance. It's just an old fashioned Campbell's Soup pot roast but little things like that can really elevate it. I'd really like to convince my roommate to let me deglaze the pan with some red wine after searing the outside of the chuck roast. He's not a big fan of wine flavors in cooking, but I'll try to win him over next time.

Oh, also my roomie and I cleaned up our apartment. We've been sitting on our Christmas tree and finally put it away today. It's one of those things that just gets away from you, but I decided we needed to ride that wave of productivity and just do it today, and we ended up cleaning the whole place. We both did our sheets, our towels, I cleaned the whole kitchen (almost exclusively my domain), reorganized our pantry, etc. Vacuumed and aired out the whole place. The weather was beautiful all day- chilly, but just BARELY warm enough to be t-shirt weather, about 50 F, with intermittent showers. I absolutely love dreary, overcast weather.

Also started a new book. I'm only through the prologue, but it's interesting so far: The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson. Pmuch immediately establishes an interesting magic system that got me thinking again about a character I used to RP in a freeform chat with friends named Noland- a psychic whose powerset was grounded in fun comicbook-y pseudoscience. Maybe I'll talk about him here later? I get to pretend I know something about thermodynamics and stuff when I do, it's fun to talk about.

Oh, and on Friday I "finished" a big project I've been working on for a client that I kinda had to prioritize that was keeping me from really working on the other commissions I've taken, so I finally get to get back to work on those tomorrow. There's technically still more to do, but it's all back-burner stuff I don't have to prioritize over my usual workload. I'm actually pretty excited for that. It feels good to feel like I'm making progress. It really sucks feeling sorta "stuck" on just one project or piece and not really being able to step away and work at my own pace. It usually helps me a lot to jump around between jobs throughout the day, because I can say that I touched and made progress on multiple things, and one will inevitably capture my attention that day, and then I can hyper-focus on that one until it's just done. It makes me incredibly thankful for how patient the vast majority of my clients have been- I'm spoiled rotten that way.

Big batch of pot roast in the fridge, a new book (been a few months since I was actively working through a book), more good meals on the way, a clean apartment, good weather, even a slightly rekindled interest in one of my own OCs... Not to mention another panic attack free day...

Tax stuff aside, this has potential to be a good week. Feeling tired, but optimistic and hopeful. I think I'll try to start tomorrow morning with a short walk.

[absurdthirst]

Can I request a headcanon for how good or bad each of the Pedro character are at helping around the house? I'm thinking Marcus Pike is great with chores but probably can't cook (I always remember him eating takeout or diner food in the show) and Max Philips definitely hires a cleaning service.

Helping Around The House:

Javier: Did you see how clean his apartment could be? This man helps out. He’s not the typical bachelor slob and that transfers over into a relationships. Come on? That toothbrush cup and his razor was neatly placed on the little mirror ledge. However, he does NOT cook. You don’t want him to. This man burned water, literally started reading a report and boiled all the water out of the pot and scorched it. But he won’t complain about a hot dog if you really don’t cook either. 

Ezra: Ummmm, you guys don’t have much. Your pod is nice and neat, but thats by necessity. There’s not a whole hell of a lot that you carry that isn’t for survival, so there isn’t a lot of mess. However, he does set up the camp marvelously efficiently. Cooking isn’t any better either. Those Nutri packs or bars is about as fancy as it gets when you are roughing it out on the Green. 

Mando: Mando is....militaristic. Everything has a place but beyond the neatly organized weapons locker, he’s not exactly domestic? Like meals are broths or packaged meals. The Crest has cargo containers with stuff, but it’s all organized so he knows exactly where everything is when he needs it. It’s more about you staying out of things than anything else honestly. At least at the beginning. You start bringing things in the ship, making him sigh and start reorganizing to find a place for it. Although he was really upset when the Crest was destroyed because you lost all your stuff. 

Frankie: He was in the military. The man knows how to keep an area clean. Things are not white glove clean since the baby, but he helps out. There's not really a chore list between the two of you. It’s just more of a ‘if it needs doing at that moment, do it’ type of attitude. He’s not going to ignore a full dishwasher or dryer because that’s ‘your’ chore. Although all the small fix it type chores around the house are his. He doesn’t trust you not to lose his tools. 😂

Tovar: You are kidding right? He is a man, his job is to provide for you. Your job is to take what he’s provided and turn it into a warm and welcoming home for him. It’s the time of course that lends him to adhere to this ideal of what the roles are. HOWEVER...this man also chops the wood and hauls the water, literally builds the house, breaks the ground for the garden every spring, and takes care of the hunting the meat. It’s not that he doesn’t help you, it’s more that you each play your roles very well and they compliment each other. 

Agent Whiskey: Jack absolutely hires a cleaning service. He’s never home. Always away on missions. And when he is home, he wants to spend every moment he can with his sugar, not worrying about cleaning a house. He has someone come in every couple of days to take care of the cleaning so you don’t have to worry about. Although, when he’s home, Jack will fire up the grill to make you a mean ribeye to go with that bottle of Statesman. 

Max Phillips: Cleaning service. You really think he’s going to clean up all that blood? Although it’s more that he turned the cleaning lady into a vampire. Hasn’t cooked since he's become a vampire, so you are on your own with that. Just, dear God, go easy on the garlic. That shit stinks. 

Marcus Pike: Of course Marcus will help. He’s going to assist any way that he can, maybe take on the chores that you hate the most because it will make you happy. Chore chart? Would that make it easier? Whatever it is, he’s in this 50/50. Although....he can order a mean take out, he cannot cook - bless him. Maybe a cooking lesson as a date night?

Oberyn: Chores? Things around the castle? That’s the servants responsibilities. Your job it so be by his side and his job is to do a lot of things, but none of them require either one of you to worry about washing clothes or preparing food. Your days of thinking you will live a hard life breaking your back for some shit lord are over. 

Dave York: He takes the trash out. When he’s in town. Honestly, with his schedule, he knows that a lot of the day to day gets put on your shoulders. He appreciates that, so when he is home on the weekends, he gives the girls strict instructions that they aren’t to bother you with anything, Mr. Mom mode is activated. It’s the least he can do for you holding down the fort while he was out being sexy murder daddy. 

Zach: What are you talking about? You barely do anything. Zach is so damn proud of having a roof over his head, he’s going to be hard pressed to let you do anything. Seriously. He loves the fact that he has a place to clean and chores to do in order to maintain a home. It takes a little while and a few arguments to get him to relinquish the almost iron grip he has over the household cleaning.

Marcus Moreno: He’s honesty relieved to have a little help with the household chores to be honest. Missy has her chores, but he’s so very happy to have help with cooking and just the general cleaning of the house. Just tell him how to you want to pitch in and he will make sure that he tells you how much he appreciates it. 

Max Lord: To be honest, Max isn’t present even when he’s at home. He’s in his home office, working, burying his head in paperwork to find that dream stone. His dreams for you, for Alistair hinge on him finding that artifact and making sure that he has everything he’s ever wanted, and that he can give you the world. Sitting in his paper littered office, he doesn’t understand that you want him to help now, with the little things. Taking out the trash is more important that the riches he seeks in your eyes. He just can’t see it. 

Javi G: Javi doesn’t clean. Not because he’s an ass, but that is what they have hired people to do. He doesn’t make intentional messes, he cleans up after himself and he doesn’t leave his clothes scattered floor everywhere, but it’s just not on his radar to do chores. However, he does clean his memorabilia room himself. Does that count?

Dieter: Cleaning??? The only cleaning this man does is when he cuts neat little lines in his cocaine to snort up. He’s living in hotels most of the year and then when he’s home, he’s got the most amazing housekeeper at his house in Sherman Oaks. She comes in everyday and is witness to what a messy slob Dieter can be. This man child is absolutely useless with domesticity. 

MasterList

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[queenoftheworldisdead]

Dennis

Notes: No one asked for this. was inspired this thread. LOL. Also Chris Evans Debuts Trailer for New Movie DENNIS

Summary: A broken pathetic shell of a man with nothing to live for.

Warning: 18+ only please, forced fingering, non con, rape, Dark themes

Dark Dennis Baker x Reader

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

6:00 A.M.

Dennis hated waking up. Though he was married whenever he arose and reached over to his wife's side of the bed it was always cold. It didn't used to be this way. Not too long ago he would wake to find her snuggling into him, but now it was as if he was a single man all over again.

Scrubbing his hands over his face as he sat on the edge of the bed he wondered where his wife was this time. At some point after he was laid off she started changing. Working out more, staying out more, sleeping over at her sisters for reasons she never made clear to him.

Walking over to the closet Dennis retrieved his uniform, laying it on top of the bed, neatly. The gawd awful pink retail shirt, unflattering khaki pants, with the leather belt and penny loafers made him internally groan at the sight each morning.

As the steam dissipated from the shower Dennis mindlessly stared at his own reflection. Dread poured over him the closer it got time for him to leave for work. This job was a far cry from his former one as Head of IT. A major data breach ruined his career in the tech field. Despite his best efforts to prevent the cyber attack his warnings went unheeded, sighting unnecessary cost for the infrastructure. And when the inevitable happened his neck was brought to the chopping block.

With that blemish on his record it was hard to get another job of similar note with this infraction hanging over his head. Now reduced to technical expert at Betsy's Computer store. A glorified titled for a retail worker that pushed more PS5's than actual technical support.

With the drop in title so did the salary. The mortgage, car note and other bills began piling up on top of each other. Credit cards were starting to hit their own limit, all contributing to his physical and mental decline.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

7:00 A.M.

As he began dressing he heard a faint sound coming from down stairs. Tucking in his shirt as he left the bedroom he heard the rare sound of his wife, Sarah. She was talking cheerfully to someone he hoped would be her sister. When he entered the archway his heart sank as she quieted herself, her mood fully changed before slipping her cell into her pocket.

Quickly she picked up a dish that contained scraps of some healthy meal that she only made for herself. Rinsing it off at the sink as Dennis approached her from behind.

Leaning over Dennis tried to kiss her cheek, but swiftly Sarah pulled away. “Ugh!”

"What's wrong?" He knew, but he had to hear it.

"You have a bad penis?" she answered before leaving him alone in the kitchen as he bottled up the hurt as he always did. Tucking away the insult and then burying it deep.

Dennis's erectile dysfunction was just the cherry on his shit cake. He had seen several doctors. All prescribed this or that, but nothing worked. The lack of intimacy helped to further wreck havoc on his marriage.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

8:00 A.M.

The entrance to the gaudy pink building dinged as the automatic doors opened.

"Morning Dennis" you smiled as he walked through the opened doors. He scrunched his face as if he didn't recognize you. You had only run into him once or twice since you started last week, so you weren't surprised he didn't remember.

"How did you..?" He looked a mix of tired and confused as he stood between the doorway.

Your head tilted and gave him a look, before tapping the name plate on your chest. Dennis followed your finger, your badge sat perched on your left breast. You shifted on your feet as his eyes lingered on your nameplate longer than you would've liked.

"Hadn't had your coffee yet I see" you joked. Quickly Dennis shifted his eyes away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah" Dennis chuckled dryly.

"Well, there is a fresh pot in the back last time I checked and  a few donuts. I think Richard brought some in. If you hurry you might be able to snatch one up." You brushed off his awkwardness.

Maybe he isn't a morning person.

You could see Dennis on the verge of reply, but your attention diverted to the customer walking to your open lane. "How was your shopping today? Do you have a Betsy card?" You read off your script as they laid their items down. In the corner of your eye you watched him linger a bit, before continuing on toward the back to clock in.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

3:00 P.M.

Dennis grumbled with hands on hips as he looked at the disarray of the printer cartage wall. He had organized and reorganized the entire aisle at least five times today. He had only been gone five minutes only to return to chaos.

Quickly taking inventory with his clipboard he made notes of what he needed before storming off to the storage room. Through his irritation he found it hard to stay mad as thoughts of you clouded his head while he walked.

The tiny interaction from earlier in the day had haunted him. Trying in vein Dennis tried his hardest to focus on anything else, but the more he fought it the more you seemed to just pop up. He found his eyes locking with yours in-between various interactions with customers as you cut through his section to get to the break room. Each time you fluttered your fingers and smiled at him, leaving him flustered, returning the smile more stiff and awkward than the time before.

Opening the door to the storage room Dennis's heart skipped a beat when he found you bent over examining a shelf. You hadn't noticed him yet, too focused on the numbers on the paper you held in search of an item.

Swallowing thickly Dennis gingerly closed the door quietly in an effort not to spook you. His cock twitched slightly the longer he stood against the door. When you moaned in frustration after you placed an item back on the shelf a heat rippled through his face forcing him to bite back a groan of his own.

Staying quiet, he released the knob and started to move closer to you. Each step Dennis felt his heart beat through his ears as your hips swayed before him.  

The narrow aisle forced Dennis to squeeze past you to reach his desired destination. Sucking in his bottom lip hungrily he pushed his hips forward as he slid behind, the slight graze made you jump up and yelp in surprise.

"Oh gosh Dennis you scared me!" You giggled slightly embarrassed. You placed a hand over your chest and the other on his shoulder.

"Sorry" looking sincerely at you as he held his hands up innocently. "Just trying to reach the ink." Hoping to take the focus away from his bottom half. The light graze was enough to awaken that piece of him that he had long sense gave up on.

"It's OK. It's super tight back here. Kind of hard not to knock into someone." You brushed of your shock and turn back to your task. With your back to him again adjusted himself awkwardly.

"Hey, wait!" Your call froze him in his tracks.

Dennis's back tensed and a panic shot through his core as he heard your steps approach. His work pants had become uncomfortably tighter all thanks to you.

Slyly he pressed his clip board over his buckle when you rounded his side. Internally Dennis prayed that you wouldn't notice the throbbing erection below his belt.

"Can you help me I can’t find this." You were still focused on the paper you held, pushing it in his line of sight as you waited for him to respond. You were so close that your perfume tickled his nose and he wondered if you tasted just as sweet as you smelled.

Dennis's lips deepened into a frown when Richard, the floor manager, called your name from the now open storage door.  

"We need you back on registers. Let me handle that for now." Richard demanded.  

"Oh OK" turning away from him you handed the papers to Richard as he approached. "Thanks anyway Dennis" you patted Dennis's back before walking off. The sudden lack of touch sent an ache to his heart as he watched you disappear through the door.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

5:30 P.M.

The rain came down hard. You hadn't check the weather, when you left your apartment earlier in the day the sky was clear. Without an umbrella you made a mad dash to your car on the far end of the lot. Panting wildly, by the time your reached the car you were soaked through and through.

Slipping in you shrieked when the white flash crashed too close to your car. Fumbling with your keys before sticking them in the ignition you quickly found disappointment. The engine wouldn't turn over. It took several clicks of the turning key, before you stared baffled at the wheel. You had never had issues with your car before, so you were at a loss as to what could be the cause.

A bashing came loud on your side that caused you to scream in fright. Your heart beat rapidly, but when you looked over you found Dennis standing outside your door holding his umbrella.

"You OK?" He queried as you manually rolled your window down.

"It won't start. I think its the battery?" You weren't sure, but it sounded plausible.

"I would give you a jump, but it's a little dangerous. I can give you a ride though." He shouted over the heavy rain.

"Oh gosh, are you sure?"

"Yeah, come on."

Unbuckling your seat Dennis held the door open for you as you got out. You stuck close to his side, huddling under his umbrella as he led you to his car.

Opening the passenger door you thanked Dennis then slipped inside. He closed the door than jogged over to the driver's side, you giggled at his awkward stride and wondered if there was any part of him that wasn't weird. 

💻🌧🍔 💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

Through his peripheral Dennis watched you. Your perfume seemed to waft through his tiny Toyota and he hoped that it would sink into the upholstery.

"It's over there, just turn right on the corner" you directed him. He nodded at your direction. Suddenly sad that the ride was coming to an end sooner than he would've liked.

"You can slow down here. Mine is the one in the middle."

Dennis slowed to park as you gathered your things and readied to disembark. "Um uh I know this is weird, but do you think I can.. use your restroom?" It came out bumbled and he internally kicked himself for that.

"Oh gosh yes of course." You touched his arm as you spoke, the patch of skin sending jolts all throughout.

Dennis exited the car first as you waited patiently for him to shelter you from the rain.

You thank him again as you both jogged to your front door. With your keys at the ready you unlocked the door and allowed him in after you. "First door on your right" you point down the hall as you slipped out of your work shoes.

💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

8:00 P.M.

Dennis didn't move.

"So how is married life?" You nervously inquired, noticing the gold band on his finger.

He didn't answer and the look on his face started to fill you with concern.

He is just an awkward guy. Don't over think it.

"Um would you like something to drink" you made a move to walk toward the kitchen, but Dennis blocked your advance. Stepping a foot back you started to panic. "So h-how do you like working at.."

Before you could finish Dennis sandwiched you between the door.  Fruitlessly you tried to wiggle free as his hands began to roam your sides. Pushing at his chest he stood unmoved by your efforts as he leaned in close to your cheek, peppering you with kisses along your neck.

"Please Dennis.." You trembled out. Dennis wedged between your legs, the feel of his hard cock had you hiccuping as you pleaded with him to stop.

The muscles in your arm burned as you push, your hands flailing and slipping off his wet clothes. He inhaled you, humming with delight as his stubble burned against your neck.

Tears coated your eyes as he began feverishly unbuckling your belt. Your nails clawed into his flesh to no effect, tossing your hands away effortlessly as he continued to maneuver your pants down past your hips.

It was if the mild mannered retail clerk had become a completely different person and you couldn't understand why.

"I see the way you look at me" he growled into your ear. 

"I was just being nice. Please Dennis!"

"So nice for me baby" he kissed your cheek as you turned your face away from him. Through the kerfuffle you hadn't realized you both had moved away from the door. Your side hit the arm of the living room's couch and you found yourself tumbling over with Dennis landing on top of you.

Dennis snatched one of your wrist when you tried to slap him. Threading his fingers with yours like a lover, slowly moving it above your head. Your other hand tried to force him to fall over to the floor, but he refused to budge.

His other arm disappeared between your bodies, the further it sunk down your stomach tensed. You were useless against his determination. There was no out from under him.

Dennis swallowed your sobs, when his hand came dangerously close to your clit. Hot beads of tears streamed your face when  he grazed your mound. The tickle of his finger tips meticulously played with your folds, in an attempt to move away his fingers parted your lips. Sucking and kissing on your neck, you felt a fire begin to pool at his hand.

"You don't want to do this please" you sniffed, but he was too far gone. A long moan fell from your lips when his fingers finally plunged into you.

Dennis's digits curled and pumped, the friction feeding an unwanted need in your core. When you tried to protest again he devoured your mouth greedily.

"I'm gonna fill you up...Have you stuffed full of my cum." Dennis moaned over your mouth.

Your toes started to curl as your heat grew. You wanted him to stop, but a need weakened your resolve.

"That's it baby, I feel you want me too." 

"Fuck" you panted out as you struggled to fight against him and yourself. Your juices coated him thoroughly, you bit back shame as he praised you for it. Mindlessly you gripped his shoulder  as your mounded tightened around him. Panting wildly you came on his fingers.

"That's it baby." He praised, slipping his fingers free which caused you to whimper shamefully. Your legs felt like jelly as you laid on the couch. Dennis hadn't moved, only lifting his hips to  unfastened his belt.

"No! No no please" you whined, pushing backwards on the couch cushion. Dennis snaked an arm behind your back, locking you in place as you pulled at his work shirt to get him off you.

The head of his cock swirled around your juices, pressing hard against your folds to blindly find your opening. "So wet just for me baby."

No matter which way your hips move the determined man found your slick folds. Wedged between your legs Dennis shuttered with delight as he pressed into you. His slow pressure stretched you as you continued to sob.

"So tight for me" he hummed. You hissed the deeper he sunk into you. Breathing heavily through the tightness while his hips rolled into you. The cheap couch groaned at the increase of activity. Dennis palmed your ass, gripping too tight as he fucked you into the couch.

His desperate kisses all over you felt like trails of fire. Your legs began to wrap and tighten around him as he thrusted relentlessly. 

"Dennis.." You panted out as your need took over.

"Do you want to come for me?" he sounded as needy as you did.

"I haven't come in so long... Do you think you can handle it baby?" He taunted.

"Please" you say weakly.

"That's it I knew you needed me"

"Please Dennis." You begged as you dissolved into pleasure.

You were his new life he was sure of it. His cure and he was never letting you go.

💻🌧🍔 💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️💻🌧🍔💍🚘☔️

[cuddles-and-kisses]

So The Cat's Out Of The Bag,,,

Another fanfic for Agapito (an OC that belongs to @yandereaffections) The story starts under the cut. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1,908 Trigger Warnings: Subtle yandereness, I can't think of any others

It’s 11 pm. I’ve been avoiding schoolwork all day and I’m in no rush to fix it. I've been writing fanfiction, of sorts, for the past 3 hours. On the bright side, the first draft is done! My back hurts from sitting so long while my butt hurts because I’ve sat on a wooden stool this long. I need to take a break but what to do? Oh, what to do? My weekly planner is wide open on a bookstand to my right. I could be productive, or I could keep avoiding them... So the planner is closed now. I’ve reorganized pens in a pen cup for the seventh time. Is there a limit to how many times a person can adjust a desk lamp before going insane? There has to be something else to do but what? As if on cue, my phone lights up with a text from my Baby. We’ve been official for 6 months so our dates are a lot more casual nowadays.

“Angel, I want attention. Unlock the back door” I’m aware it doesn’t seem like it but this is how he asks to come over. He won’t come over until I respond giving the green light. “Bold of you to assume I’m home and not partying at a random frat house” We both know I’m not doing jack at 11 pm on a Friday. Nonetheless, it’s fun to pretend I have a flourishing social life. “That’s cute. Back door please” Alright, now to get up and- ow, fuck, ouchie, ok, hold on. *POP* There we go!

I should probably pick my room up real quick. I made my bed earlier today so that’s not a problem. The svallerup rug from Ikea collects dirt a lot faster than I expected. Although would he really notice? It’s not bright in here. My dresser by the door looks fine. The futon is in couch mode, so there’s not much left I don’t have to clean up for him. In reality, I’m not cleaning for him, I just like having a clean room. The last thing I do is turn on the fairy lights above my head then light a vanilla candle. I know he’s coming over to cuddle or really do anything involving him getting affection. I might as well make my bedroom reflect that, right?

I half-jog upstairs to unlock our back door. Why the back door? It’s not because I love Jesus. Let me explain. The living room floor creaks way too loud. Also, my parent’s bedroom is right next to that door. The side door alerts our dogs to start pitching a fit. How can they hear it from the opposite side of our house? I may never be able to understand. Moonlight drifts halfway across the backroom. Sparse nightlights cover the remaining needed light. I flick on the backdoor lights followed by opening a few blinds to let more light in. Their orange glow overpowers the moonlight near the backdoor.

For whatever reason, the moon is far brighter tonight. Or my pupils are hella dilated because I’m thinking about my Baby. Either way, moonlight dusts over parts of the backroom and kitchen ahead of me. One last light to turn on. An LED light above our kitchen sink smashes through most surrounding darkness, making it almost impossible to see into the living room. White cabinets outline our kitchen. None of the cabinets match each other in this house. It’s as if this house was built in parts instead of planned out from the start. The counter is occupied with things you’d expect; a bread box, knife set, fruit basket, coffee pot, and an air fryer. Yet, there's evidence real people live here. Crumbs from a snack, mail by the fruit basket, half-empty coffee pot, as well as children’s toys forgotten all about

Everyone else is snuggled up in warm beds, sleeping. I can pick out each person’s snoring pattern when they poke through tonight’s ambiance. There are moments where quiet feels like serenity, others where it feels like emptiness. I can’t decide which one I’m feeling because I realize I’m about to have a visitor. A cup of coffee sounds like the perfect way to waste a few minutes while waiting for my lover.

Coffee cup out of the overhead cabinet. A coffee spoon from beside the coffee pot. Fake sugar off the shelves. Room temperature coffee in the pot from this morning. French vanilla coffee creamer out of the fridge. And just like that, a proper cup of coffee is served. Light reflects off the glossy coating painted over our pale coffee cups. Mom considers it a priority to have everything match or look cohesive. Appearing put together is a source of pride for her. A cup is a cup however matching cups make her happy. My ears perk up at hearing his tires pulling into the driveway. My coffee creamer swirls in the cup as he walks up the driveway. The coffee spoon clings against the inside of my coffee cup simultaneously with the creak of our back gate. All that’s left is to wash off this week’s coffee spoon then put it back. I have only a few more seconds until my Love is with me again. I’m a sappy and hopeful romantic for him, get off my back. He’s learned how to silently open the back door and if I didn’t have good peripheral vision, I would’ve yelped.

Intimate hands snake around my hips as a tender kiss is pressed against my neck. I can feel the tender smile tugging at his lips after the kiss, he had a really good day? His body is pressed against mine as he murmurs “Honey, I’m home~” behind my ear; earning a soft chuckle from me. I turn to face him, wrap my arms around his neck, and greet him with a deep kiss. This time on the lips. “Welcome home, my Love.” He’s so close to me, I can smell the cigarette he had on his way over here. The absence of alcohol or weed stench affirms he didn’t have a bad day at work. I can’t wait until these interactions become a daily occurrence. This man is breathtaking under normal circumstances; but, under the glimmer of moonlight,,, I can’t form a single thought while looking at him. The raw admiration and love this man holds in his eyes? Who could stand a chance against him? Not me. Wrong choice.

His hands linger along the sides of my hips. I hold his arms in an attempt to keep him close to me, just a little longer. “I brought you a few things. I’ll go set them on your desk.” He knows gifts aren’t my thing in spite of that he claims I deserve the entire universe. I breathed out, “Ok, I’ll be down in a minute,” then started moving to get my coffee cup, as well as a few snacks to bring downstairs. He starts heading downstairs content with how flustered I am. WAIT A FLUFFING MINUTE THE FANFICTION IS ABOUT HIM!! I whisper yell ‘Baby’ until his head pops back around the corner. I threaten him to not touch or look at my laptop. It was a pathetic attempt considering what he does for a living. In my defense, I tried. I forgot he’s in essence an overgrown teenager who will do the exact opposite of what he’s told. Wanna know what he does? Grin. I’m so fucked.

Agapito dashes downstairs and leaves me in unadulterated fear. I’m frozen in place, trying to come to terms with my fate as his footsteps fade. It’s not smut or anything, just a simple night and morning routine imagining that we lived together. This is going to be so embarrassing. Please spare me this treacherous fate and undying embarrassment. Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. Get your coffee then snacks then, simply, accept what’s just happened.

With arms full of snacks, I shut my bedroom door as gingerly as I can. Setting the cup on the dresser right by the door to make this a little easier. He’s standing at my computer, reading through the last page. Oh hey, he brought me Rolo’s as well as 3 Musketeers. Nice! Oh wait, he’s done reading. His shoulders aren’t tense; his breathing hasn’t changed; all the same, he’s just standing there. “Why did you write this out instead of doing it?” That’s a good question tbh. My Baby’s voice sounds hurt, despite that, he’s trying to hide it. Ok, he needs a hug. Now to throw the snack on the bed. He needs a rib-crushing hug and you bet your butt I’ll be the one to deliver. I tug at his elbow so he’ll face me then pull him into me. His shoulders are right under my chin when we’re facing each other. I bury my face in his neck while my arms hug him as tight as I can. Except why is he upset about this?

His love for me is nothing to scoff at. He loves me the same way he wanted to be loved when he was younger. We’ve figured out he’s catching up from his pre-teen years and onward. So about 13 years without a stable romantic relationship. When he was trying to court me I had to call him out all the time for manipulation. I know he’s terrified I’ll think he’s not good enough. He has episodes of frantic attempts to meet all of my needs, even if it’s not asked for or needed. What is going through his head? Does he feel like he’s not good enough? That he’s not loving me enough so I have to turn to a fictional version of him? Does he think he’s not good enough for me to do this stuff with him? None of those are true, obviously. I explicitly stated that in the story he just read. It doesn’t mean he won’t get stuck inside his head. I need to tell him the truth. Even if I wanted to lie, I couldn’t, he’s a finely-tuned human lie detector. One more deep breath. Squeeze him a little tighter. Look him in his eyes and come clean.

“The reason I didn’t just act these out is because, I didn’t know how to ask for it.” His expression shifts from confused hurt to understanding. I start rambling, “I want to have these experiences with you. I’d give anything to have that life with you but we've only been dating for 6 months and I just, wasn’t sure, how to phrase it.” I’m choking on my own pulse from emotions. I realize I was shifting my weight left to right when he pulls me in for another hug and kisses my forehead. We stand there in each other’s embrace for a few moments before he suggests I come to his house tomorrow night. We both know what he’s suggesting. I can’t help but adamantly agree. Excitement zips through my body thinking about tomorrow night. A smile pulls at my lips as I ask, “Do you mind if I wear this shirt tomorrow night?”

Tonight is about Netflix, snacks, and rediscovering the curves and contours of each other’s bodies. Though, not before I mess up his hair while calling him a butthead. It’s evident his insecurities are still tugging at him. Funny enough, his insecurities forgot they’re fighting against me for his attention.

[fictitious-little-stitious]

Denim Pedro credit: @/din-djarins-riduur // Cattle image credit: photograph by A. Nielson // Collage made on Canva (graphic design is my passion)

Hotcakes and Holding Hands: Thursday

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x GN!Reader

Read on AO3

Writer Wednesday 8-25-2021 — I’m late, but go check out this week’s master list! 🤩

@clydesducktape and @autumnleaves1991-blog

Summary: Reader is home on their family’s ranch for Spring Break and is getting to know Jack, a college student working on the ranch. Despite the wintry cold on the prairie, Jack warms Reader’s heart with a sweet surprise. This snippet takes place early early on Thursday.

Word Count: ~1400

Rating: G (the overall story will be PG or PG-13)

Warnings: Food and eating mentions. Working with animals. I can’t think of others, but I will update accordingly if it’s pointed out or I notice something. Mostly just silly fluffy fluff!

A/N: Probably the most self indulgent fic I will ever write. This is either going to be part of a longer oneshot or a set of drabbles, I’ll decide in the car. I’m just going to bask in the miracle that is finishing a fic only 2 days later than I intended to. 😂 You can read a teaser from earlier in the story to see how they met. 🥰 I understand this is pretty niche, but I’m happy to share all the same. Also I’m more than happy to visit about ranch stuff. I included a couple definitions just in case.

~≈~≈~

Thursday

The annoying screech of your alarm put an abrupt halt to what little sleep you did get. As much as you wanted to hit “snooze”, you couldn’t. Jack had been on watch since before midnight. Thankfully the first calf heifers weren’t having many complications this year, but it still required close attention during odd hours in the cold. Some nights would pass without incident while everything and anything could go wrong the next. Such was the nature of this season. Bundled up and flashlight in hand, you set out into the dark. Ignoring your footsteps, you looked up. The moon shone, rendering your flashlight redundant for the short trek to the barn. Countless stars dotted the sky and you banked this memory for when you inevitably returned to the light pollution of your college city. You still had a couple more days of break to enjoy, so you shook that thought away and hurried to Jack.

The tack shed was a base of sorts since your dad fitted it with a space heater and a coffee pot. To him, that was all the creature comforts one could need. Hearing your approach, Sheila perked up from her spot in the snow drift and wagged her stubby tail happily which shook her entire hind end. You figured out early on that wherever Sheila was, Jack would be close. She was your dog, but took to Jack like a shadow. He must have let her out so she could cool down since the tack shed could get pretty toasty. You opened the door the same time Jack was reaching for it from the inside. The two of you exchanged pleasantries and he updated you on what he had done, which pairs bonded okay, and which heifers to check on. As Jack passed, he patted your shoulder in silent gratitude, sleepiness settled his features. It made sense that he was so tired. He had been working these hours for a week before you got home. Sheila had enough alertness for the three of you anyway. She trotted alongside him as he walked back to his bunkhouse for some much needed rest.

You passed the time walking through the manger pens and calving barn. Moving was essential to keep you awake and warm as well as keep a watchful eye on the heifers and new calves. Another task that kept you busy in the down time was reorganizing the tack shed. Old feed bags, bits of twine, and spilled feed littered the floor, making it difficult to find other supplies and tack.

You had just come back in from your first round when suddenly the pitchy whine of a metal gate opening broke your attention and raised the hair up on your neck. You couldn’t see outside for the bright tack shed lights you were under but there was Jack with Sheila hot on his heels, not even gone an hour. He called out your name as he stepped into the shed.

“Jack! I about jumped out of my skin!”

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to scare ya,” he replied sheepishly.

“What are you doing down here? Nothing’s happened since you left, but I can handle things. Besides, you need some sleep.”

“This was my best chance for the element of surprise. You would’ve wisened up to me later in the day.” Sheila looked up at you both. It seemed she was in on whatever Jack was alluding to.

Not sure what he was on about, you teased. “I should’ve wisened up to you a few days ago. But what would I have wisened up to today?”

“This.” From behind his back, he produced a covered cake pan then overturned a bucket as a makeshift chair.

“Wait here a second,” he guided you by your shoulder to take a seat before placing the pan in your lap, “but don’t open it.” He jogged to the edge of the shed to grab another bucket for his seat. There was not an ounce of tiredness in him, replaced by a refreshed giddiness at this ungodly hour.

Sheila sat beside you and you both watched with intrigue as Jack opened the lid, letting out a ghosting steam into the crisp air. You leaned over to shut the door Jack missed in his excitement. Before it disappeared, you caught a whiff of vanilla. In the pan lay an array of small pancakes, some had a little more griddle time than others. But they were warm and looked delicious.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, his breath whisping by like smoke as it took the last of the chill with it, the heater began to rewarm the shed.

You gasped softly. You had forgotten your own birthday. But Jack, the cowboy you knew for less than a week somehow not only knew, but planned and delivered a birthday surprise. Just for you.

A light thud on the floor drew your attention to a red cooler beside Jack. You didn’t even see him bring it in. He proudly gestured to the syrups, butter, and thermos. Jack was basking in your surprise and delight. A quiet whine from Sheila reminded him that there was a hungry party guest waiting on him.

“First things first, candles. Hardly a birthday without ‘em.” He removed his gloves and leaned back so he could unzip his heavy coat. From the chest pocket of his coveralls he pulled out a baggie filled with birthday candles, a lighter, and two forks.

You took off your coat and gloves and looked over the items he brought. “And plates are… where?”

Jack rolled his eyes at himself, “I knew I would forget somethin’, I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He made to stand up, but you reached to his knee to still him where he sat. Even through the thick layers of his coveralls, Jack felt your touch as if there were no barriers.

“We can share, I don’t mind,” you reassured him as you balanced the pan on his lap, a poor replacement for your touch. You stepped outside and soon returned dragging in a small square bale and putting it between the bucket seats. His brown eyes shone at you with youthful adoration, causing your cheeks to warm. With a hum, Jack resumed his preparations by sticking candles all over the pancake stack. Intending to speed things along, you reached across to him for some candles but he insisted he had it covered.

Twenty-two thoughtfully placed candles later, it was time to light them up. Mercifully he didn’t insist on singing to you as he lit the candles. It took him a couple tries to get traction on the lighter, but much to his relief you didn’t seem to care. You silently wished the shed lights weren’t so bright. The thought of the soft glow flickering over his features was picturesque.

Jack and Sheila watched in anticipation as you shut your eyes, quickly communicating your wish to whoever or whatever forces were at play, then blew out all candles in one go, save for a stubborn one you got on the second pass. The candles were gathered up and the two of you dug in, making sure to reward Sheila for her polite patience.

You knew your way around pancakes, or hotcakes as your dad called them. And Jack clearly knew his way around a kitchenette. You couldn’t resist humming in satisfaction at the fluffy texture. It wasn’t too much and not too thin.

“Where did you learn to cook so good?” you asked around another mouthful.

“Le Cordon Bleu, since you asked so eloquently. Ranch work is just pocket change during my gap year,” he replied matter of factly.

He made the mistake of meeting your gaze. A beat of silence later and you both erupted into a fit of laughter. Thankfully you had finished your bite, because the snort you unleashed could’ve been so much worse. At that, Jack howled and his cheeks sheened from tears since he was laughing so hard. Sheila yipped at the silly commotion.

When calm resumed, a silent pause settled over as well. You couldn’t tell if he was leaning or you were or both of you were. Volitional or automatic, it didn’t matter, because in a blink your lips were pressed together. His kiss was syrupy sweet, almost as sweet as the grin plastered on his face when you parted. You knew so, because you wore the same look.

When you pulled a hair further back from each other, you saw his cheeks were even rosier. It definitely wasn’t from the cold.

Wish granted.

~≈~

Definitions:

Heifer: a young female cow who hasn’t had her first calf yet

Ranch hand: someone who works on a ranch taking care of livestock and other maintenance chores (e.g. fencing, watering, etc.)

Tag List: let me know if you would like to be added or removed! 🥰

@acrossthesestars

@hnt-escape

@horton-hears-a-honk

@mesmorales

@oonajaeadira

@sharkbait77

@songsformonkeys

Line divider credit @ firefly-graphics

Banner created by @ acrossthesestars 💚

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

[muffinlance]

You know that herbalist who lives in the woods near the frozen frog swamp? The one with the cat named Miyuki. Consider the idea of herbalist!zuko

Thirteen-year-old Zuko was dumped in the colonies with a days-old bandage over his face and his name stricken from the royal records.

He doesn't remember much of the Between. Between when his father--

And between when he wakes up, for real this time, feeling bone-heavy and muscle-jittery and actually awake. And there's a cat on his chest. Not a catopus or a cat-snake or a dog-cat. Just a cat.

Oh. So he's dead and this is the spirit world.

Okay.

...Zuko goes back to sleep.

Recovery is slow and fairly ephemeral, and the old old lady that belongs to the cat is not helping to convince him that he's not dead. Not when she talks whether he says anything or not, and sometimes she answers questions he hasn't asked, and sometimes she doesn't answer things he did ask.

Not when she's equally unafraid of both Fire and Earth. Of the soldiers in either color that drag their comrades through her doors, and some of them are polite but some of them threaten and yell. Zuko knows he should be more scared of the ones in green and brown, they're the enemy, they'll hurt him if they know--

"Oh," an Earth soldier says, having found him hiding under the table because he wasn't quiet enough wasn't out of the way enough wasn't good enough, "I didn't know she had a... son?"

"I'm a spirit," Zuko says, with all the seriousness of his latest fever relapse.

"...Definitely her son."

The cat is simpler. Zuko's first (allowed)-out-of-bed task is learning to prepare Miyuki's food. He gets it wrong. She lets him know, with an upturned nose, and no claws at all.

He starts helping more. With other things, like dragging in the bundles of goods that people leave as payment, because the old old woman's back makes bad noises when she leans over too far and she needs to let him do this. Also he's reorganizing her cabinets and she can't stop him, why is the feverfew in five different places.

Mistress Miyuki inspects his new system. She falls asleep in the soup pot on the second shelf, which is an endorsement the old old woman can't dispute.

He starts feeling less like the world is spinning. He hasn't had a fever relapse since autumn, and it's almost the spring again. He had to stay while the snow was so deep, the old old woman couldn't leave for supplies so someone had to (had to go down to the town past Pohuai Stronghold and not panic at all the people, all the red, all the casual displays of fire to keep warm in the cold and he couldn't couldn't couldn't--

"Oh, you're the Herbalist's... apprentice? Goodness, we were starting to get worried about her. Here, you'll need more flour, and some of these, and why don't you have mittens--"

Zuko comes back with way more than he set out for, and thick mittens muzzling his fingers, and no one seemed to think it was strange when he talked or when he didn't or when his voice stopped working half-way through. This would be strange for a prince, but was cheerfully tolerated in the maybe-apprentice-maybe-son of the old old woman.)

But. But winter was done now, and all her other patients left when they got better, so he should go too.

Probably.

He would.

Once he fixed the leaky roof ("Kid," a Fire soldier said, as he lay bandaged up in the sun on the porch because sun was good, even if Zuko had to drag his whole futon out because he wasn't supposed to walk, the old old woman had said so. "Kid, I don't know what you're doing up there, but it is not fixing a roof. Just... wait until my partner comes back, okay? I'll guilt him into helping.")

(His partner didn't know how to fix roofs either. But he did know a lot of swear words that no one had ever dared impart upon royal ears. And he knew firebending katas, and didn't notice Zuko copying him from the shadows at all.)

(He must have switched to the easier ones as a cool-down, that's all.)

But Zuko was definitely leaving. Once Sargeant Maihun stopped being an idiot, this was a place of healing and if he tried earthbending their other patients into the ground again Zuko was going to slam this door on his face and never let him or his people in again.

"Spirit," the Sargeant said, slow and patient like Zuko was stupid, "they're firebenders."

"So am I," Zuko scowled.

Which led to less immediate dying than Zuko probably should have expected in retrospect, but he was leaving soon anyway and he didn't know where he'd go so it wasn't like it mattered--

Miyuki curled up in his lap. Zuko sat between the recovering Fire soldiers on their sunny porch and the not-injured Earth soldiers the old old woman had smilingly bullied away from her new patients. Everyone was glaring at everyone else but Zuko's glare was the best.

"If you wake up Miyuki, I'm kicking you all out."

The cat dozed quite peacefully.

And then somehow it was winter again, and he was sitting in the front of a Pohuai supply cart as its komodo-rhino trudged through the snow.

"Thank you," Zuko said, when they got to town.

"Don't mention it. Remember, Pohuai's closer if the weather gets really bad. We can spare some supplies for you two."

And it was spring again and is was two years since Before and Miyuki spent That Day knocking everything off the counters whenever he started to think too hard, because she was definitely a spirit, possibly one of chaotic good.

Then it was winter again. The snow was late this year. And Zuko had a hard time telling red and green apart, but bright orange was new.

"That's Miyuki's dinner," Zuko scowled. "And you can't just say 'my friends are sick,' what are their symptoms?"

Which is how he ended up chipping through the ice layer on an old laundry tub behind the greenhouse, and fishing out frozen frogs, and following an airbender up the mountain to an abandoned temple.

"What's your name? I'm Aang!"

"...Spirit."

Miyuki let him go with only a final dismissive sniff, as if terminating an adequate but ultimately replaceable servant. Which shouldn't have been prophetic, but was.

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Chris & Ellie Series: Episode 25

Happy New Year’s Eve (and yes, I realize some of you are already in 2021, but I’m not.) Nothing like waiting until almost the last minute to get my promised new episode posted before the end of December. But success.

I’m currently on my lunch break, so I have to keep this short and sweet.

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me as I’ve been writing this series. I truly appreciate each and everyone one of you. And shout out to my betas: @nomadicpixel​ @alievans007​ @heather-lynn​ and @mrs-captain-evans​ - you four are amazing cheerleaders and this story wouldn’t be what it is without you and your help.

♥Becca♥

Pairing: Chris Evans x Ellie Spencer (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Episode Summary: Chris returns to Los Angeles (and Ellie)... for real this time.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

This episode can also be read on AO3.

The Chris and Ellie series is primarily chronological. It begins with a flash forward to 2016 and has a few other scenes in the future. However, the majority of their story is told in chronological order starting in 2013 and going through 2017. Each episode starts with a date to help you place it within the story.

The Chris & Ellie Series Masterlist | Chris & Ellie Masterlist

Episode 24.5

Episode 25: Only Fools Rush In

December 5, 2014

Chris's house in Los Angeles was dark when the cab came to a stop in front of it in the early hours of the morning. The driver helped Chris get his luggage out of the trunk and then wished him a 'Merry Christmas' after Chris slipped him a tip.

As the cab drove away, Chris stared up at the big house, trying to block out the memories from that day in July when he'd seen Ellie and Pierre hugging. Now that he knew what had actually happened, he felt like a fool for jumping to conclusions.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it. That rock bottom moment for him had been a catalyst. He'd finally gotten over the hurdles his mind created and was letting his heart take the lead on the whole Ellie dilemma. He owed it to them both to seek her out. He didn't know how it would go, but he was prepared to apologize and, if she wanted, walk away.

Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and carried his suitcases in. His eyes drifted up the stairs and he knew he should take them up to his bedroom, but he wasn't ready to go there yet. Instead, he dropped the suitcases at the bottom of the stairs then walked through the quiet house, taking everything in.

For some reason, Chris had expected everything to be different, but it all looked the same. The only thing that was noticeably different was the smell. The house didn't smell bad by any means, it just didn't smell like the light, fruity scent that he associated with Ellie.

It wasn't until he got to the kitchen that he noticed things missing, specifically Ellie's things. Like her ugly coffee cups that she insisted on keeping next to the coffeemaker so they were within easy reach first thing in the morning. His eyes then slid to the floor by the backdoor where Daisy's things had been. He missed her almost as much as he missed Ellie.

Taking a shaky breath, he started a pot of coffee, knowing it would be the only way he was going to make it through the day after taking a red eye flight from Boston to Los Angeles. While the coffee brewed, he grabbed a mug from the cupboard and then looked back at the coffee maker.

"I don't know why you keep them so far apart," Ellie's voice came back to him from a long-forgotten conversation. "It's silly. The coffee cups should be right above the coffee pot for easy access. Everyone knows that."

"You're right," he admitted out loud in his empty kitchen.

Trying to remember the other things Ellie had said to him over their time together, he opened the doors of all his cupboards and began reorganizing them. At first, it required a lot of thought, but once it got down to just putting things away, his mind started to wander.

It had been ten days since he'd learned the truth about what had happened in the driveway back in July. At first, he had been too overwhelmed by the information and hadn't been able to process it. Opening up to his mom about everything had helped, but that had just been step one.

The next step had been sorting through his feelings. He knew he was in love with Ellie. Months of long, lonely nights of introspection convinced him of that. But he also knew that his feelings weren't what was important right now. Ellie's feelings were all what mattered. Him being in love with her didn't mean a damn thing if she didn't feel the same way. Or worse, if she hated him and never wanted to see him again.

He'd tried to put on a brave face for Thanksgiving, but his heart hadn't really been in it. He'd gone through the motions, but not even a competitive game of Trivial Pursuit had pulled him out of his head.

His mom had given him until Saturday morning before she'd stepped in to help some more. Through a series of questions, like 'what are you thinking' and 'what are you planning to do', she helped him get through the quagmire that was his brain. The outcome of which had been him deciding to go back to Los Angeles to talk to Ellie.

The biggest question that had followed his decision had been when. Scott had gone back to LA Sunday morning, but Chris hadn't been ready yet. He'd wanted to come back with a game plan. Even if it all ended up a complete and utter failure.

"What are you doing?" Scott's voice came through the fog of Chris's brain, bringing him back to the present.

Shaking his head, Chris turned and found his brother standing at the top of the stairs to the basement. Seeing the confused expression on Scott's face, he took a step back and took in the reorganizing disaster that was his kitchen.

"Are you ok?" Scott asked, slowly. He'd known Chris was arriving this morning, but he hadn't expected to find his brother rearranging the kitchen when he came in from the guest house where he was now living.

"I'm fine," Chris assured him. "Just felt like reorganizing, I guess." He shrugged. "Ellie was always commenting on the silly places some things were stored and she was right." Stepping forward, he opened the cupboard over the coffee pot. "The mugs are here now. Above the coffee pot."

"You could have just moved the coffee pot," Scott said with a stifled yawn.

"I could have, but it makes sense for the coffee pot, coffee and coffee cups to all be in one area," Chris explained. "Speaking of which, I made coffee. You want some?"

"Shouldn't you be fighting jet lag or something?" his brother asked.

"I slept on the plane," Chris replied with a shrug. "And I've had two cups of coffee this morning. I'll sleep later."

"In your bedroom or in one of the guestrooms?" Scott asked, cautiously. He knew coming back to the house was a big first step for Chris, but he didn't think his brother was fully prepared for the onslaught of memories that the house would bring. Seeing Chris tense at his question, Scott pressed on. "Have you been upstairs yet?"

"I couldn't go upstairs," Chris admitted, softly. The bedroom held so many memories for himself and Ellie but was also the place that his worst memory with her had happened.

"Want me to go with you?" Scott offered. He'd walked by Ellie's side during the aftermath of the breakup and now that his brother was forced to deal with it himself, he could help him, too.

"Will you help me with the kitchen first?" Chris asked, gesturing to the stuff that was still on the counters to put away.

Knowing his brother needed to mentally prepare himself to go upstairs, Scott helped him finish reorganizing the kitchen. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but some of the changes really did make sense. Others, he knew would drive Ellie crazy. Which made him want to take a picture and send it to her, but he resisted the urge. She didn't know Chris was back in town yet and he didn't want to be the one to tell her.

After the last cabinet door closed, Scott expected Chris to come up with a reason not to go upstairs, but his brother surprised him by leading him out of the kitchen.

"Are you ready for this?" Scott asked as he picked up two of Chris's suitcases.

"Not really, but it's not like I have much choice, is it?" Chris asked as he grabbed his other suitcase.

"It'll be ok, you'll see," Scott assured him. "The cleaning lady was here yesterday and she made the bed for you and cleaned the bathroom."

Leading Chris up the stairs, Scott waited for him at the bedroom door. He knew his brother needed to be the one to open the door to fully cement his current reality. Afterall, the last time Chris had been in the room, Ellie had been peacefully sleeping in the bed and it had been April.

"You got this," Scott encouraged as they stood outside the closed bedroom door.

Turning the handle, Chris pushed the door open and found the room just as it had always been when he came home from a long time away. It was both comforting and depressing.

He forced himself to take a step into the room and then another until he reached the bed. He dropped his suitcase onto it and Scott did the same with the other two.

Turning to survey the room, he saw the two neatly stacked piles of clothes on the dresser by the bedroom door. He recognized some of the sweatshirts that Ellie had borrowed from him, but others were just clothes he had worn during the days leading up to his early departure.

Sucking in a breath, he turned his attention to the closet. Crossing the room, he opened the door and was taken aback at the chaotic state of it. He knew he'd packed in a rush, but he hadn't realized he'd left it in such a state.

"I told the housekeeper not to clean it up," Scott said from behind him. "I thought you needed to see the way you left things."

"I hadn't realized," Chris whispered as he felt pressure building in his chest. He could only imagine how shocked and hurt Ellie had been when she'd seen the room. "I really fucked up."

"You did," Scott agreed. There was no reason to sugar coat things anymore. At the same time, he could feel the anxiety radiating off his brother. Reaching over, he put his hand on Chris's shoulder and squeezed. "You're here now. That's what's important."

Turning to look at his brother, Chris felt the weight of the last eight months on his shoulders. Not only had he lost Ellie, but he'd effectively lost his own brother, too. Both because of his own stupidity.

"I'm sorry for being a jackass," he told Scott.

"I know you are and I forgive you," Scott replied with a smile. "I'll try not to rub it in your face. Too much anyway."

Chris rolled his eyes and pulled his brother in for a hug.

"So what's your plan?" Scott asked, once they'd parted.

"I'm going to go talk to her," Chris told him. 

"You mean call her, right?" Scott responded. The idea of Chris just showing up at Ellie's apartment left him uneasy. Assuming his brother knew where she lived.

"No, I'm going to go find her and talk to her," Chris replied with a shake of his head. "We both know I'm eight months too late to just call her like everything is fine between us."

"You can't just show up, Chris," Scott insisted. "You should give her some sort of warning that you're wanting to fix things. A phone call would be the best way to do that."

"That's assuming she hasn't blocked my number," Chris pointed out. "And on the off chance she hasn't, who says she would even answer the call? Or that she won't hang up when she realizes I'm the one calling?"

"She hasn't and she won't," Scott assured him. He knew Ellie hadn't blocked or deleted Chris's number because he'd looked when he'd seen her the other day. As for the second part, he was certain that she would answer the phone for Chris. If only to make sure that everyone was ok.

"I have to talk to her in person," Chris stated in a tone of finality. "Even if it's just to tell her I'm sorry."

Scott sighed, but nodded his head, as if giving his permission, which meant a lot to Chris. He knew that Scott and Ellie had gotten closer during his absence and Scott had been there for her. Oddly enough, he even appreciated the balancing act his brother was doing to protect Ellie but also help him.

"I don't suppose you'd give me her address," Chris asked, hesitantly. He didn't want to cause problems between his brother and Ellie, especially if things didn't work out for the two of them, but it was worth a try.

"I don't know her address," Scott replied. It wasn't a lie, exactly. He didn't know the address of her apartment or even the address of the bookstore. He could tell Chris where Ellie's apartment was, but he didn't want Chris to catch Ellie off guard. Like his brother, she needed time to process things and having Chris just show up on her doorstep would not be ideal.

"Then I guess I'll start at the bookstore," Chris reasoned. "That's where I was planning to start anyway." He frowned as a thought crossed his mind. "She still works at the bookstore, right?"

"Yes," Scott told him, making a mental note to call the bookstore when he had the chance to give them a heads up. "They have later hours right now because of the holidays. You'll probably want to go on Monday. That tends to be their slow day, though with Christmas right around the corner, that might be different."

"I'm going tonight," Chris stated. "And I knew about the later hours, I saw it on their website. I plan on getting there right before closing time."

"Oh," Scott said, hoping his voice sounded calm despite the panic that Chris's words had caused. Then he remembered that Ellie wasn't working that night. He couldn't remember exactly what she was doing, but he thought it had to do with the afterschool program she'd been helping with. Possibly a Christmas party? Whatever it was didn't matter. All that mattered was that someone else would be at the bookstore and she would get a heads up that Chris was looking for her before they met. He wondered if Ellie would believe him if he sent her a text in the morning saying that Chris had shown up at the house.

"... and that's my plan," Chris's voice trailed off.

Scott blinked and then coughed awkwardly as he realized he'd missed Chris's plans while panicking. "Uh, sounds like you have it all planned out then," he said, hoping his voice didn't give anything away.

"Yeah, I guess," Chris replied, nodding, his mind on his plan. He'd spent hours formulating it and it was almost time to put it into action. He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the disaster that was his closet. "I suppose I should deal with this."

"Good idea," Scott said, his mind on making the phone call. "I'll let you do that. I need to go make a phone call anyway."

It wasn't until Scott had left that Chris felt the weight of the pressure he'd succumbed to the night he'd walked away. Unlike that night, however, his heart was able to push past his chaotic thoughts. Starting with the overturned hamper, he picked it up, thankful that someone had taken care of the dirty clothes that had been in there.

It took him a couple hours to get everything picked up and the clothes from his suitcases put away. The hardest part of it all had been the sweatshirts that Ellie had borrowed from him. He smelled each one, hoping they'd still smell like her, but they didn't.

Around two in the afternoon, he gave in to the mental and physical exhaustion he was feeling and laid down for a nap. He slept for a couple of hours and woke up feeling a little groggy, but also recharged.

Hearing his stomach growl, he made his way downstairs and found the house empty. Going into the kitchen, it took him a few minutes to remember where he had moved things to in the kitchen, but eventually he had what he needed to make himself a sandwich.

With hours to kill, he thought about going downstairs to watch tv, but he wasn't sure he was ready for that. At least, not on his own. The basement, even more so than his bedroom, held so many memories for himself and Ellie. It was where they had built their friendship and where it had grown to be more.

Instead, he went back upstairs to take a shower before trying to figure out what to wear. All black seemed too dramatic, but he didn't feel right wearing anything she'd told him she loved seeing him wear. The goal of tonight was for her to see that he was back in town and for him to at least apologize to her. He hoped that she would give him a couple minutes to explain things, but he didn't want to push her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with.

He spent the remaining time going over every aspect of his plan. He purposely hadn't written down what he wanted to say, because he didn't want it to sound rehearsed, but he had a general idea. If all went well, Ellie would be at the shop when he got there and then he'd either talk to her or make plans to talk to her another time.

He felt nervous, but oddly calm at the same time. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

With two hours until closing time, he left the house and made his way to the Los Angeles neighborhood that the bookstore was in. He gave himself more than enough time to get there, not wanting to risk getting stuck in traffic and getting there after they closed for the night.

As it was, he got there a good forty-five minutes before closing time and stopped for coffee before finding a parking spot in front of the shop. He sipped his coffee as he waited, mentally going over everything he wanted to say to Ellie. Assuming she let him talk and didn't run him out of the shop.

With five minutes left until closing time, Chris got out of the car and made his way to the shop. The bells jingled above his head as he came inside.

"We're closing in -" A friendly voice started to say before switching to a less friendly one when he came into sight. "Oh. It's you."

Even though he'd never met Veronica, the shop owner, he knew that was exactly who the middle aged woman was. "You know who I am?" he asked, hesitantly.

"You're Ellie's actor," the woman replied, pursing her lips. "I'd heard you were in town."

"Scott," Chris said, suddenly feeling annoyed with his brother. Obviously that had been the mysterious phone call he'd had to make. "Look, I'm just -"

"I know you're trying to find Ellie," Veronica interrupted him. "Go sit in the break room. I'll be with you in a minute."

Confused, Chris followed her directions and made his way into the break room. It was as he stepped into the back room that he picked up on a familiar scent that rocked him to his core. Ellie had been here or maybe her scent was just imprinted on the place since she worked here. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed the smell until now.

"I dated an actor once," Veronica's voice said from behind him.

Chris turned to face her, waiting for a clue as to how it applied to himself and Ellie.

"It was the worst experience of my life," Veronica continued. "He was the vainest man I'd ever met, in the end. At first, he treated me like a queen. Taking me to parties and events with other famous people. Then something changed and it became hell for me. It's been thirty years and I still can't say one nice thing about him."

"I'm sorry you went through that," he said, still confused. "But you're right, Hollywood is filled with some pompous assholes."

"And are you one of them?" she asked pointedly.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I will admit that I let Hollywood and fame in general get to my head when I was in my twenties, but that's not who I am anymore or who I want to be."

"Ellie and your brother would agree to that, I know," Veronica told him. "Which is the only reason you are in the break room right now and not standing outside."

As she crossed her arms and leveled a protective look at him, Chris realized what was happening. His brother had obviously clued her into the fact that he was back to talk to Ellie, but Veronica had taken it a step farther, wanting to protect Ellie from anymore heartache if she could.

"I fucked up," he said, simply. Obviously, he had mentally prepared to talk to Ellie, not her boss, but if he had to play hardball to get the chance to talk to her, he'd do it. "And I hurt her in the process and I regret that."

"Now you're back," Veronica stated, visually unswayed by his words.

"Now I'm back," he confirmed. "I don't know if I can fix things, but I want to try. If she'll let me."

"And if she won't?" Veronica pressed.

"Then I walk away. Forever," Chris promised. Squaring his shoulders, he added, "I'm not here to tell her I love her. I'm not saying I don't, but I know that my words aren't worth shit to her, to you, to anyone who knew about our relationship."

Veronica's eyebrows rose at his confession, but she didn't interrupt.

"I just need a chance to talk to her," he continued. "My brother wanted me to call her, but I know this conversation has to happen in person. It's been too long for it to happen any other way."

As if triggered by the word 'call', Veronica's phone started to ring. He saw her take it out of her pocket and saw the look of surprise that crossed her face.

"Excuse me for a minute," she said before disappearing into a private office and closing the door.

Sighing, Chris sank down into a chair at the table. Dealing with an overprotective boss was not something he had planned. Let alone his brother tipping off said boss. That said, he was happy that Ellie had people looking out for her.

Hearing the door open, he saw Veronica putting on a coat.

"Mr. Evans, you are lucky that I believe in fate," she told him as she turned off the lights in the office. "I assume you brought your car?"

"Uh, yes," he replied, more confused than ever, as he stood up.

"Good, Ellie needs us," she told him. "I'll let you drive."

"Is she ok?" he asked as he followed Veronica out of the building via the door in the alley.

"She's fine, but Santa just called saying he was going to the ER for appendicitis," Veronica explained as she locked up. 

"Santa?" Chris repeated. What the hell was she even talking about?

"The costume should fit you," Veronica continued as if not hearing him. She led him down the alley and to the street.

"Wait? You want me to dress up as Santa?" Chris said, finally catching up. Sort of.

"Yes," Veronica replied, turning to look at him. "Unless everything you said in the break room was a lie."

"It wasn't," he said firmly, finally knowing something for certain.

"Good." Veronica nodded as they reached his car, the only one parked in front of the bookstore. "The community center is a ten minute drive from here. We'll need to hurry though. The kids are expecting Santa and Mrs. Claus to hand out presents."

Head still spinning in confusion, Chris followed her directions to the community center. Then found himself ushered down a dark hallway to an office.

"Your costume is in there," Veronica told him. She opened a door and all but pushed him inside.

Mind still trying to catch up with what was going on, it took Chris a minute to see the Santa costume hanging on a coat hook. Still not sure what this all had to do with Ellie, he grabbed the red, fake velvet pants and was in the process of pulling them on over his jeans when the door suddenly opened.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a woman dressed as Mrs. Claus come into the room. Her costume consisted of a red velour dress that matched Santa’s costume, a white curly wig and a pair of fake glasses.

Glasses that circled eyes he knew very well.

Eyes that widened when they saw him standing there. 

"Chris," Ellie said in a tone of disbelief.

Episode 26

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[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (7)

The Uchiha compound is creepy.

It’s the same way Auschwitz is creepy. The knowledge of the atrocities committed there, combined with all the little context clues which make it more than just knowledge.

Smashed windows, run down storefronts, overgrown gardens, doors hanging off of rusted hinges. Random objects scattered around, as though waiting for their owners to pick them up.

Brownish stains everywhere.

This is what she always imagined the aftermath of a Buster Call would look like.

Except this is.

Real.

She shudders and clutches Naruto’s hand tighter. He squeezes back, averting his eyes.

Uchiha scoffs in front of them.

She frowns at his back. What, are they not allowed to be disturbed by the scene of a genocide? Still, she’s surprised he can stomach cutting through here, even if it is a shortcut to their destination.

“Is it far to your house?”

“Hn.” He says.

She scowls at his back. So much for pleasant conversation.

Eventually they come to a large house at the very center of the compound.

There’s more brownish stains here than in the rest of the compound, but Uchiha pushes the front door open.

“...Don’t bother taking your shoes off.” He says. “Training ground’s this way.”

“Wait.” Naruto stops dead, looking around wild-eyed. “You said the trainin’ ground was near where you live.”

The Uchiha actually turns around at this. “Yeah, and?”

She stares at the dusty, dark interior of the house. She closes her eyes and counts to ten.

“Sasuke-kun.” She says with her brightest smile. “Is there anyone living with you at the moment who looks after you?”

He shudders. “N-no. That’s stupid, I’m an Uchiha. I don’t need to be looked after. And d-don’t call me that ever again.”

She keeps smiling as she buries her face in her hands and tries not to scream. For the love of Luffy, Chopper and Robin, how is this child not a gibbering wreck?

Naruto gestures wildly at their surroundings. “But why—why’d you live here?! The village gave me an apartment! Why live where—”

He clamps down on the sentence. But it’s too late.

“What? Where my an-bro-broth—where That Man murdered my family?” Uchiha sneers. “A clanless moron like you wouldn’t get it.”

Naruto flinches a little.

“Well no one can if you don’t use your words and explain this shit.” She snaps, irritated. “People aren’t mind-readers you know.”

He stiffens, lip curling, before turning his back on them again. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She throws her hands into the air as Naruto cracks his knuckles, following him into the darkness of the house. “Bring it, jerk.”

Much like the spar at the Academy, the two of them are on even ground initially.

Also like the spar at the Academy, it’s not long until Uchiha begins losing.

Even without an audience, Uchiha has something to prove in this fight, and that distracts him instead of motivating him.

All the little needling remarks they’ve been making clearly get under his skin and making him lash out where it would’ve been smarter to play it safe, his stances and footwork becoming less precise and more sloppy as he frantically tries to beat Naruto down and make him stay down.

Whereas Naruto can easily dodge or shrug off these blows, redirecting the motion and using the openings to hit back.

She winces gleefully at a particularly painful hit on Naruto’s part. They’ve trained under Gai-sensei. One of the first things he taught them was the importance of letting your emotions fuel your resolve instead of trying to keep them separate and leaving them liable to distract you at the worst opportunity.

Naruto knocks Uchiha’s ankle out from under him and carefully controls the fall so Uchiha doesn’t even end up winded, but is definitely pinned with no hope of escape.

She grins widely, crowing. “Finished! Match victory to Uzumaki Naruto!”

Naruto promptly leaps up and begins whooping, running in circles around Uchiha, while the boy on the ground shouts that this wasn’t fair, he was only warming up, they need to go another round so they can clearly see how strong he is.

She just keeps grinning fiercely. “It’s better to accept loss with grace, Uchiha-san. Now, where’s your kitchen?”

This...

This is a travesty.

If Sanji was here, he’d kick Uchiha Sasuke so hard he’d rearrange his entire shitty face. Of course, given the track record of that move, it’d probably end up improving his looks, but still. Travesty.

There’s fruit shoved into pile in a corner and moldering, glimpses of white-green fuzz visible.

There’s packets of meat and fish in the fridge that have been carelessly torn and left open, their juices dripping down onto other items.

There’s eggs and yogurt left out on the countertop, already long curdled by the smell of them.

There’s congealed leftovers shoved into the fridge on the plates they were served on, without any foil or covers to protect them.

There’s grimy and poorly cleaned utensils sitting in a sink full of dirty water, and the countertops themselves are covered in stains from previous cooking attempts.

At least he knows milk goes into the fridge, and put the tomatoes in the cooler drawer. Even if they’re so squished together over half of them are bruised.

She takes a deep breath and tries not to choke on the stench. Sanji give me strength.

“Well.” She says brightly. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to somehow be even worse than my shittiest expectations.”

Uchiha glares at her out of a swelling black eye. “Shut up.”

She hangs her head, exhaling harshly. Not constructive Ketsugi.

“Right. Where do you keep your bin bags? The bigger the better I think.” She steps up to the sink, pulling the plug and letting the grime drain away, turning the tap on as far as it can go on “hot”.

Naruto makes a face at the rattling sound the drain makes, the expression pulling at his fat lip. She sighs. “Rubber gloves too, if you have them.”

“Your problem.” She tells him, in the middle of sorting through the fruit and seeing what’s salvageable and what has to go, “Is that you have too much food.”

They’re on the fourth bin bag already, having filled the other three with the contents of the fridge and carried them out to a monstrous skip at the back of the compound.

“You have loads of people giving you more than you can feasibly eat, let alone prepare.” She continues, grimacing at a particularly fluffy punnet of cherries. “So it goes to waste. You need to begin doing your own shopping. Or telling some of them thanks but no thanks. Or, hell, even donating the extra stuff to people who can use it.”

“Like who?” Uchiha asks dismissively, as he reorganizes his pantry so things aren’t just thrown in there willy-nilly, carefully sweeping up spilled grains of rice or flour or sugar or pasta into a dustpan as he goes.

“The Orphanage.” Naruto throws out as he scrubs pots and pans until they gleam under almost-boiling water. “They’d always tell me they never had enough food to go around when I lived there.”

Sasuke’s face is wrought with some complex emotion when he next empties the dustpan into the bag, his mouth twisting when she mutters, “Wouldn’t get it, huh?” striding back into the pantry like he hadn’t heard her.

She tilts an avocado, marveling at how much it feels like a rock, and says in a louder voice, “You could always see if there are any charities or soup kitchens that would appreciate the donations. Even I could always take some of what’s left over and make you something with it.”

“...” There’s a lot of judgement she doesn’t appreciate in that silence.

“I don’t just make curries.” She replies snidely, stuffing some rotten bananas into the bag with more force than is perhaps strictly necessary. “I do lots of other foods. Right Naruto?”

“Yeah!” He says, depositing a metal spoon onto the veritable field of tea towels they’ve laid out over the counter. “She just makes the curry super spicy because she has no idea what it’s supposed to taste like. She does other foods normal though!”

Her eyebrow twitches and she has to fight to stop herself from lobbing a mushy apple at Naruto’s treacherous head.

By the time they’re done, the countertops are gleaming, the fridge has been scrubbed clear of contaminating juices, and the sink’s drain no longer sounds like it’s giving out a death rattle every time water goes down it.

The pantry is arranged so Uchiha actually knows where stuff is, and the fresher meat and bread he doesn’t know if he’ll eat in the next week or so has been frozen and put into the freezer.

They have used a grand total of seventeen bin bags to throw away all the wasted food.

In one of the now-gleaming pots, there’s enough minestrone soup for one person gently bubbling away. All Uchiha has to do is let it simmer until the pasta is cooked through and then he can eat it. And wash everything up. She’s very adamant about him washing up properly.

She now has a bag stuffed full of food that Uchiha turned his nose up at on her shoulder.

The sun is beginning it’s slow descent out of the sky. They need to get going if they want to even have a quick dinner together.

“Wait. You two live together?” Uchiha asks, incredulous.

“No. I have to live in my apartment in the village.” Naruto says, looking crestfallen. “An’ I can only eat with Mayu-chan and Mayu-chan’s Okaa-san and Otou-san if I make it there and back before the sun sets.”

She smiles sadly at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand—

“If I leave, the Uchiha clan lands are forfeit.”

They turn back to Uchiha Sasuke, who’s begun looking like he really, really wishes he hadn’t said anything.

He huffs. “If I leave this place, the council will take it as a declaration of the Uchiha clan forfeiting their right to this land, since there wouldn’t be any living here anymore. The land will be reclaimed by the village, and—and—”

Clans are required to do things certain ways or risk dissolution. She sighs. “There is so much wrong with...that, but okay. We can start working on that next. Thank you for explaining.”

He nods stiffly, and walks them to the gate of the compound.

“I don’t get it,” Naruto says as they walk down her street, sun hot on their necks. “Even if the village does claim the lands, wouldn’t it be better to not live with...that?”

She shrugs the bag higher on her shoulder. “If he does, the village might tear down the old compound buildings to make new ones. And even if it is the site of an awful tragedy, he may still think of that place as ‘home’. If you’d lost everything else, would you wanna lose that too?”

Naruto shakes his head and bites his lip.

She gently bumps his shoulder with her own and they arrive home in pensive silence.

She makes sure to bring her (now dogeared and slightly stained) easy recipes cookbook with her to the Academy, alongside extra servings of eggplant tempura, to loan to Uchiha Sasuke.

He doesn’t quite throw a tantrum.

But it’s pretty close.

“I. Don’t. Want. It.” He grits out, glaring at her.

She bites into an onigiri she’s traded with Shino. There’s half a hard boiled egg inside as filling, and it’s supplying her with absent-minded ideas for recipes based off of food from her past life.

“Look, we’ve got your food down to manageable levels, but that means nothing if you can’t do anything with it.” She taps the book’s cover. “This is the first cookbook I ever owned. It’s what I used to use to make stuff for Naruto when we met.”

Naruto perks up a little at the other end of the table, craning to see it’s cover, so she holds it up for him. “It’s pretty easy to follow, and there are some more complex recipes in the back if you want a challenge—”

“I’m not wasting my time with cooking.” Uchiha hisses, nose wrinkling in distaste. “I need to focus on getting stronger. Only civilians care about useless things like that.”

She’s about to give him a good kick in the shins and see how he feels about civilians then, when Chouji abruptly stands up next to her.

“Wanna say that again, Uchiha-san?” He says, his tone low and surprisingly steely.

Shikamaru lifts his head off the table and sits up straight for once to give him a death glare, while Ino scoots her chair away from “Sasuke-kun” and crosses her arms, frowning at him imperiously.

Uchiha’s eyes dart between each one of the three, and he looks away, taking a bite out of one of the tempura she’s snuck into his lunchbox. “Hn.”

She blinks, trying to digest this new information about there being stellar cooks who also are apparently ninja while Chouji just sighs, settling back down in his seat and returning to his sandwich.

Of course, once he feels slighted, Uchiha can never leave well enough alone.

“It can’t even be that good.” He grumbles, pretending he doesn’t hear Kiba’s snickering. “If it was where soup you made came from. That was disgusting.”

She hears Hinata breathe a soft little “oh dear,” over the rush of blood in her ears.

“I see. What was wrong with it?” She asks.

The Uchiha puffs up a bit, oblivious to Shino shaking his head behind him. “Everything. I couldn’t even eat it, so I threw it out.”

There’s a soft slap as Shikamaru covers his eyes, muttering “Troublesome.”

“Alright. Well, since this is the first time, I’ll be sure to take your complaints into account.” She says, smiling.

She grabs his shirt collar and drags him up over the table to meet her gaze. “Because the next time you waste food, Sasuke-kun, I’m going to rip out your baby teeth, boil them down into a bone broth, and feed that to you instead. Are we clear?”

The Uchiha goes pale.

“Easy Mayu-chan, I think the jerk’s just lying to make you mad.” Naruto says, leaning over and gently attempting to pry her fingers off of the shirt collar. “C’mon, jerk, Mayu-chan doesn’t mean it—”

“Yes I do.” She adds.

“—No you don’t, stop making this worse!!” He yells, finally separating her from Uchiha. “I get you’re upset, and he shouldn’ta hurt your feelin’s, but you can’t just make bits of him into ingredients over stuff like this! Even Sanji wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“...Sorry, Naruto.” She replies hesitantly, feeling a bit abashed.

He gives her a disapproving look that is a stunning replica of her mother’s. “I’m not who you should be apologizin’ to, am I?”

She shoots a poisonous look at the offending party. “...Sorry Uchiha.” She says grudgingly.

He just huffs, storming off to the other side of the classroom where his fangirls coo over him and glare nastily at her.

But her cookbook has vanished along with him.

The next day he comes back and throws her recipe book at her face.

She has just enough time to catch it before it clocks her in the nose before he begins boasting in that quiet, insinuating way of his about how he’ll surely surpass her as he waves around a newer, updated copy of the same book.

She asks if that’s supposed to be a challenge, mind turning over the possibilities of recipes Uchiha will willingly cook and eat, mentally marking down the pages.

He haughtily snorts, but doesn’t deny it.

Sakura then shoots up, one hand in the air, saying she’ll be the judge. When Sasuke snorts and says she’ll be biased because she’s civilian, her lips purse and she grabs Chouji’s arm, proclaiming him to be her “co-judge”.

Chouji just shrugs and says he doesn’t mind getting more food.

So then of course, Ino invites herself and Shikamaru along as “moral support”, though why the judges need it is a little beyond her.

Naruto and Lee come with her, obviously, so Kiba and Hinata also show up that weekend with a reluctant Shino in tow.

Shikamaru’s beginning to teach him how to play shogi, and she’s experimenting with different concentrations of sugar water and fruit juice to see what his insects enjoy best, so she hopes he’s not too put out by spending time with them.

Akamaru is still a very good boy, and is perfectly happy with bits of meat and a rawhide bone.

They work out pretty quickly that Naruto can’t really be around for the cooking contests.

This is because Uchiha will, without fail, work out something to argue about with him, and then they’ll have to take it out on each other in the training ground, and by the time they’re finished it’s always too late to actually begin cooking.

So the weekends when Naruto is required to visit the Hokage become cooking contest weekends, while the ones where he comes become sparring weekends.

They don’t all always show up—Ino’s parents have a flower shop they want her to help out at, and her and Chouji and Shikamaru’s parents are all best friends so sometimes they have to go to parties. Shino, Hinata and Kiba often will have clan duties that mean they can’t come.

Sometimes she and Naruto or Sakura can’t come just because they’re spending some time with their parents.

But there’s always someone there on any given weekend, as the leaves on the trees change colors and fall off. And it works. Uchiha’s house is beginning to feel less like a mausoleum and more like somewhere lived in again.

She enjoys the chance to stretch her culinary muscles without bankrupting her parents and test her skills against a rival who she will grudgingly admit might be catching up to her.

She’s still more irritated by him than not, but Sanji and the other chefs at the Baratie drove each other up the wall too, so she’s fine with this working relationship.

Comrades don’t need to get along or even share the same goals to be able to work together after all.

Naruto’s birthday is always a strange affair.

They aren’t allowed to see him for the entire week, for one thing. He’s always collected by masks on the Sunday before and doesn’t return to his apartment until the next Monday.

The first time it happened, she freaked out badly enough that her father accompanied her to the Tower and they sat in a little waiting room outside the Hokage’s office for four hours, not meeting the glares that all the busy, ant-like people sent them.

Hokage-sama had taken their visit in good humor, even as he told them he couldn’t tell them where Naruto was, for the boy’s safety. He’d patted her head and told her not to worry, that Naruto would be back soon.

Of course, she’d worried enough that she ended up sitting outside of Naruto’s apartment for most of the week, watching the village’s festival below and knocking on the door intermittently, occasionally munching on bits and pieces from food stalls that her parents brought for her.

When she’d finally knocked on the door and Naruto had answered, she’d tackled him to the floor in a hug.

There may have been tears. She really couldn’t say.

Neither could Naruto, no matter what he likes to insinuate about “photographic evidence”.

So they’ve developed a tradition of celebrating Naruto’s birthday the weekend after the week it actually happens.

His birthday dinner is held at Ichiraku’s, like there’s any other option.

He gets his first five bowls of ramen free, and the rest heavily discounted. Teuchi-sama and Ayame-sama ladle extra toppings into each bowl, with a grinning “Happy Birthday, Naruto!”

Unlike last year, he’s got two birthday cakes this time, because Uchiha turns even gift-giving into a competition. He’s made an extremely bitter coffee cake with dark chocolate fondant and decorated with sour cherries forming an Uzumaki spiral. Naruto manfully eats two entire slices before passing it off to the adults, who derive much more enjoyment from it.

He likes the lighter vanilla sponge with orange buttercream and a white chocolate narutomaki which Chouji made much more. Chouji subtly lords this over Sasuke for the rest of the night.

Hinata stutters out a “Ha-ha-happy B-bi-bi—” before dropping an intricate box filled with shuriken and a whetstone on the counter and fleeing.

She lasted ten minutes longer this year.

Kiba gives Naruto kunai, as does Ino, which leads to an argument about the quality of their preferred suppliers. Sakura gives him a book on the language of flowers, while Shikamaru gives him a book on the plants of Uzushio and a calligraphy set.

Gai and Lee give him a piggy-bank in the shape of a smiling frog on a lilypad.

It’s really cute, and Naruto instantly declares it to be Gama-chan’s “big sister”, Kaeru-chan.

Her parents have bought him a selection of orange hoodies, some sleeveless and some not, all with the Uzumaki spiral hand-embroidered on the back by Okaa-sama. She also added little ninja frogs with teeny shuriken and kunai and katana in all of the hoods.

She’s a bit worried about her present by now, because it seems silly by comparison. Never mind that she had to search high and low all throughout Konoha and eventually ended up giving all her money to a merchant from Takigakure for this.

She hands him a (rather ratty) plush of a grey pelican with an offensively yellow bill. Her embroidery skill is nowhere near her mother’s level, so the red Uzumaki spiral she attempted to stitch onto its breast in place of the customary tomoe is crooked.

Naruto stares at it for a really long time.

The adults are very, very quiet.

“Well,” She hazards. “Hokage-sama did say everything we give him needs his symbol on it?”

Then Naruto begins laughing and hugging her tightly, proclaiming that it’s name is now Peri-chan, and the adults begin talking again, acting like nothing interesting has happened.

So she hugs Naruto back as hard as she can, Peri-chan squished between them.

It’d be nice if this could last.

[this-lioness]

Weekend Planning

What I’d like to get done.

1.  Pull apart the coat closet and purge / clean / reorganize This looked so nice for awhile but, like many “all purpose” spaces, it quickly became a place for things we shoved when we didn’t have another space for them.  I’m sure there’s stuff in there that can get sold, tossed or donated.  When we put those shelves up in the attic we moved all the miscellaneous cooking / entertaining items (hot pot, pizzelle iron) up there, so we’ve already got more space to work with.

2.  Investigate storage for the side yard After eliminating the third blackberry bed we now have a decent sized plot that gets only weak sun throughout the day, which makes it an ideal spot for additional covered storage.  We’ve already got two small sheds (one wide, one tall and narrow) so I’ve tasked Marc with investigating what kind of storage we can put there that won’t cause an obstruction.  We might be able to put things like the grill and kayak bits and pieces in there, freeing up more space from inside.  Once we have a permanent greenhouse in the back, that will mean more winter storage for us as well, but so far the one we want still isn’t in stock.

3.  Power wash the side yard The “back” yard looks and functions well, but in order to get to it from the front of the property you have to walk down this long aisle alongside the house.  There’s a concrete walkway, and to either side is where we have most of our unsightly storage -- the kayaks, the composter, the sheds, etc.  It isn’t now, nor will it ever be pretty to look at, although we’ve done our best to mulch the area and at least keep it decent.  The walkway, fence and siding could all use a good power wash, however, so I’d like to get that done this weekend.

4.  Weeding Well, it just never ends, does it.  I’m sure some thistle will have reared their nasty little asshole heads by the weekend, so I’ll pull those, but my primary interest is getting down on hands and knees and tidying up the front of the house and side yard.  We’ve got a bench out front and some pea gravel that’s a bit overgrown, as well as the makeshift “patio” I made out of what was formerly a big ol’ stretch of weeds.   This abuts the neighbor’s property, and their whole yard is a mess of nastiness and weeds, so there’s only so much I can really do to keep it from encroaching that does not also include noxious chemicals.  I’ll go out there and do what I can manually and, if I can maybe get to Walmart before then, maybe salt the fuck out of the whole area to help keep it in check.

5.  Kitchen counters! We bought an epoxy refinishing kit designed for laminate counters.  It was around $90, whereas new counters would cost probably $1200-$1500 depending upon material.  It’s not that it’s not a good investment, it’s just not one I’m inclined to make right now.  I figure I’ll see how far the refinishing gets us before we have no choice but to replace them. This means taking everything off the counters, scrubbing them down with a degreaser and then basically rendering them unusable for 24 hours.  No big deal, but I’d really like to time it so this can get done this weekend.

I’ve got some adhesive-backed tile sheets on backorder that will come in some time in July, and that will mostly complete the kitchen renovation until we’re like, “Fuck it,” and have no choice but to gut it.

I’m super pleased with everything we’ve done with it so far, though, and kinda proud that we managed to do it all ourselves.  The cabinets were really the absolute worst, and they look super cute now, so I’m hopeful that the counter refinish and tile will be the last little pop to pull everything together.

6. Reorganize the tool chest This is another one that’s largely on Marc, maybe he can do it while I’m doing the counters.

The story behind it is this: When we first bought this house there was wall-to-wall carpet throughout, and ceramic tile in the kitchen.  We still have carpeting upstairs, and it’s god awful, but I was adamant that I wanted to get the first floor done.  The first guy we hired took our money and ran (yay!), so we had to take him to small claims court.  We managed to get a partial refund of our money through the service we used to hire him, but after winning a judgement against him he simply shrugged and was like, “Yeah, well, not paying.”

Here is the thing they don’t tell you about taking somebody to small claims court: even when you win, the court cannot force them to pay.  In fact, you have to put out more money to actually do things like compel them to pay, either by garnishing their wages or putting a lien on their house.

He had no recordable income and he didn’t own a house. We went to his girlfriend’s house with the sheriff to seize whatever he had to make up for what he owed us, but of course anything there of value the girlfriend immediately said, “Oh, that? Yeah, that’s not his, that belongs to my brother,” so the sheriff wouldn’t touch it.

So after all that nonsense we ended up walking away with a vacuum cleaner, a trash can, and one of those big rolling tool chests.  We could have technically taken the 30′ travel trailer parked in his driveway, but having neither a title, a vehicle to pull it, nor anywhere to stick the thing we were just like, “Whatever, let’s go,” and went home with our spoils.

So long story even longer, that is how we have a big rolling tool chest.  It’s actually pretty useful, but (as many things that ultimately fall under Marc’s domain) it has become a cluttered dumping ground for all the shit that we didn’t have another place for, or didn’t feel like organizing right away.  It stresses me out every time I have to walk past it, and I am ddyyyyiinnnggg for him to get it back in order.

Anyway, that’s it.  I suppose that should keep us busy for a few days.

[classlesstulip]

@levirc7 Ask and ye shall receive! (Also, a thank-you to @6-mcs-for-6-lis for the tag that started this!)

*****

It is the Annual Deep Cleaning Day, the one day each month that Tiberius got a bug up his butt and utterly TORE the house apart and scrubbed everything to within an inch of it's life.

Well, it's more like two days. One day cleaning, and one day spent putting everything back where it belongs, but Julian is considering it one day because it's a singular event.

While a loving and supportive husband, he would be lying through his teeth if he said he regrets not being able to help Ty out on such a Day. His job at the clinic, while he loves it, can really cut into their time together, and with Ty's job being a lot more flexable, it leaves the other man as something closer to a house husband than anything else. Julian at times feels sad that he can't be more hands-on.

Unless it's Deep Cleaning Day. He likes missing those days.

Unfortunately for him, he has this weekend off, and Ty will be putting him to good use.

Looking at the 'honey-do' list he was unceremoniously handed along with his morning coffee, he sipped the piping hot beverage (black with a splash of rum) as he tried to decide what to do first. He'll be leaving the clothes and bedding to Ty, the man is persnickety when it comes to their care, and wool needs to be handled a certain way or otherwise it would felt.

He learned that the hard way.

Hmm, the kitchen pantry needs to be reorganized. He could take stock of it as well, goddess knows that they're running low on a fair few things. Then he could tackle the cold box; some venison had leaked last week, and while he knows he cleaned it up thoroughly, it's always good to deep clean something like that frequently.

Decision made, Julian poured himself another cup, fortifying himself for the day ahead.

*****

With his sleeves rolled up and his hands elbow-deep in warm, sudsy water, Julian scrubbed clean the storage jar in his grasp. Once finished, he set it into the empty sinkbasin next to him before moving onto the next one.

The pantry was taken care of faster than he thought. After pulling everything out, he scrubbed the shelves clean and took note of what was depleated, he started seeing what things needed to be tossed or could be combined. Several herbs and spices that were near-gone got put into one jar and mixed up, with the knowledge that these particular ones would be great for the stews that Ty likes to do when the weather turns. Once that was taken care of, everything was put back and Julian then tackled washing up the empty storage containers.

Behind him, he could hear Ty cursing as he tried to wrangle one of their large area rugs. While not given a full deep-cleaning every time Deep Cleaning Day comes around, Ty does like to tackle them about once a season, if possible. The last few Days the weather hadn't been conductive for rug beatings, so Ty will need to do them all during this weekend; already, Julian could see the rug stand set-up near the back porch.

"Grrrromphf fucking rugs!"

Snickering, Julian pulled the plug. As the water drained from the left basin, he started rinsing out the clean items in the right. He could hear Ty dragging something heavy down the hall as he worked, laughing quietly to himself when he realised that Ty would have to stop what he was doing to prop open the back door.

*THUMP!* "DER VER'GIN DIRDLERS! *THUMPTHUMPTHUMP* *SCREE*

After plopping a chock in place, Ty stomped back to the rolled-up rug. Hefting it, he moved to the side, trying to drag more of the heavy decoration into the kitchen. He ended up sidling closer to Julian before he got an idea...

"Hey! Darling, I'm- ha haa!" Getting a hard bump to his butt, Julian nearly dropped the clay pot he was holding. At first thinking Ty hand bumped him by accident, he was soon proven wrong as the man repeatedly bumped their butts a few more times as he pulled the rug out the door. Julian had considered making it a more proper duel when Ty finished wriggling out the door, giggling like a naughty schoolboy who had just pranked their instructor.

If it's war the man wants, then war he will get!

*****

Juliam bided his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. While he didn't want anything to get inadvertently broken, he also refused to be the butt of any joke Ty may have had going through his squirrelly head.

Julian was quite caught-up in his thoughts, trying to firgure out how to get back at his husband as he stood in the livingroom, rehanging the drapes. He wanted to get them restrung and placed before Ty replaced the rug and furniture-

"Hey, babe?"

Julian just gave an absentminded hum, eyes squinting down at the drape that refused to cooperate.

"Can ya, like, move?"

"In a minute, lovely."

"Maybe...now?"

"Just one minUTE OH MY STARS!" With a startled squeak, Julian found himself suspended in the air, his back against Ty's side and shoulder as the taller man picked him up one armed, the other unrolling the rug with a harsh flick of his wrist.

All Julian could do was concentrate on breathing, the ease of Ty hefting him whilst also unrolling and moving a rug shooting straight to his groin. Going through the breathing exercises used for pain management, it took him nearly a full minute to realise that Ty had walked back to the kitchen.

"U-um, Ty," Julian's voice was weak and trembling. "Can you, ha, p-put me down, please?"

With his other hand on the backdoor, Ty paused with a blink. Looking over to his left, he noticed a fuchsia Julian, eyes wide as his two hands clutched a half-dressed curtain rod. "Oh, shit. Sorry, babe. Here," with a tilt he dropped his husband down on the kitchen floor. "Kinda forgot I had you for a second, there. Sorry!" Bending over, he dropped a quick peck to slack lips before going back outside; he still has a few rugs to beat.

Hyperventilating, Julian sunk to his knees, his back dragging down the side of the kitchen cabinets as he let out a sound similar to a tea kettle. After he buried his face in his hands with a whimper one of their dogs padded up, nosing him as she let out a concerned whine.

"Mania," he whispered. "Is it wrong that I want your Papa to crush me to smitherines?" He only got a confused rumble for an answer.

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Truly Prince Charming

I got inspired by this picture here by @secondus which was inspired by this headcannon by @pastel-virgil . Please ENJOY!!!

Patton was in the kitchen humming a cheerful tune as he moved around the kitchen to gather the ingredients, he needed to make dinner. He was thinking spaghetti with meatballs, maybe some garlic bread to and a side salad dish just so Logan wouldn’t start ranting about how a meal needs to be well balanced and not just full of starch and protein. Though maybe he was right? Patton had started to notice himself getting a bit softer around his sides, which he didn’t know was possible since he was only a figment of Thomas’s imagination. Even so, perhaps Patton should cut back on the extra snacking?

Before he thoughts could trail any further down that rabbit hole Patton was swept off his feet and twirled around. Patton yelped in surprise, wrapping his arms around the culprit’s neck for support, who he now noticed was Roman. The princely side sang merrily as he twirled and danced with Patton carried in his arms like a princess.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true loves kiss!”

Patton blushed, squealing in delight as Roman continued to dance them around the kitchen with the ease and grace of a Disney prince. Patton always loved when Roman did this, it made him feel like he was flying while also being held close, so freeing and warm. As the song came to a close Roman leaned his forehead against Patton’s, adoration in his eyes and a large grin stretching across his lips.

“What are you doing, dear heart?”

Patton’s face was still flushed red and he couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from his lips, “I was trying to make dinner.”

“Oh,” Roman said innocently as he nuzzled against the side of Patton’s face “and what’s on the menu today, my dearest?”

“Spaghetti,” Patton squealed, legs kicking up as he squirmed in delight “and some garlic bread with a salad.”

“Mmh, good choice with the salad, keeping Logan’s nagging to a minimum.” Roman hummed, running the tip of his nose up and down the side of Patton’s cheek.

“Be nice, Ro,” Patton scolded, though it wasn’t very affective with his face so red as he tried to calm down his laughter “uh, can I come down now? I need to start on dinner.”

“Depends,” Roman purred, snuggling Patton closer to his chest “may I be so bold as to ask for a kiss first?”

Patton giggled, amused by the creative side’s antics, “You may.”

Roman did not hesitate as he leaned forward and planted a sweet, passionate kiss upon Patton’s lips. Patton chuckled softly against Roman’s mouth, raising a hand to cup the side of his prince’s face. Roman apparently took this opportunity to angle his head for a much deeper kiss, causing the fatherly side to squeak in surprise but very soon melted into it. He found himself chasing after Roman’s lips as the creative side slowly pulled back with a chuckle before diving in once more for another kiss. Then another and another, moving from Patton’s lips to his cheeks to his nose to his eyelids. Patton’s face flushed deeply, continuing to squeal and giggle as Roman peppered every inch of his face with kisses.

“Romaaaan!” Patton whined through gentle laughter “I have to finish dinneeeer!”

“Mmh, just a few more, I promise, my love.” Roman murmured softly against his skin.

“You always say that,” Patton squealed, half heartedly pushing against Roman’s shoulders “then we’re here for thirty minutes.”

“Fine, but only because you’re cute.” Roman pouted, planting one last kiss on Patton’s fore head before carefully placing the moral side back on his feet. But Patton had only a moment to breath before Roman hugged him from behind and began to trail kisses up his neck. Patton laughed and squirmed under his boyfriend’s hold, trying in vain to swat him away. “Romaaaan!”

“What? I put you down like you asked,” Roman chuckled, planting a long dramatic kiss against Patton’s cheek before finally letting go “but I guess since there’s still more work to be done I shall spare you from my affection…for now.”

Patton snorted, hands on his cheeks as they rubbed against his burning face, “Well, I mean you could always stay and help? If we can get things done faster, I may be compelled to give you a reward.”

Roman smirked, raising a perfectly arched brow at him, “A reward you say? My, my, how that is tempting, may I ask what kind of reward?”

Patton said nothing, merely giggled as he leaned forward to cup Roman’s face and plant a deep yet passionate kiss against his lips. Roman melted immediately, practically swooning, and Patton couldn’t help the swell of pride when he pulled away and saw Roman’s lips chasing after him. Patton smiled sweetly, admiring the dazed look in Roman’s eyes as his lips turned upward into a wide grin.

“My, that is a quite a grand reward,” Roman hummed happily “I accept your offer.”

Patton could only giggle in response.

---

Logan was having a very difficult week, scheduling and rescheduling all of Thomas’s important events this month, helping plan and edit videos, as well as helping reorganize and clean the house. Logan was exhausted but he was determined to not let it happen again and had set about outlining a new and even better schedule for next month. Of course, that seemed to take up even more of his time and brain power but even with his drooping eyes and pulsing headache at the back of his head he was too stubborn to stop until he had finished.

Logan had been walking to the kitchen to put on another pot of coffee while looking over his daily planer and scribbling notes ever now and then. He was much to focus on his task that he hardly noticed the tiptoeing closer behind him until it was too late and he was lifted into the air like a newly wed bride. Logan yelped in surprise, accidently dropping his planer and pen to grab on tightly to his offender’s broad shoulders for fear he’d fall. After his shock and dizziness wore down a bit it only took a moment of spinning for Logan to properly pinpoint who it was.

“Roman!” Logan squawked, face flushed red.

“Hello my dear Spock!” Roman replied with a wide mischievous grin.

“Put me down immediately!” Logan squeaked, trying to squirm out of Roman’s hold.

Logan didn’t get flustered very easily but for some reason this never failed to make the logical side a sputtering blushing mess. Of course, when Roman found this out he used it to his advantage to surprise attack his nerdy boyfriend with love and affection. Not that Logan didn’t secretly enjoy the attention (though he would never in a million years confess that to Roman) but it also made him feel silly and unprofessional. He needed to be taken seriously, damn it, and he could not achieve that by being twirled around like some dainty princess!

“Mmh, no can-do Specs,” Roman smirked, though his eyes held a serious tone to them “you were fairly close to passing out there.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said with a stubborn pout “I feel perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, which is why you were tipping forward without noticing,” Roman said with a raised eyebrow “when was the last time you slept Lo?”

Logan had to think a moment, brain still too sluggish and slow due to lack of caffeine, “I woke up this morning so…last night I suppose.”

“Logan that was three days ago.” Roman said with a deadpan expression.

Logan’s cheeks flushed a deeper scarlet as he avoided making eye contact with the princely side “A…slight miscalculation.”

“Logan what time is it?” Roman asked with a frown.

Again, Logan took a moment to think, “Eight thirty P.M.?”

“Love,” Roman said slowly, chin gesturing towards the clock on the wall “its three in the morning.”

And so, it was, Logan blushed once more, pretty sure at this point that all his blood has redirected itself to his face. Okay, so maybe Logan had gotten a bit carried away with the whole planning ahead thing but that still left another question to be asked.

“Why are you up at three A.M., Roman?”

And just for a moment Logan thinks he’s gotten the upper hand but soon falls flat, “I heard somebody stumbling out of their room and went to investigate in case they had gotten themselves hurt. I followed you just in case you fell down the stairs but thankfully you didn’t and thankfully I was there when you did eventually fall.”

Once more, Logan was left a blushing sputtering mess, how unprofessional of him to act so irresponsibly and clumsy. But before he could descend down a spiral of self-loathing Roman kissed the top of his head and smiled at him in that soft, tender way that filled Logan with so much love and adoration. “Let’s go to bed, my shining star.”

Logan was pretty sure he had a ridiculous goofy smile spread across his face but he didn’t really mind, though that was most likely due to his exhaustion. And it was because of his exhaustion that Logan chose to boldly lean forward and capture his prince’s lips in a sleepy, soft kiss. Roman had momentarily been taken aback by his boyfriend’s sudden boldness but was quick to redeem himself and return with his own gentle, lazy kisses.

They pulled apart slowly, Logan’s eyes closed in content as Roman kissed over them softly, gently humming a soothing toon. He slowly crouched down to pick up Logan’s book and pen, never once putting down the bespectacled side for fear he might jolt him into full awareness and Roman would never get him to sleep. Logan wrapped his arms firmly around his prince’s neck, nuzzling into the crook of Roman’s neck as he carried him up the stairs and into his room where they both continued to snuggle under the covers.

---

Contrary to popular belief Virgil actually enjoyed physical affection, the problem being was that he had no idea how to ask for it. For as long as he could remember he had always been the “bad guy” and had taken to keeping at arm’s length from everybody else. But then there was that whole redemption arc with Thomas accepting him as his anxiety and as a part of himself which in turn lead to another conversation afterwards when he left the sides to their own devices. Turns out that they actually liked Virgil, a lot, and not just in the friendly way.

He was surprised of course, because he had never in his life thought that they would return his feelings which he had kept hidden for years, but they did and the overwhelming emotions that followed after caused him to be, surprise, surprise, anxious. They helped comfort them and assured him that they didn’t need to be anything more then friends if he so choose. But of course, Virgil did want to me something more than friends but he wanted to take it slow and they all agreed.

So, now they were here, having found each other’s comfort level both physically and emotionally but communication was still a bit iffy. He knew the others weren’t mind readers, regardless of being projections of Thomas is consciousness, and Virgil knows he should try a bit harder but sometimes it was difficult to ask for hugs and kisses and snuggles without sounding ridiculous. Which would lead to moments like these where Virgil would aimlessly walk around the mindscape hoping to bump into one of his boyfriends and maybe, just maybe, they’d initiate some sort of physical affection so that he wouldn’t have to.

But of course, just because he had been wanting it does not mean he had been expecting to be lifted off the ground and spun around like a damsel in distress. He knew it was Roman as soon as he heard the telltale sign of some romantic Disney song being sung, because the princely side was cheesy that way. Vigil haphazardly hissed and kicked at Roman while also grabbing onto the material of his princely outfit so as not to fall off. Between the options of fight or flight when surprised Virgil more often then not chose fight which has led to the rest of the group to have really good dodging reflexes.

“Hey there Hot Topic.” Roman chuckled, spinning finally coming to a stop opting to rub his cheek against the emo side.

“Roman, you ass, put me down!” Virgil growled, face flushed as he half heartedly tried to shove Roman’s face away from his.

Roman turned his face towards Virgil’s palm and kissed it which cause the emo man to hiss in embarrassment and pull away, reveling a Cheshire cat grin from the prince. “Now why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll kick your ass!” Virgil snapped, though it was a hollow threat, Virgil was hardly strong enough to take on Roman who went out adventuring almost on the daily.

“Hmm, I’d like to see that actually happen, my little storm cloud,” Roman teased, kissing the tip of Virgil’s nose who squeaked and pulled his hands back to cover his face, though he still glared at the prince. “but if you so happen to be in a merciful mood, I have a Disney marathon set up in the living room we can distract ourselves with until our darling heart and nerd get back from helping Thomas. What do you say?”

Virgil will forever deny that he pouted as he turned away in seeming annoyance so as to think over the offer. “If I agree, are you gunna put me down anytime soon?”

“Nope.” Roman smiled, loudly popping the “p” in the word as he nuzzled against Virgil’s neck.

Virgil squealed and squirmed against Roman’s affection, trying desperately to conceal the giggle that threatened to escape from his lips. Sometimes Virgil forgets that it’s okay to let down his wall every once in a while, not always having to be this dark and scary figure. Especially, with Roman, they had a rockiest relationship before all of this and sometimes that still peeked through every now and again. But they were getting through it, bit by bit, they still bickered constantly but now it seemed to be more playful than anything else.

“Is this okay?” Roman asked, suddenly very serious, which once more caught Virgil by surprise.

“Y-yeah, why?” Virgil said curiously, face still dusted pink by Roman’s earlier affection.

“I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Roman said honestly and Virgil’s heart practically melted at his sincerity “I know how difficult it is for you to talk about these sorts of things but the last thing I want is to push you past you comfort zone. So, if you really want me to put you down I-”

“No!” Virgil said much too quickly, wrapping his arms tightly against Roman’s neck and curling into himself “I-I mean…I don’t mind, it’s…nice.”

Roman smiled again, this time warm and soft and full of love, “May I kiss you?”

“It’s not like you need to ask.” Virgil said, mumbling against the princely side’s chest. Roman chuckled, moving Virgil higher up in his arms so that they were now faced to face, “I know, but I would still like to hear an answer.”

“Yeah.” Virgil whispered softly, cheeks flushed as Roman gently pressed his lips over his. It was soft and warm and passionate and everything Virgil loved about Roman, his idiot prince.

Roman had carried Virgil all the way to the living room, not once letting him go as promised, and plopped down on the couch with Virgil draped across his lap. Virgil half heartedly rolled his eyes, a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips, as Roman grabbed the remote and pressed play on their first movie. As Snow White began to sing into the wishing well Virgil started to relax, leaning back to tuck his head under Roman’s chin who responded by draping his arm across Virgil’s shoulders and bring him in closer. Virgil smiled softly, basking in the radiating warmth of his prince as the melodic sound of Disney played in the background.

[queermikehanlon]

Birds of Paradise (Stanlon AU)

Summary: Mike is a tattoo apprentice next door to a flower shop, and he needs flowers before his mom’s flight comes in. Now he meets Stanley, the man who runs the shop with the flowers, and is actually kind of cute now that he thinks about it. (It’s chapter one from Mike’s perspective).

Words: 3,891

ao3

A/N: Wow, I posted chapter one on December 20th, 2017 and I’m uploading this one September 28th, 2019. I totally did not mean to leave it this long but I guess I was plagued with all the regular excuses: I got caught up with school work, lost most interest in the fandom, didn’t feel attached to the piece anymore, etcetera. I felt bad for leaving this abandoned, especially when I had half of chapter two written already, I just needed to finish it. I wrote the other half so here it is. Do I have a plan for chapter three? Yes. Do I have anything written? No. I don’t know if or when chapter three will be written but here’s chapter two.

One / Two / Three

Mike didn’t give much thought to the buildings around his work; they were all just the surrounding area and they were buildings that he passed-  a part of his scenery. There was an electronics store, a small music shop, and the flower store, it was all just a part of the day to day that he started living.

When his mom called from the airport in Augusta, and told him that her and his grandmother were on their way to visit, he was frantic. Mike was trying to remember the last time he cleaned his apartment, if he had enough room in the apartment to keep his parents, if he had enough food for dinner, if he left the Chinese take out on the counter where his cat could get it, and shit, the flowers.

(His mother always loved flowers. After his father died when Mike was a teenager he promised himself that he would always get her flowers when he visited back home, when she came down, or on random days when he felt like he should do something nice and he would order them in Derry. It wasn’t something that his mom demanded, or that anyone demanded, but it was his own rule that he planned to stick to for the rest of his life, and the flower store next to his work would help mike put his mind at ease.)

Mike probably wore his anxiousness about the circumstances like a coat, it was all over him: thinking about when his mom and grandma were coming in, how fast he could make his apartment look presentable, how many dishes he left in the sink, how to dodge questions about what his plan was and when he was going to settle down and move out of that small apartment and get a nice house with someone, what time their flight was arriving and how he was going to find enough time to walk back home after work, get his car, and meet them at the airport to pick them up.

He had spent most of the morning working with Richie on some of his sketches and composition. Mike couldn’t tattoo yet because he didn’t have his license and he was just an apprentice at this shop, so his job right now was to help out in any way while Bev and Richie taught him how to tattoo when they had particularly slow or client-less days (they had him start on bananas before they would start making ads out for a free, apprentice done tattoos, so he could learn before permanently defacing someone’s skin). This morning, Richie had gone to mike for suggestion of placement and color choices and Mike helped him. 

After Mike finished, he cleaned up the lobby and the desk and reorganized everything; he kept thinking about everything that he had to deal with when he got home. He thought of everything he absolutely had to do (1) clean the apartment, at least put the dishes in the dishwasher, (2) clean up his bedroom. (His mom and grandma would be sharing his bed and he would sleep on the couch. Mike can’t give them a dirty room with clothes and random things thrown around all over the floor of his bedroom), and (3) get the flowers for them.

Then at lunch time Mike got all of their lunches from the Chinese place a couple blocks away and they all ate lunch together in the breakroom that is just one of the small rooms that they had in the back. One room was Bev’s tattoo room, one was their breakroom, and the last was Mike’s tattoo room (that wasn’t getting much use yet, as he hasn’t started tattooing yet). Richie’s ‘room’ was open and a part of the main lobby so that everyone who went into the tattoo parlor could see him do his work. 

After lunch was Mike’s break, and he decided to get on to his list of must-dos. His break was only fifteen minutes long and he didn’t think he’d have enough time to go home and clean up AND get flowers so he decided to one of two. He could straighten up (more like shove everything either in his closet or under his bed) while he was playing host but he couldn’t put off flowers, so that’s what he did. Mike thanked the lord that there was a florist right next door that he passed by everyday on the way to work.  It worked better than him having to go all the way across town or making phone calls for all of his fifteen minute break.

Mike made his way on the sidewalk, and looked at the building, at the yellowish paint on the outside and the dark, almost army green paint that made the window sill. He had never given the shop much thought; it was just another shop of the many on their street, but now it was a savior in a day where he needed every miracle he could salvage.

The ding of the bell over the door almost distracted Mike from his thoughts until he saw the tall shelves and the green leaves and blotches of pink, yellow, red, and white petals all around the room. 

Mike heard the clang of something setting on the table and he turned to the noise, seeing a man setting a clay pot on the counter that he could see through the door. The guy had hair cropped short and curled a little bit on the top, a green button down with a name curled in embroidery above the breast pocket. He had dirt stained gloves covering his hands. 

The man turned to Mike. “Hi, how can I help you?” 

Mike played with his hands, bending back his knuckles and fidgeting, before he spoke. “My mom and grandma are coming into town for a visit and I need anything you can throw together.”

Was that too much information? Should Mike have just asked for two bouquets?

“Alright,” the guy said. “I can set you up.”

Mike felt something come off his shoulders. At least he could get the flowers for them, if he couldn’t clean and he couldn’t cook something, at least he could keep the promise he made for himself for his mom. The man took off his gloves. “When are they coming in?”

Mike took a breath. “Tonight.” 

Mike leaned over the counter, putting his hands on the cool yellow counter. “They surprised me with a call while they were at the airport and I can’t call 1800 flowers, not after last time.”

Mike tried not to think about the bad time when he was very, very desperate and he did call 1800 flowers and it did not go how he wanted. Mike hoped never to call them again. 

The man nodded his head, which gave Mike a little bit of solace, “Okay, we can do this. Do you know what flowers or what colors they like?”

Mike was relieved, it won’t be the worst thing because mike will get the flowers, he’ll find a way to clean the apartment, he’ll manage to fix something good to eat, and he’ll make sure that everything goes well between now and when they board their plane back. And, the man behind the counter asked the question that Mike definitely knew the answer to.

“My mom likes irises and the color yellow and my grandma likes all the small pink flowers- that I do know.”

The man behind the counter smiled, it was small and not forced, like he was smiling at mike. Mike smiled in return and tapped his fingers on the counter.

“Yeah, we can do that. Give me a quick minute to pull out some stuff from the back and let’s see what we can make up, yeah?”

Mike nodded and let himself rest for just a second, leaning over the counter and putting his upper body weight on his elbows.

The man with the curly hair disappeared into the back of the door through a beige swinging door and Mike waited.

Behind the counter (and around the store) were mostly shelves of small flower pots with flowers working to take up space around the store. There was also a piece of framed pink paper, but the writing was too faint for Mike to read. There was a photograph, framed in an old gold decorative frame; It was a picture of what looked to be two young boys in a garden. Mike can’t see the boys faces but one has curly hair down past his jaw, so Mike assumes it’s pictures of the man, the guy who works at this little flower shop. 

There were empty pots altogether, different than the ones that the flowers were held in.  These were more decorative and had little designs carved into them. They had a little sign in the middle that said, ‘you want one of these pots to be your own? ask for details!’

The door suddenly swung open and there he was, arms full of cup sized, plastic pots of flowers, ones like he described to the flower shop man. “It was two bouquets, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Mike choked out.

The man sat down all the little pots on the counter and Mike leaned in closer to have a better look at the flowers. The man began separating them into groups, by the colors Mike could see what the man- a quick look at his name tag- Stanley, was thinking. “This is what I’m thinking: we have the irises and we have the yellow pansies to make the purple stand out. Then we have some orange poppies to make the blue in the irises stand out. We just need something white or cream colored to make all the other colors stand out.”

Mike understood what he was saying. The color theory and the complements of colors, it was all basic information that was in the back of his head as an artist. Wait- “Aren’t there flowers that look like this-” Mike left his fingers brush against the yellow flowers, the pansies- “but, like, smaller and cream colored? I think I did a piece with them a few weeks ago. Johnny somethings.”

“Johnny Jump Ups.” Stanley said almost immediately. “I think I have some of them, not a lot of people ask for them. Let me check.”

Back through the door he went and Mike watched him go. This Stanley sure is cute, he thought without realizing. Then realizing, mike took in the thought and let it simmer until Stanley came back through the door with another tiny flower.

“These are perfect.” He showed Mike the tiny flowers. He was right in his memory of the flowers, small, white and they looked like the yellow pansies but an off white with light purple faded on the ends of each petal. Stanley was right. With the other flowers, the Johnny Jump Ups were perfect in composition. “They’re small enough to fill up space but pretty enough they’re not out of place.”

“Yeah, I did a few flashes with them, I got used to drawing them.” With the florist’s confused look, Mike explained. “I’m an apprentice at the tattoo parlor next door, it was such a relief to have this shop next door with them coming to town.”

“Oh, yeah cool. I guess you do a lot of flower stuff.”

Mike laughed. That fact was true. Even though he mostly helps with drawings and compositions he has drawn a lot more flowers since getting a job at the parlor next door. “Yeah, almost once a day, probably even more once I’m not an apprentice and I’m a fully licensed artist.”

“That’s really cool.” 

Mike smiled at the man in front of him. Along with cute, the florist was sweet. This didn’t feel like a transaction only conversation. It felt like Mike was talking to a friend, or a more than friend. 

“And for your grandma’s set I was thinking these peonies with the carnations and the light purple petunias. It’s a lot softer than the other one.”

“You thought of all of that on the spot back there?” Mike asked, curious. “Are you a wizard?”

“Yes. The flower wizard, making sure that everyone has something pretty.” Cute, sweet, and funny. 

“Good, I would only trust a flower wizard to make these bouquets.” Stanley let out a little laugh before he paused. 

“So you like the idea? The flowers all together?”

Mike nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, it’s amazing, perfect, thank you.”

Stanley behind the counter reached out for a pad of paper, and began writing, what Mike assumed what his order was. After scribbling for a moment, Stanley spoke again. “Can I get your name?”

“Michael. Mike Hanlon.”

“Alright, I’ll get this form all filled out for you. You said they were coming in tonight, when will you need them by?”

Mike stopped. He didn’t want Stanley to quit everything to work on his. He didn’t want to be a disruption. “Don’t drop other stuff to get mine done quickly. I don’t want you to-“

Stanley stopped him quick enough. “Mike, it’s two bouquets. I can do them pretty quick. What time do you need them done?”

Mike thought about it. Mike got off work at six o’clock on the dot. The plane arrived at 6:45 so he would want to leave as soon as he got off work, but he had a ten or fifteen minute leeway if he wanted to clean a little bit before he left for the airport. “I can come by before 6, or you could drop them off in the parlor considering that our door goes into my room.”

“I always wondered what I’d find on the other side. I guess I didn’t want to accidentally run into something awkward or something.”

Mike laughed. It felt like the conversation was coming to and end and Mike didn’t want that end to come. Maybe Mike could see Stanley again when he didn’t need flowers, maybe to dinner, a date perhaps? “Just little ol’ me. Thank you so much for doing this, on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem, honestly. I’m just going to need your phone number to complete the order form.” Mike felt a little smirk grow on his face and he spoke before he could really think through the words coming out of his mouth.

“And not for yourself? I’m hurt.”

Stanley smiled back at him. “I guess I’ll have to use it for myself too then, just so that your feelings aren’t hurt.” 

That was a step in a good direction. Mike threw a little more into the flirting. “Good. It’d be a shame if I find this cute guy and he wouldn’t call me on a professional courtesy.”

“Well, what is that phone number?” Mike told him the phone number, and read the paper Stnaley was writing on to make sure it was written down correctly. Mike pulled out his phone and opened a new contact page. When Stanley looked up from the notepad, Mike held out his phone to him.

“How will I know it’s the cute flower shop guy who’s calling me and not one of my clients?”

Stanley took the phone and began typing. “I guess I can give it to you then, just so you don’t get confused with one of your clients and not so you can text me later and ask me to hang out.”

Mike’s mood couldn’t be lifted any further than it is now. “Or something else?”

“Or something else,” Stanley agreed. He went back to the order forms and ripped one copy, the yellow copy, from the white copy. “These are your receipts.”

When Stanley held out the piece of paper for Mike to grab, mike made is so that their fingers brushed against each other. “Thank you for doing this, Stanley; it means a lot.”

“Stan,” Stanley, or Stan corrected. “or Stanley, if you prefer.”

“Okay, Stan. I think my break’s about to end soon, so I should probably be getting back before they fire me or something.” Mike pulled out his wallet and paid for his flowers after looking at the price on his receipt. After he finished and everything was finished up, Stan spoke up.

“I’ll be by. Before six, that’s what you said?”

“Yeah, thank you so much for this.”

Stan chuckled. “It’s my job to make bouquets, you don’t have to thank me.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have to thank you.” Mike glanced at his watch, then made sure to finish up before he was supposed to be back to work. “Now I really have to go, but I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.”

<hr>

It was almost quitting time. Mike was drawing some flashes and waiting for Stan to come by like he said he would. Every few minutes Mike would glance at the door that was the barrier between his room and what supposedly was the backroom to Stan’s flower shop. 

Mike heard a quick knock knock on his door then heard the creak of the hinges. “Mikey? You gotta visitor!”

Mike looked up and then saw Stan behind Beverly. Stan stood there in the same uniform as before, except in his hands he held flower bouquets. Seeing Stan again made him smile- even though he only met the man that day and there wasn’t anything mind-blowing or earth shattering about their interaction that afternoon. “Thanks Bevvie.”

Beverly stood there and waited. Stan walked through the door, standing beside Beverly rather than behind her. Mike put his pencil down and faced them. With a little push towards his friend, he spoke.“You can leave now, Bev.”

“Maybe I want to stay and watch the show. Stanley wouldn’t mind, would you, Stanley?”

Mike stood up and stood facing Bev. He put his hand out and slightly pushed Bev back out of the doorway. He put a smile on his face and used his fingers to wave goodbye to her as he closed the door. Her face was priceless, as long as she knew him, she had never seen him with someone.

“Y’all best not be fucking when I check on you!” She shouted.

“Yeah, Bev’s not the kindest one in the bunch she’s cool.” Mike said, rubbing the skin on the back of his neck, a little embarrassed by his boss and good friend.

“Yeah, I know. I’m friends with her boyfriend.” Stan told him. He shot a questioning glance then shook it away. Mike had only met Bev’s boyfriend a few times, and they didn’t really talk. It was when he came by to eat lunch with Bev or the one day he got romantic and brought her a bouquet of flowers. She said he was like that all the time. “Oh, here are your flowers!”

Mike almost forgot that Stan was here to do his job and deliver flowers. “Oh yeah.”

Mike took the flowers from Stan’s hands and held them up and looked at them. They looked amazing; better than the last florist he went to when he still loved across town. “These look better than what you made in the shop. How do you do it?”

Stan smiled. “I thought we talked about that, I’m a flower wizard.”

“Oh right of course.”

Mike sat in his chair, which he rolled so that he was closer to Stan. Mike watched as Stan looked around the room, then later at the drawings he had around his desk. 

“You did all those drawings? They’re amazing.” Stan stood up from his seat and stepped closer to look at the drawings. Objectively, Mike knew he was a good artist, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone into the profession of professional person who did mostly permanent art, but he still felt a little shy about people complimenting him on his artwork.

“Thanks,” Mike said. Before he backed out and lost the courage he thought he had, he opened up the conversation. “I actually wanted to ask you something?”

Stan turned away from the drawings and faced Mike. Mike looked at his face and he felt more nervousness bubble in his stomach.“Yeah, sure, ask away.”

Mike bit his lip, and began fidgeting with his hands, his index finger was scratching at his thumb. He was nervous because what if there was a rejection under their previous conversations. What if Stan didn't want the same things as him?

“Maybe, if you’re free and if you wanted to, you want to go see a movie with me? Maybe Friday night?”

Stan held a small smile. “Are you asking me out on a date, Mike?”

Mike’s stomach dropped in fear. Did Mike misread all the flirting they had that afternoon? Did Stan not like guys?Did Stan not want this? “Did I read this the wrong way or?”

“No,” Stan said quickly. ”No, just making sure. I want to go on a date with you. I think we’d have a fun time.”

Mike shoulders dropped and a smile spread across his face in the acceptance. “Okay, cool, yeah.”

Stan and Mike waited in the room in silence, a comfortable one. Mike was glad he met Stan, and was happy that Stan agreed to go on a date with him. Mike felt good, almost a better happy then the satisfied content he'd been feeling for a while.

“I should probably get going back to my store.” Stan spoke softly. Mike took a deep breath. He didn’t want Stan to leave so quickly, but then again, Mike had a lot of things to get done before the night was over. “I think maybe you should use my number when you figure out what movie we’re going to see.”

“Yeah, I definitely will.” Mike was already going through what he knew was playing at the theatre, what he thought would make a good date night movie, and one the thought Stan would like.

Stan reached his hand out and touched Mike’s shoulder. Mike could feel the fingers around his muscle and the contact set him on the edge of his seat. “I guess I’ll see you on Friday?”

Mike became a little bolder, “Not unless I visit tomorrow.”

Stan smirked. “The store’s usually slowest in the morning, just for future reference.”

A knock came at the door and Mike jumped at the sudden noise. Then he heard his sweet, dear friend (a friend whom he might kill later), Bev’s voice come through the door. “Boys! What’s going on in there?”

Stan walked closer to the door and put his hand on the door knob and let him turn the knob and open the door to Beverly who had her ear pressed to the door. When the door was away from her face, she slowly stood up straight. “Have you been standing here the whole time?”

“No,” Beverly stated, very quick with her response. she shrugged. “You think I’d waste my time eavesdropping on my dear, dear friends?”

“Yes,” Mike answered. “You definitely would.”

Stan walked past her and turned around to Mike. “You’ll text me later?”

Mike nodded his head with a smile and Beverly looked between them with her head turning back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. Stan laughed at her.

“Well, I’ll see you later then.”