#and walls painted in a variety of colors

[richtigezahnpflege]

Farmhouse Living Room

[f-airchilds]

Living Room Home Bar

[rebelsocialitenyc]

Open - Farmhouse Living Room

[worldoflunatriix]

Bathroom - Kids

[shutupanddiehl]

Raleigh Kitchen

[los-angeles-county-limousine]

Bedroom Paneling (Atlanta)

[oldmanweldon]

Bathroom (Tampa)

[tsuvvy]

Oh Sister of Mine - Chapter 4

Safe

You learn the meaning of safety, even if you might not feel it. And Cassandra learns the feeling of what it’s like to have a little sibling.

Warning: Mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, Cassandra might be a little ooc, I kind of struggled with this chapter and don’t really like it, but I hope you guys enjoy

Word Count: 3k

You laid in bed staring up at the ceiling in the bed. Damian had left a little while ago.

“I will be back, do not try anything,” he had told you sternly before he'd exited the door.

You sighed, sitting up. Ignoring the soreness in your arms. You looked down at the ground when you swung your also but less sore legs off the side of the bed. You looked around the room. You didn't feel threatened, or like you were in a cell. But you did feel like a trapped animal. Like a dog in a crate.

You hated it. You hated feeling like that.

You kept ignoring the pain as you pushed yourself off of the bed and used the bedside table as support as you let the soreness in your legs fade for a moment. You looked around. The room was pretty bare, not a lot going for it. There was a tv on the wall. A potted plant on the dresser, one in a corner of the room too. Damian had left the cushioned seat he chose for his seating close to the bed where he had moved it. The room had a color theme of a calm maroon which took up the bedsheets, the rug on the floor, the cushioned seats, and the walls. Then a lot of the furniture was a mahogany brown.

You pushed off the bedside table, slowly walking towards the door. But it was locked. Of course he’d locked it when he left. You turned, looking for anything you might be able to use to unlock the door.

You walked toward the closet and opened its mahogany doors, looking at the variety of clothing. The clothes were nice. They were plain, but nice. You grabbed the sleeve of a nice suit jacket, looking for any cufflinks. You found none. You reached into the pocket. You felt something fall into your hand and you pulled it out. Bingo, the cufflinks. As you walked back to the door you broke off the end piece of both of them before you kneeling down to get a better eyeline of the door knob. They’d changed the knob so it locked from the outside rather than the inside. But that wasn’t a problem.

The end of the cufflinks were sharp now after you had broken off the ends. You stuck both of them within the lock of the door. You were patient as you moved them around, waiting until you finally heard the ‘clink’ of the door unlocking. You looked down at your clothes. It dawned on you that they were different. More comfortable, actually. A pair of plain gray sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt. You were too busy keeping your guard up to ever notice.

You put the cufflinks into the pockets of the pockets and turned the knob of the door quietly. This time, it did actually turn. You quietly closed the door behind you, looking from side to side. The hallway was long both ways. Where should you go?

You chose right.

You began walking slowly, trailing your hand against the wall as you walked. The mansion was obviously well decorated with paintings along the walls, potted plants on small tables in some places. There doors you passed. None of which you found any interest in. Even the one that was slightly agape. You had peeked in, though. It was dark, only illuminated by a lone computer, but no one was in there, so you moved on.

You paused, staring forward toward a door on the wall you had your hand trailing along. You heard the familiar hits of fists and kicks on punching bags. You’d grown up around them. Your father, David, forcing you to train night and day. Refusing to let you quit until you fainted. It was like a cycle. One you hated. But you’d never lost your temper. Not with your father.

You peeked into the room. It was huge. Full of an assortment of exercise equipment. But it was neat and orderly. And in the middle of the room was a fit woman. One you recognized.

She wore just a pair of plain sweatpants like you, and a black sports bra. Half of her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. You quietly stepped in, staying near the door. You watched her. It was easy to tell she was frustrated and had been at this for a little while. Her bangs were sticking to her forehead with sweat. Her knuckles were red and very irritated, maybe just a few punches away from starting to bleed. And there was a sheen of sweat coating her arms and neck and cheeks.

You opened your mouth, but for a moment nothing came out. You shook a bit as you tried to bring the speech out of your throat and mouth. And finally, in a shaky voice, you called out to her. “Cass.. Sandra..?” You stumbled over her name.

Cassandra’s head whipped to you. How had she not heard you? Well.. With her escaping, she assumed David must have trained you even better than he had ever trained her.

“How did you get out of the room?” Cassandra asked, her brows furrowing. “Where is Damian?”

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the cufflinks that now had sharp edges from you breaking the ends off to pick the lock of the door. “Damian leaved.” That wasn’t the right way to say it, but Cassandra didn’t say anything. She understood what you meant and she’d been in your predicament with the speech before.

“You’re mad.” You said simply.

Cassandra looked at you, “I..” She looked to the floor for a split second, “I’m not mad.” She said.

“You are.” You said simply. Cassandra stayed quiet this time. You didn’t look to be carrying any threat or malice in your stance or expression.

“Your hands,” You spoke a bit unsure. Unsure of if those were the correct words. But you pointed to her hands. Blood dripped from her knuckles. They weren’t gushing, but it was never ideal to have your knuckles bleeding.

Cassandra looked at her hands. She hadn’t even realized. But it surprised her you even pointed it out.

“You're hurt..” You’d learned a bit from your time with Damian in your room. A few words, not a lot.

“I..” Cassandra paused, letting out a breath as she looked back at you, “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Not.” You said simply.

Cassandra did a double take. “Not…?” She asked, a bit confused.

“Not worried.” You clarified simply. Cassandra let out a breath of a subtle annoyance. You were such an enigma. And she was already frustrated to begin with.

Cassandra, much like you usually did with others, kept you in her peripheral as she turned to a bench and grabbed a cloth off of it. She started gently wiping her knuckles with it. The once white cloth begins to turn red with the blood.

“Dad is mad at you,” You told her. Cassandra froze, looking at you in the corner of her eye.

You looked at you fully. It was hard to read you. But you didn’t look mad right now. “I know..” Was all she said. Her voice is quieter. She didn’t want to talk about him. She wanted him out of her head.

You looked to the floor. “Why leave?” You asked.

Cassandra let out a breath, looking to the floor herself before looking at her knuckles again. They were damaged. She’d need to wear bandages for a little while. “He was cruel.” She said, “I was cruel.. I didn’t want to be. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to kill people.”

You were quiet. “Dad is cruel..” You agreed quietly. This whole time your voice had still been carrying that unsure shaky lilt to it. But it lessened a bit.

“He is..” Cassandra nodded subtly. She looked at you for a moment. She wanted to know what was going on in your head. It looked like a lot. But she couldn’t see what it might be. If it was bad or not. You didn’t have any expression on your face. “Did he hurt you?” She asked.

You looked at her. But you stayed quiet.

“What’s your name?” She asked softly, tilted her head slightly.

You stayed quiet.

“Can I come closer?” She asked.

You stayed quiet.

Before Cassandra could ask another question after a moment of silence, she saw a small and subtle nod from you. It took a moment before she did. She took a few steps towards you and stopped. You were a bit closer, but still quite a ways away from each other. You looked over at her.

“This okay?” She caught your gaze. A soft and subtle smile on her lips. You looked at her, then to the floor for a second. It looked like you were fighting with yourself about something. Cassandra’s eyes widened a bit when you took a small step forward. Sure, it wasn’t a lot. But you stepped closer to her.

You were a weird kid, one moment trying to kill everything and one you see. The next you're calm and rational, wanting to trust, wanting to let your guard down. Cassandra couldn’t read you well, but with you stepping closer, she at the very least realized that much.

“Name?” Cassandra repeated her question softly and more simply for you.

You looked up at her. Should you? You shouldn’t. You could almost hear your father in the back of your head. Telling you not to. Telling you it’ll have consequences, bad ones. Telling you you’ll be punished for doing it. Telling you that you better not.

“Y/n.”

“Y/n?” Cassandra questioned, blinking as she took your name in. You nodded slightly. “Y/n..” She whispered this time. Her little sibling. Her little sibling she’d known nothing about, even their existence.

“He’ll be mad..” You muttered, looking to the ground.

Cassandra looked at you again. “Dad?” She asked. It made her nauseous to call him that.

You nodded.

“Hey,” Cassandra spoke, she knelt down to meet your gaze better. She saw you tense. Your guard was up again. “It’s okay.” You were taken aback. She was so gentle. Cassandra could see the flicker of hesitance in your expression. “He’ll never get to you again,” she said, “You are safe here, you won’t be going anywhere.”

“Safe…” You repeated quietly.

“Do you know what that means?” She asked. You shook your head. “Would you like to know?”

She watched you carefully, waiting for any type of answer you might give. But you stood still, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. But, finally, Cassandra caught a nod from you.

“Safe means the opposite of danger,” You thought about it for a moment. You looked at her, your brows furrowed, telling her you were still confused. “When you are safe, you aren’t in danger. So right now, you are safe. But when you are out in costume killing people, you are in danger.” You stayed quiet once she finished explaining a little more simply for you.

“No..” Your voice trailed off. “Danger?” You looked at her. “I not danger?” Cassandra understood what you meant.

“Mhm,” She nodded gently, “You aren’t in any danger. You are safe.” She enunciated the word, hoping it might help a bit for you to maybe understand how to say it.

“Sa.. S.” You struggled.

“It’s okay, take your time,” She soothed.

“Sa-a. S.” It was an easy word. But Cassandra guessed you were scared of failure.

Having grown up with David herself, she knew what he was like when he saw failure, especially in those he would be teaching. He was cruel. Again, she could only guess what he could have done to you, but what she had in mind of guessing wasn’t good, not one bit.

“That’s it,” Cassandra smiled gently at you. You stared at her, your lip shaking subtly. You weren’t going to cry, she knew you wouldn’t. She knew the signs well enough. “Safe.” She repeated for you, showing you how to say it once more.

“Sa-a-fe..” Your voice was shaky, broken.

“There you go!” Cassandra said softly, “You got it!”

You perked up, looking at her surprised.

“You did it, good job, Y/n!” Her smile just got sweeter and more kind.

This was weird for you. Praise, kindness, calmness. It was all so weird. David had never been so gentle. You never got praise when you were to do something correctly. All you would get was a ‘try harder’, ‘you can do better’, or ‘not good enough’.

“Sa-Sa-afe..” You said again, a little bit more sure of yourself this time.

“Yeah, good job!” Cassandra congratulated you. Praising your accomplishment.

“S-Saf-e..” She hummed, nodding her head. She smiled softly still. And in turn. You couldn’t help the way your lips curled upwards too. It was weird. You’d never really smiled before. Maybe a few times as a baby before you had gained consciousness. But, not in a very very long time.

“S-Safe..” You finally said the word fully. Maybe a subtle stutter at the start, but you said it in full.

“You did it! Good job, Y/n!” It was weird. All of this was. Your lips curling upwards. Hearing your name accompanied by praise slipping off her tongue.

“How do you even plan to find the guy, he’s been invisible for years.” Steph pointed out, looking over the men in the room with her arms crossed.

“Well, we know he’s alive, which is a start.” Bruce spoke up.

“Why are we helping this kid again?” Jason asked, a scowl on his face.

“Jason, just because you were caught off guard and beat into the ground by a little kid younger than Damian does not mean we are going to just throw them in some jail cell in Arkham.” Tim spoke up, not wasting his chance of really rubbing in the man’s defeat with an amused smirk as he did.

“Do your job.” Jason told him sternly.

“Oh, aren’t you supposed to be looking for David to? You’re the one just standing around asking annoying and pointless questions.” Tim looked at him with a smirk. Jason scowled at the boy.

“Enough!” Bruce announced, looking at the two with a stern scolding look. “We are starting at the last traces he’s ever left.” Bruce looked to Stephanie, addressing her concerns and confusions.

“The kid?” She questioned.

Bruce shook his head, “It’s clear we won’t get anything from them.”

“We should still keep that option open, though,” Stephanie spoke up again, gesturing her hand in the air as she spoke. “Who knows, they might open up the more comfortable they get, if at all.”

“Yes, I know that,” Bruce nodded, “We were planning on it already. But we will be starting at the last place we found a trace of David.”

“Which is?” Stephanie questioned. Bruce turned to look at Tim at the bat computer.

“Ace Chemicals,” Tim answered and finished for the two after pulling up the case files of the specific case that David was last involved in to their knowledge.

“What was he doing there?” Steph’s brows furrowed.

“We aren’t insanely sure what he was doing there. But we know there was an illegal trade of weapons and some poisons.” Tim said, “He might have been doing some bodyguard stuff or dealing some of the weapons, we don’t know. We just know he left evidence of himself there, but we were never able to trace him.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steph nodded slowly, “So, how are we supposed to go off of probably the tiniest bit of evidence anyone has been able to muster up in recent years?” Stephanie asked again, looking to everyone in the room.

“The only option we have is the kid.” Jason spoke up.

“Any suggestions on getting them to talk?” Tim gave him a deadpan expression.

“Listen, don’t give me attitude, kid,” Jason scowled at me, “I’m just pointing out the obvious here.”

“The only way we’re going to be able to get them to open up at all is by giving them time,” Damian announced. “They’re terrified of everything. We just need to be patient, as hard as that is going to be.”

Everyone was silent for a little while. They knew he was right. They could get information out of you. You just needed some time to realize no one here would hurt you. You were a little kid, one that’s obviously been mistreated, no one needed more than a glance to realize that. You would warm up with time. Just like a stray dog.

You were scared and used to what you know. But you’d just need to learn anew.

“Doesn’t David Cain have ties to the League of Assassins?” Dick abruptly said.

“He does.” Damian answered.

“Why not look into League of Assassin files, we might find something.” He proposed.

“Jason, you go to Ace Chemicals, double check for any sign of David Cain.” Bruce ordered, “Dick, you look into League of Assassin files. Stephanie you keep Cassandra out of this, I don’t know what she’ll do if she ever finds her father.”

“Yes sir!” Stephanie nodded.

Bruce continued, “Damian you’ll keep watch on the kid, they’re most comfortable with you than anyone else here. And Tim you’ll stay on the batcomputer and look through files and try anymore dna samples you might be able to think of.”

“Alright,” Tim nodded.

“What’ll you do?” Dick asked his adoptive father.

Bruce was quiet. He didn’t say anything. He looked to the batcomputer. “Get to work.” He dismissed the group without answering Dick’s question.

“I’m back.” Damian entered the room, slowly as to not startle you.

You didn’t say anything. You just stared, watching him walk closer with a full glass of water in his hand.

Cassandra had made sure to get you back to the room safely, not letting you wander anywhere else throughout Wayne manor.

You were hugging your knees to your chest.

“Safe..” You said softly and abruptly.

Damian stilled in his movements, staring at you a bit surprised. And you stared back with your blank expression.

“Good job..." He told you softly.

<- Chapter 3 Chapter 5 ->

@redh00dsbf @02006 @shikanosn @rainnyydaysworld @notsaelty

[boxheadpaint]

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:20 PM a mr beast esque netflix flop called NEXT TIME that was a variety gameshow with matchmaking elements. it had one season of just a handful of episodes before being dropped entirely, but then a few years later something popped up on youtube called "NEXT TIME [SECOND INSTALLMENT]" [11:22 PM] second installment was not produced by the same team as next time. it seemingly wasnt produced by humans either [11:22 PM] the only human involvement with the "show" were the contestants, who were constantly on edge and looked to be trying to find a way out of their situation

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:28 PM about a year before second installment some kind of random email casting call was put out with only a few responses, most assuming it to be some scam. the responding individuals were informed that they would be considered for their roles, though it was hard to get that information from the followup emails as they were very garbled and vague. several people would soon state feelings of being watched, stalked, some even claiming to be the victims of poltergeists or alien interference. after 2 weeks of this, they would usually be reported missing by a family member- some even vanishing while just a room away [11:29 PM] the only thing connecting the victims were the emails and later their appearances in the uploads of second installment

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:41 PM second installment appeared to be composed of footage similar to that of cctv with the main difference being that these cameras would move along the walls to follow the individuals through game rooms that would quickly shift and build to suit the situation. the games were almost always incomprehensible, with unclear goals or mechanics. the rooms had no visible entrances or exits either, and the individuals would be moved between scenes by the same shifting that constructed the games. no two games were ever the same, but all utilized similar inspirations of competetive gameshow sets, board game-like patterns, water-based puzzles and floating toys, and bright colors. the most prominent color on the show was yellow, with nearly every wall in the structure being some shade of it with varying amounts of grime and occasional rust. what little "behind the scenes" footage there is (typically a wall camera following an individual who by accident wasnt correctly placed in the designated room) shows dim concrete corridors with faded yellow paint on some sections and a small number of pipes running along the ceiling

Big Snolt — Yesterday at 11:49 PM there was more emphasis on the "matchmaking" aspect in second installment, but without an understanding of what human relations are or what influences them. the word "love" would be used very loosely by the announcer/narrator, and for the most part contestants would be too uncomfortable or stressed to try and engage with anyone they met romantically. these matchmaking segments would be footage of contestants not currently part of a game room and instead in the "living space"- an area with an open floor plan with mattresses that individuals had moved to various corners of the structure that would give some semblance of privacy. there were no doors, every "room" or passage could be entered from at least 2 ways, and during the "night" the living space would change to intense blue lighting. because of leaked case files, it is believed that the mattresses and bedding (sheet, blanket, and 1 pillow or some stuffed object mistaken for a pillow) were taken from the contestants homes at the same time they were [11:54 PM] the contestants were apparently able to hear everything the announcer said, evidenced by discomfort and agitation during "matchmaking" when comments would be made trying to push them into making conversation over percieved shared interests or hobbies, or to complete a puzzle task together to form a bond of understanding. the only real bonding that seemed to take place was whenever the individuals would discuss plans to find a way out, usually whenever the announcer was speaking so as to go unheard by "it".

Big Snolt — Today at 12:05 AM the contestants were of varying background and age, one of them a young highschooler with a poor grasp on english who after reacting so badly to the first few game rooms would be passed over or ignored when players were chosen for subsequent games by the announcer- this, combined with the most effort put into self-isolation, would allow her to slip under the radar more often than the other contestants. another contestant, only slightly older than the highschooler, would try to engage more with the other players as well as the announcer. she was usually asking for detailed explanations in how the puzzles worked, and while the announcer would give frustratingly bizarre answers she used the conversations to consume runtime so as to allow other contestants to more freely interact and discuss their current situation without the announcer intervening. this had the added effect where the announcer would stumble over words and get confused as well, which would coinside with some of the game rooms structure being misplaced or moved improperly and allowing unintended access. the longer the announcer was distracted, the further she could wander into adjoining rooms and rarely to the behind-the-scenes areas [12:12 AM] there were no credits sequences to second installment, no staff names listed or locations. the announcers voice was unidentifiable as any one person, seeming more like a patchwork of gameshow host impersonations or recordings. after some uploads however one contestant called out to the announcer with a previously unheard name; Atrix. at first it was unknown if atrix actually referred to a team or organization rather than an individual, but several other references to "Atrix" in following uploads would seem to clarify several things

Big Snolt — Today at 12:17 AM 1) the announcer is Atrix, and is the only "staff member" of the entirety of second installment. Atrix is referred to as a "he", a "they", and an "it" by several different contestants and investigators. 2) Atrix is not human. Atrix may not be from, or even on, earth. Atrix has a distinct lack of empathy or knowledge of human social structures and psychology, second installment isnt made by a fan but rather is an imitation by an obsessive with no clear origin. [12:18 AM] 3) Atrix is believed to be evil.

Big Snolt — Today at 12:29 AM However, possibly due to its voice origin, Atrix has a startlingly open and lighthearted personality. It doesnt make any comments or jokes on the individuality of contestants at their expense, either out of respect or because it simply doesnt understand that type of humor commonly utilized in these types of shows. Atrix is known to become agitated when a mistake becomes apparent to them, such as a player sent to the wrong room or ignoring game room goals (and usually ignoring him as well), but is never shown causing the contestants to be physically harmed or punished. Atrix is actually very easily distracted and can be tricked into conversation (though typically his answers are obtuse and difficult to understand the meaning of). It wasnt until quite a number of uploads later that it was shown Atrix DOES have a physical form and is capable of interacting with contestants using the form if necessary

Big Snolt — Today at 1:03 AM I think atrix was accidentally inspired by worms from pathologic my god

Big Snolt — Today at 1:07 AM notable differences of his eyes looking moore embedded than sunken with the skin being pulled around them, and also that he has a mouth (or at least like. teeth. its unclear if theres a real orifice behind them)

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 3

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring nightclub owner!Javier Pena)

Word count: 2,895

Summary: It's not a date. Just a lawyer and his client celebrating her divorce...

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! No smut in this chapter. Rom com vibes. AU. Reader wears a dress and nail polish. Mentions of eating food and drinking alcohol. Mutual pining AND mistaken for a couple 😊. Love bombing. Divorce. I'm just pretending I know what lawyers do and that divorces are quite speedy. Dave is multi-lingual because I say so. Also, hints that all is not well between Dave and Carol? (c'mon, when do we ever paint them as truly happy?)

Author's note: "You can't blame yourself for the choices you made when you were too young to know better." 💜

Series Masterlist

"What does the L stand for?"

Dave realizes you're asking him a question and he looks up from his file, a smile flitting across his face. "Pardon?"

It's the first time you've seen him since that fateful day at the museum. After catching up on your plans to divorce Javier and citing every reason why you desire to be forever parted from your husband, Dave had invited you to his high-rise office the following day, where you are now, sitting across from him at his desk.

"Your card says 'David L. York," you remind him, a pink-polished finger running over the smooth white business card.

"Liam," he says, a small blush creeping up his neck. You smile when you notice it, aware of how attractive he is when he blushes.

"David Liam York," you say to yourself, liking the roll of it off your tongue. "I like it. It suits you."

His head is down, perusing the paperwork before him, but he smiles at your compliment. "Wish I could say I'd chosen it myself."

It's quiet again as he goes over the fine print, and you wander over to the window of his office, smiling to see your bookstore/bakery right across the street. There's a rush today for cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting. You'd give anything to be there instead of here, making your divorce a reality.

For now you silently glance around, interested to catch glimpses of who Dave is. Framed art lines the walls-- abstract shapes painted in bold blues and greens-- far from the childishly geometrical shapes done in primary colors found in most offices, along with his diploma from Harvard, proudly displayed next to a photo of Dave with the mayor.

"I handled his third divorce," he says, and you realize you've been staring at his photo for too long. You shake yourself from your thoughts.

"Everything's in order," he continues, pushing the papers away at last. "All you have to do is sign and the process server will bring it to Mr. Pena and he'll be served immediately."

"Is the process server attractive?" you ask, only half-kidding. "My husband can't resist a beautiful woman, and he won't know what hit him once he's served."

Dave allows a little laugh at this. "Sienna is a very pretty young woman. I think your husband will have to pick his jaw up off the floor before he realizes his gorgeous wife is divorcing him."

The initial prick of jealousy over Sienna's looks makes way for a wave of emotion when Dave calls you gorgeous. He realizes he's overstepped and tries to fix it, but you brush it off.

"I'll keep in touch with you during this process, but I advise you to just try to take your mind off it. Do something you enjoy, hang out with people who care about you. And I strongly advise you to ignore Mr. Pena should he call or try to see you. From everything you've told me he sounds like a garden variety narcissist. What you're doing right now is the right thing," he assures you.

Right then it's on the tip of your tongue-- you're privy to a mere outline of the goings-on within Javier's club. While a large part of you just wants to get the proceedings over with, a deeper, baser instinct desires to make the bastard pay for his crimes. You're the only one with any insight as to the illegal activities.. at least, the only one willing to talk. And though it's not his money you're after, your need for justice wants his dark deeds to come to light.

Admittedly, you struggle with the idea once you actually open your mouth to tell Dave. It's there on the tip of your tongue, but a deep-seated loyalty bars the way for your words to exit. You hate that you can't be the type of petty everyone thinks you should be, but neither does the good citizen in you dare to show herself.

'My ex-husband is involved in illegal doings, please raid his place of business' just doesn't sit right with you.

"What is it?" Dave asks, sensing something is on your mind. The thoughtfulness of his gaze nearly makes you melt. His touch rests softly on your upper arm.

Everything previous thought buzzes through your brain on repeat, a mental coin flips but you don't let it land.

"It's just been a lot to deal with today," you explain tiredly, your hand resting on his on your arm. Dave's touch tenses slightly before taking it away. "This is all going to be worth it. You're doing the right thing," he reiterates.

You tell yourself that as you leave the office, your paperwork signed and ready to go. Of course you're doing the right thing. That's why you feel so shitty.

You can tell Javier's been served when a never-ending procession of gifts arrives at your home. You don't know how he got your new address, but the gesture of flower arrangements, stuffed animals, boxes of jewelry, and Shari's Berries (which you end up eating a few of just because they're delicious).

He doesn't bombard you with texts or calls, but leaves notes along with his gifts. His chicken-scratch handwriting barely legibly asking you to come back, to reconcile, to please stop the divorce process because you're breaking his heart.

If you were a weaker woman you would cave in easily, but you refuse to move the line you've drawn in the sand. You give away his gifts, make mini bouquets with the gorgeous flowers he sends and you give them away to your customers. The jewelry is the only stuff you give back, knowing its value is worth far more than the others.

Only when you're alone at night do you start to have second thoughts. The days keep you busy, revolving around your business, your family, the activities you never really got to enjoy while you were Javier's wife.

But when you curl up onto the left side of the bed as if awaiting someone else to fill the opposite side, and when you accidentally make enough food for two instead of just one, you realize being single is an adjustment, and it's taking you a little longer to get used to.

The mediation that follows is quicker than you'd expected. Neither of you want any of the other's business profits. Though Javier's club is more lucrative than your little bookstore/bakery, you take great pride in it being your own income.

Across the table in a small meeting room in Dave's law office, you are keenly aware of Javier's eyes on you, as if he's mentally willing you to look his way, to sway your opinion, to change your mind. What if he pulls some Jedi mind trick and gets you to rip up the papers and go back to him, rewind everything you've done and sit in a purgatory of your own making while he does whatever pleases him?

And damn it he looks good. His hair is neatly styled, forgoing the usual messy curls and longer sideburns. He looks like he could be the opposing counsel. And he knows it, the way he returns your glance, a dare within his dark gaze.

"So it's come to this," he says, fingers drumming on the table. You recognize that habit: he's dying for a cigarette. He's just as anxious about losing you as you are about losing him. And then you wonder if he's wondering if you've told on him, given the authorities the info that would grant a search warrant and risk putting his ass away for years.

It's quite a powerful thing to see him try to hide his relief when the meeting comes to an end and he realizes he's safe. Because of your mercy.

Next to you, Dave is a grounding presence, a gentle reassurance that you're doing the right thing for yourself, your sanity, and your broken heart.

Afterwards, even with the formalities out of the way Javier still has the gall to go to you, take your arm, try to bring you to a secluded corner near the elevator bank. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Dave, waiting, as if looking for a signal from you that you need him.

"You're really ending us, mi corazon?" Javier whispers, his lips close to your ear, his wisp of breath sending a little shock to your system.

"Javi, this was a long time coming," you extricate yourself from his grip.

"C'mon.. you can't forgive a one-time thing?"

"Are you an idiot or do you just have selective memory?" you huff. "That was far from the first time.. you were never faithful to me. And I deserve better."

"Baby," he grasps your arm once more as you try to leave. "I'm a shithead. I know, baby. But I need you. Only you can make me better."

You recognize his pleas from the notes he sent with the gifts. The man could never be faulted as a writer, but it's sad that he can't even learn new pickup lines.

"Oh Javi.." you cup his face and for a moment he looks hopeful. The woodsy scent of his aftershave lingers, reminding you of mornings you shared as a couple. "If I didn't make you better in all our time together then I must not be the miracle worker you think I am."

Walking away from him feels good, freeing. Dave is at your side as you step into the elevator, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, gesturing you in like the gentleman he is as you walk away from your very first love.

Dave has meetings the rest of the day, but he treats you to dinner at an Italian place he thinks you'll like, a celebration of putting the finishing touches on your divorce.

Valentina's is the kind of restaurant that has an old-fashioned feel. Red and white checkered tablecloths adorn the tabletop and Frank Sinatra songs play over the speakers. You and Dave are given a booth near the back, somewhat private with a good view of the rest of the place.

And there it is again, his hand resting on your lower back, the heat of him pressing through your black and white polka-dot dress.

"Are we celebrating something today?" the waiter asks in a thick accent. He's around your dad's age, pleasantly plump, attired in a crisp maitre'd outfit.

"No," you answer immediately. "Well.. yes."

"First date?" the man guesses, and you and Dave glance at each other, color rushing to your faces.

"No," he answers. "We're celebrating her divorce."

The maitre'd smirks. "She is divorced, and now you get to be with her, yes?"

The look on Dave's face and the particular shade of red that he blushes is going to stay on your mind for awhile. Especially when he speaks to the maitre'd in Italian, quick and musical in his low, soft voice.

"What did you tell him?" you ask with curiosity, leaning forward with your chin resting on your hand.

He pauses, obviously taking in the sight of you. "I told him your heart is broken and I'm doing the best I can to fix it." Another pause as he sips some water. "Because you're my client, of course."

That doesn't stop the waiter from coming back with a small vase of roses and baby's breath to decorate your table after he takes your order, presenting the wine Dave suggested with a flourish, pouring both your glasses with the ruby liquid.

"I'm guessing you didn't learn Italian in law school," you say slyly, taking a sip of wine.

"I like languages," he admits with a smile.

"You'll have to teach me some."

"I will," he nods. "If you keep me on retainer." A conniving little smirk curls the corners of his mouth upwards and for one insane moment you wonder how he would taste right now if you kissed him.

"How many women have you done?" you ask, then realize how wrong it came out. "I mean, how many female clients have you had?"

Despite your embarrassment, Dave answers honestly, without poking fun. "Women tend to hire female lawyers, and men tend to hire men. I guess it's about strength in numbers.. but to answer your question, not many. Why? Do you think you won't use me again?" he feigns a little worried look.

"Funny," you chuckle. "Do I get a discount if I've used your services before? Some kind of punch card? My fifth divorce is free?"

"The only way you'll have a fifth divorce is if you marry and divorce that idiot over and over."

"Of course," you play along. "But what if we're just like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton?"

"At least they had the sense to only marry twice."

Dave leaves to take a business call and you're left alone for a moment. You catch snippets of the song playing over the general ambience. "Just One of Those Things" by Ella Fitzgerald plays, the lyrics drawing your attention: 'a trip to the moon on gossamer wings'. It somehow perfectly describes your marriage to Javier..

When your food comes your mouth can't help watering. Dave returns soon after, apologizing for leaving you so long, though it was only a few minutes.

A few tables away a man with his date gets down on one knee and proposes. When the woman says yes the restaurant bursts into applause. You and Dave clap, smiling politely at the happy couple. You wish you could feel the joy they feel. Instead, nostalgia washes over you in a sickening wave.

"Javier proposed to me at Olive Garden," you tell Dave, who's digging into his veal parmigiana. He raises his brow, shaking his head.

"There's nothing really wrong with Olive Garden."

"I had to talk him out of Buffalo Wild Wings first."

"Oh."

He only met the man a few moments back at the office, but he has a good idea of the man you thought you married. You were young and impressionable, he was suave and mysterious. There was nothing for you but to fall madly in what you thought was love.

"I don't like him," Dave says. "I didn't like him the minute he walked through the door."

Something about the way he says it warms you, not only because he's on your side, but because the damsel-in-distress part of you loves having a champion. "You have better judgment than I did all those years ago.."

He smiles tenderly. "You can't blame yourself for the choices you made when you were too young to know better."

"Well.. how do some people get it right the first time? Why did it work out with you and your wife, but not for me and Javier?"

Dave doesn't know how to answer at first, sipping the wine in the crystal glass before him. He glances down at his gold wedding band, wishing he could be blatantly honest with you and tell you he and Carol have their own issues and every day seems to feel like an uphill battle, but right now it's more important to him to give you faith.

"It wasn't always perfect. We've gone through our share of problems," he admits. "And I know you probably see me as someone in the business of tearing families apart. Which I do, most of the time," he adds with a grimace. "But I've also learned what not to do. When I go home at night after a long day of court appearances, mediations, mountains of paperwork, I'm just glad to be with my family. My work helps me appreciate them more."

You manage a small smile. If he can persist, so can you. And he's around such negativity all day. You have your books and your sweets and so you expect life to always be so simple. "I think I look for the good in people, even when it's not there. Either I'm stupid or simple."

"You're neither." His hand is on your forearm, a gesture of comfort. "One day you'll fall in love again and it'll be even better the second time around. Because it'll be the real thing," he adds.

There's something incredibly special about this moment, one of the few times you feel okay with going a little beyond the bounds of a client-attorney relationship. But the moment ends abruptly when the waiter sends a couple of violinists to serenade you during what is in no uncertain terms, not a date.

You'd like to believe Dave. You'd like to think you still possess an unfulfilled 'happily ever after' for yourself, locked away for just the right person. But you're alone in your home, with no one to greet you or ask how your day was. Admittedly, the world feels less warm now that you're apart, gone your separate ways, your transactional relationship over.

It's not just that. The whole world has changed, modified itself to grow away from you, leaving you like a plant in darkness. Love songs aren't about you anymore. You can't relate to their brightness, only mourn it.

Javier was the first person you ever fell in love with. You have no idea that the bigger challenge will not be falling out of love with him, but falling in love with yourself.

dividers by @strangergraphics & @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy @everybodylovedcontractors

@misstokyo7love @ppascalq

[mistydeyes]

opposite occupations

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summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hi! May I request a small fic where miles 42 dates a male reader who's very bubbly, glittery, fashionista, and dresses in very bright colors or pastels. Maybe Rio and Aaron finally get to meet him and try their best not to tease or laugh at how ironic it is?

They find it even funnier knowing he's the who's been stickers all of his jackets or just anything that came out of his room.

Got carried away with this one oopsie

take it or leave it.

Miles peeled off his dark green puffer jacket, brushing off stray rain drops that hadn’t evaporated yet. In doing so his fingers ran over something smooth like plastic. Already knowing what it was, he took his forefinger and thumb and removed it.

The face of a rabbit with an ‘x’ for a mouth stared blankly at him. Miles held it up to the light and smiled to himself as little dots of color shifted from orange to green, having a good idea who it was from.

You liked to slap these things everywhere–anywhere–that you could reach. Though you never explained yourself to him, Miles suspected that your reason was the same as his when he spray-painted the walls of abandoned buildings: to make your presence known in a world that seemed set on ignoring you.

Your bleach-blonde curls, pastel shirts and flared pants made you quite difficult to ignore in the first place.

Even Miles, who hid beneath his hoodies and oversized jackets, couldn’t take his eyes off of you from across the basketball court that fateful day as you sat on a bench crowded with your friends. They were dressed just as elaborately, but not with nearly as much variety of color.

One girl draped head-to-toe in black lace and silver jewelry leaned over to whisper something to you. Whatever was said made you turn and meet his eyes just as he caught the basketball that had just sunk through the net above him. 

He froze momentarily and could’ve sworn he saw you grinning at him before he started dribbling again.

You were too far away for Miles to commit the details of your face to memory, but he recognized the blonde sitting at the top of your head when you rammed into him in the middle of the hallway the very next day.

Now in full uniform–save for the fashionably-loosened tie–his eyes were drawn to the row of helix piercings lining your right ear, and the faint glow of metallic eyeshadow swiped across your lids with lashes that curled sharply upwards like–

“Yo,” your voice brought him back to reality. “Are you okay? I said ‘my bad’.”

Miles blinked.

“Oh,” he replied dimly.

You laughed good-naturedly.

“Just ‘oh’?”

“I-I mean,” Miles stumbled over his words, “You’re…good. I guess.”

“That’s…good,” you parroted with a teasing smile. “See you around!”

You pulled the strap of your book bag further over your shoulder, causing the cluster of charms and trinkets hanging from it to click-clack together with every bouncy step you took as you weaved through the stream of oncoming students.

That was how it began.

“I think he likes you.”

Sela took a bite of her french fry, which she then pointed towards the next table ahead of her. You followed her line of vision right back to the mismatched eyes that had burned two holes into the back of your skull in the hallway. 

And P.E. 

And A.P. Bio. 

The more you thought about it, the more your friend’s hypothesis began to sound believable.

Still, you shook your head and chuckled.

“He’s definitely straight, first of all.”

“You don’t know that! What happened to not assuming?”

“Hm, I dunno…”

You looked again. This time, Miles was fiddling with the sleeves of his uniform, avoiding eye contact. Presentation aside, you’d never really seen him running with the sort of boy that said “Pause!” every five minutes, so that was a plus.

…Then again, you’d never seen him running with anyone. He even hooped alone. You recalled him making several lay-ups in a row as clean as the twin braids that brushed his shoulders. No team required.

Sela interrupted your quiet deliberation.

“Go talk to him and find out, then. Not like he’s gonna kill you if you ask.”

She tapped her long black coffin nails on the lunch table, awaiting your answer. 

“I don’t feel like getting up,” you groaned lazily. 

“Fine, I’ll call him over.”

“Hey, wait–”

“Aye, Morales! Miles Morales!”

Miles looked startled. “Huh?”

Sela waved at him while you ran your palm over your face.

“C’mere!”

He eyed her suspiciously, but slowly got up and shuffled over to your table.

“Do you…” he looked around. “Need something?”

The girl gestured enthusiastically towards you, and you rolled your eyes mentally before replacing the irritation with a smile and taking the lead.

“You looked lonely over there, man. Come sit with us!”

Miles bit his bottom lip once you spoke up, appearing to take in a sharp breath before taking the empty seat across from you.

“So do you have any, like, actual friends–? Ow!”

Sela rubbed her arm after you gave her a good smack.

“Sorry about her. She meant to ask if you were doing alright. You seemed kinda out of it.”

“I’m…fine,” he answered slowly. 

“Well, that’s good. You were staring at me somethin’ fierce, I thought I had done something to you.”

Miles felt a rush of heat travel straight to his cheeks.

“N-nah, it’s just that–well, I saw you at the basketball court, and…” he trailed off and began messing with the end of one of his braids.

You leaned in closer to hear him better, which didn’t help his situation.

“One more time?”

“I saw you. At the basketball court.”

The teasing grin returned to your face.

“Yeah, I saw you too. What about it?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, trying to piece the right words together. Then he tried again.

“I liked your ‘fit.”

You held back an obnoxious snort of laughter. 

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, you have…good…fashion sense.”

Miles wrinkled his nose. He didn’t even believe his own lie. Why would you?

Mercifully, you narrowed your eyes but didn’t say anything. 

“Thanks. You got good taste in sneakers.”

You paused, then added, “Meet me at the basketball court after school and I’ll show you how I put my outfits together. How's that sound?”

The offer hung in the air. Miles considered the possibility that you were just pulling his leg and that he’d wind up standing alone in an empty court, but there was no sign of a joke in your expression. 

He shrugged in a fake show of nonchalance.

“Sure.”

The two of you went on like that for two long months. Meeting each other on the court, sitting on the bench and making light conversation while shooting compliments at each other that always just missed the mark of what you really meant to say, until one day you finally got tired of meandering.

“Miles, can I ask you something?”

“I dunno,” he answered, sipping on a pouch of Capri-Sun. “Can you?”

“You promise that if I ask, you’re gonna give me an honest answer?”

“If it won’t get me arrested, sure.”

“Miles, I’m serious.”

Your gaze intensified, making his heart rate quicken.

“Alright.”

“Are you into me?”

His blood ran hot and icy cold at the same time. 

The thumping in his chest whenever you got close and he could smell what soap you used, the absent-minded doodles in his sketchbook, and finally, the staring, had been given a name. And in being named, it took on a physical form - something blinding and liquid that shot through his bloodstream.

Miles wanted to be able to say no. Give a straight answer, and move on to a more comfortable topic. But you’d read him like a book the last time he tried to lie to your face.

You noticed his hesitation, and the vice grip he had on his now-empty Capri-Sun.

“It won’t change anything, I just wanna be sure.”

He looked unconvinced. How do you just go back to normal knowing that your friend is in love with you? They could pretend nothing had changed for maybe a couple weeks, maximum, before conversations became clipped greetings in the hallway, then fizzled out into nothing. Impossible.

But again, it was no use lying.

He avoided your eyes as he answered, “I think so.”

Cold, delicate fingers suddenly found themselves beneath his chin, and his eyes widened as you turned his face towards yours.

“Miles, look at me. You either do or you don’t.”

His heartbeat was in his ears now, making his breaths shallow and the veins in his eyes pulse. The setting sun cast a sentimental glow over everything that filtered through your hair. No one else was around, save for the warm breeze.

“Miles, are you good–?”

He pressed his lips against yours before he could stop himself. Your lips were smoother than he’d expected, just slightly tacky with mentholated lip balm.

And, more importantly, they kissed him back. 

-

Miles grabbed his sketchbook from his desk drawer and opened it to a page filled with tiny sketches of your outfits. Carefully, he placed the sticker next to the baby blue puffer you’d worn yesterday so that the two of you could be “twins”.

He should really call you, he thought.

-

You sighed, leaning your head back on the couch beneath the cool air-conditioning of Miles’ uncle Aaron’s apartment. The tall, lean man that you’d guessed Miles had probably gotten his accent from (and sayings that could only come out of the mouth of an older man) had gone out momentarily to grab food for all three of you. 

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to your now-sort-of-official boyfriend with a questioning look.

“What?”

Miles was holding back a laugh.

“Why’d you switch up like that in front of my uncle?”

“I didn’t ‘switch up’ anything.”

“I have never heard you talk like that in my life.”

You copied his pose, slouching and man-spreading with your hands resting on your thighs. You flattened and lowered your voice into the boring monotone that teenage boys liked to adopt when they wanted to be taken seriously.

“You mean like this?”

This earned a snicker from Miles, whose expression then became earnest.

“Seriously, though, you don’t gotta do the whole act around my unc. He’s not like that.”

“Then why do you do it?”

The boy paused. 

Your observation was correct - Miles tended to lengthen and smooth out his stride when he walked next to Aaron on their ‘grocery runs’. He would remove the playful lilt in his voice, like when you strain freshly-brewed tea, leaving only the mellow liquid behind. 

“That’s…different.”

We’re trying to impress him for two different reasons.

You let it go. 

“Whatever you say. You are gonna tell him about us, though, right? Since he’s ‘not like that’.”

Miles scoffed, “You’re the one that introduced yourself as ‘a close friend of mine’. I ain’t tell you to say any of that.”

“I wasn’t sure if you felt safe!” you laughed.

“We were holding hands before he even opened the door, he definitely saw that shit.”

“Alright, alright, you win. We’ll both tell him, then. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

-

“Miles! Tu novio!”

“Coming!”

Miles padded over to the living room, where you stood in a bright yellow jacket covered in vibrant patchwork, and those jeans with the spray-painted stars all over them. Your hair was hidden beneath a red beanie you had stolen from his closet.

Aaron sipped on a fresh cup of coffee in the kitchen, well-within earshot as Miles greeted you.

“Hey.” The boy smiled, awkwardly sticking his hands in the pockets of his plain, dark-wash jeans.

His mother Rio shut the door and looked on in amusement at the two boys standing in front of her. You would think her son would add some more color to his wardrobe, being with someone that looked like that. But the all-black ensemble wasn’t going anywhere.

“¿Ustedes dos siguen fingiendo ser amigos?” the woman teased. “I’m not sensing any affection over here, guys!”

Miles gave his mom a blank stare, while you laughed. Even months later, the other boy wasn’t one for PDA.

“Oh they real affectionate, alright,” Aaron chimed in. 

“Here we go…”

“I go out to get these boys some Domino’s one time, right? I come back up, and these two are cuddling on my damn couch after they told me they were ‘just good friends’. Now mind you, I ain’t believe ‘em for a second–”

“That’s great, unc,” Miles was already tugging you in the direction of his room, “We’re leaving now!”

“Don’t get too touchy in there!”

Once inside, he shut the door behind him. You struggled to suppress a laugh at the weary look on his face as you sat on the edge of his bed.

“She’s kinda right, y’know.”

“About?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to spare me a hug or something, once in a while.”

He said nothing.

You scanned Miles’ bedroom. All of his manga had been cleared off of his desk, and his swivel chair was no longer burdened with a pile of clothes. He just cleaned his room, you think.

The only thing left sitting there was his notorious sketchbook, a ballpoint pen, and a couple of Tombow markers scattered about. 

And of course, your stickers. 

You got up to take a closer look at the loose sketches and hummed in satisfaction.

“You’re really good at getting clothing folds right. You sure you never wanna study fashion design?”

He smiled, and shook his head.

“I’ll leave the fashion shit to you.”

“We could go to F.I.T. together, you and me.”

Without so much as making a peep, Miles and his long legs had snuck up behind you to wrap his equally-long arms around your waist.

“I’ll visit you.”

“What are you doing?”

“You asked for a hug.”

“That’s not what I mea–”

“Take it or leave it.”

The smell of paint and Jergens lotion enveloped you as you pulled him closer. You inhaled deeply, then sighed.

“You’re real stubborn, you know that?”

His chest shakes as he laughs.

“One of us has to be.”

[kinascum]

LAST HIT - C. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY: A drug deal turns into a night of unexpected twists and revelations for two lost souls seeking escape.

CONTENTS: drugs, reader is described (sorry, 1st pic of moodboard), sexual content (head, degradation, praise, cum eating), cursing, lmk if I missed anything

words: 1.5k (crazy ik)

Chris's sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor of the dilapidated apartment complex, echoing through the empty hallway. His hand hovered over the doorbell, hesitating for a moment before he finally pressed it. The sound of a TV, muffled by layers of paint and cigarette smoke, filled the silence that followed. He adjusted the baseball cap on his head, tugging it slightly lower over his eyes. The door cracked open and a pair of brown eyes peered out from the shadows, scrutinizing him before the door swung open wider.

"You're early," Y/N said, her voice a mix of surprise and annoyance. She was leaning against the doorframe, her hair a wild mess of curls that framed her face. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely covered her midriff, and her legs were a canvas of freckles and ink.

"Couldn't wait," Chris replied with a cocky smirk, flashing a bag of goodies at her. She rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let him in, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. The apartment smelled faintly of patchouli and weed, a scent that was as much a part of her as the piercings that lined her ears and the lip.

He made his way to the couch, the springs groaning beneath his weight as he dropped his duffel bag beside him. She followed, curiosity piqued as she eyed the bag. "What'd you bring?"

"The usual," he said, unzipping the bag to reveal a collection of small plastic baggies filled with a variety of colorful pills and powders. She licked her lips, eyes darting to the digital clock on the wall. It was almost time for their rendezvous. "But I brought something extra for us to try later," he added, a glint in his eye.

"You always know how to make a girl feel special," she quipped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowed as she took a seat beside him, her legs curling underneath her. "But first, I need to take care of some... business."

Chris nodded, understanding the unspoken agreement between them. They had been doing this dance for months now, ever since she had stumbled into his life, a lost soul looking for a quick high and an even quicker escape from reality. He pulled out a lighter and a blunt, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. He took a deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs before he exhaled it in a slow, deliberate stream that curled around his head like a halo.

The girl leaned in, her breath hot against his neck as she began to unbuckle his belt. He could feel the anticipation building, a familiar ache in his groin. She was good at this, the best he had ever had. Her hands were deft, and she knew just how to make him squirm with pleasure. As she slid down to her knees, he leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the apartment and the buzz from the weed wash over him. Her mouth was soft and eager, and he couldn't help but let out a low groan of satisfaction.

"Mm, you're the best," he murmured, his hand finding its way into her hair. She smirked around his length, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The TV flickered in the background, casting strange shadows across the room as she worked her magic. The only sounds were the crackle of the blunt and the quiet, wet noises of her sucking him off. The tension grew, tightening in his stomach like a coiled spring. But as much as he enjoyed this, he knew it was just the prelude to what was to come. The real show would start once the sun went down and the shadows grew long. And he had a feeling tonight was going to be one for the books.

"Take it deeper," he ordered, his voice gruff and demanding. She complied, her eyes watering slightly as she took him all the way in, her throat constricting around him. He watched her, his eyes hooded and dark, a sadistic smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, that's it. Like you're starving for it." He knew she wasn't, of course. This was just their game, a dance of power and submission that they both found thrilling in their own twisted ways.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, gripping tightly as he began to thrust shallowly into her mouth. She gagged, and he felt a surge of power, a rush of control that was almost as intoxicating as the weed. "You're such a good little slut," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She moaned in response, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. He knew she didn't like being talked to like that, but it was part of the thrill for her, the edge of degradation that made her feel alive.

"Look up at me," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. She obeyed, her eyes meeting his, and he could see the mix of defiance and desire in them. He smoked the blunt, letting the smoke drift into her face, watching as she coughed and sputtered around his cock. "That's right, breathe me in," he said, his tone mocking. She glared at him, but there was a spark in her eyes that told him she loved every second of it. This was their dynamic, a push and pull that kept them both coming back for more.

The tension grew, the air in the room thick with it, until he couldn't hold back anymore. He felt the warmth building in his balls, the pressure mounting until it was all he could focus on. With a final, deep thrust, he came in her mouth, filling it with his hot seed. She choked, but she didn't pull away, her eyes never leaving his as she swallowed every drop, a look of triumph on her face.

He sat back, his chest heaving as he took another hit of the blunt, watching her wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. "Good girl," he said, his voice a little softer now. She stuck her tongue out at him, a playful gesture that made him laugh despite the heaviness in the air. They had an understanding, a bond that went beyond the physical. They were both damaged in their own ways, but together, they found a strange solace in their toxic little rituals.

Chris took a moment to compose himself, his heart racing from the intense climax. He reached down to help her up, pulling her onto the couch beside him. She curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder as they both took a moment to catch their breath. The TV flickered on in the background, the mundane sitcom laughter a stark contrast to the raw intimacy they had just shared.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse from her earlier exertions. He could feel her body relaxing against him, the adrenaline slowly draining away. He took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling. "Got a big score lined up," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Should be enough to get us out of here for a while."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of leaving this run-down apartment behind, if only temporarily. "Where are we going?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare skin. "Somewhere warm, with a beach and no worries," he said, his voice a promise.

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each one bringing them closer to the night's main event. But for now, they were content to sit in the quiet, their bodies entwined and their minds racing with the possibilities of what the future could hold. The blunt burned down to a nub, the embers casting a warm glow over the room.

As the last of the light faded, the apartment felt like a cocoon, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of their lives. But outside, the world was waiting, and with the promise of a big score, the stakes had never been higher. They both knew that this could be their ticket to a better life, or the end of the line. But for now, all they had was each other, and the thrill of the unknown.

the vibe dwb!chris brings to the function

[girlkisser13]

dionysus cabin headcanons

children of dionysus

• HUGE theater kids.

• being highly emotional, wine children make great actors.

• they throw the best parties.

• they have extra beds in their cabin for people who pass out and can't handle their liquor.

• when one of them is upset, others around them get upset too, due to dionysus having influence on the mind.

• they hate the indoors and prefer open spaces.

• even when sober, they can't pass a breathalyzer test because they naturally have the scent of wine on them.

• they are all great cooks and know which wine to pair with each meal.

• they are all very good at directions and are rarely lost (a blessing from their stepmother).

• gender fluidity is common with dionysus kids.

• they all have thick, curly hair and strange color eyes.

• they are prone to depression and anger and are often bipolar.

• daughters of dionysus are rare so they are as powerful as big three kids (canon in the myths).

• they are harder to charmspeak due to their connection with the states of mind.

• arguments last for months because anger runs in their blood and the wine influence makes it worse.

• when they’re sad, they can make vines wilt by just looking at them.

• on very rare occasions, wine children can be born with the ability to affect another's mental state temporarily.

• this ability makes them feared by many, because they can cause hysteria and hallucinations, but they are also sought out by some suffering from depression or anxiety to help relax them.

• they get really thirsty really easily. they always have a bottle of water on hand.

• they are able to recognize all kinds of alcohol with just a sniff, but they all hate wine-tasting.

• they can automatically tell if a beverage has been tampered with, laced with something unwanted or if the ingredients used to make said alcohol are not safe for consumption.

cabin exterior

• the cabin is draped in grapevines and ivy, with the plants growing in a seemingly chaotic yet aesthetically pleasing manner.

• the exterior features vibrant and rich colors like deep purples, greens, and golds. they are reminiscent of a vineyard in full bloom.

• their cabin has a rustic, almost ancient greek villa vibe, with wooden beams, stone walls, and terracotta roof tiles.

• strings of fairy lights, lanterns, and other festive decorations hang around the cabin, creating a lively, celebratory atmosphere even when there's no party.

• comfortable outdoor furniture like hammocks, cushioned chairs, and wooden benches are scattered around for lounging and socializing.

• the doors in their cabin occasionally change colors and vines tend to move on their own.

cabin interior

• their cabin is almost entirely purple on the inside, which makes everything a little bit dark and dramatic. it's also usually very cool and damp inside- the perfect climate for storing wine.

• plush, comfortable furniture in rich fabrics and colors create a cozy yet opulent atmosphere. think velvet couches, silk cushions, and ornate rugs.

• they have a central bar area with stools and a variety of non-alcoholic drinks (and a secret stash of wine). nearby, they have a lounge area with low tables, bean bags, and cozy chairs for socializing and relaxing.

• soft, warm lighting from chandeliers, lanterns, and fairy lights create a magical, inviting ambiance. there are also be candles and fireflies in glass jars scattered around.

• the interior also features plenty of natural elements, like potted plants, hanging vines, and flowers. some walls might even have living plants growing on them.

• decorations include garlands, streamers, and masks hanging from the walls and the ceiling, giving the cabin a perpetual party vibe.

• the walls are adorned with art pieces, ranging from classical paintings to more whimsical, modern interpretations of dionysian myths. sculptures of satyrs, nymphs, and other mythological creatures are scattered around the cabin.

cabin traditions

• when a child of dionysus falls in love, it's a cabin tradition that they give their partner a hideous leopard print shirt.

• they put on regular plays, improv sessions, or storytelling nights, often featuring greek and roman myths and tales related to their father.

• new wine children undergo a playful initiation rite, involving a series of fun challenges and games, ending with a toast (with grape juice) welcoming them into the cabin.

• inspired by traditional wine-making, they hold an annual grape-crushing competition, with teams competing to crush the most grapes by stomping on them, followed by a big party to celebrate.

divider by @plutism

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Historic 1769 Colonial style home in Keymar, MD has been renovated and redecorated in a variety of styles. Firstly, they painted the distinctive brick exterior pale gray, with an orange door. It doesn't look bad, but it's not the traditional, iconic look. It has 4bds, 4ba, 5,227 sq ft, and they're asking $3m. If you are a purist when it comes to historic homes, you probably won't like it.

Now, remember- I said that it was done in a variety of styles. The entrance hall has Oriental themed wallpaper. They stripped the newel post and railing on the stairs and left it bare wood, (I like that look, but it needs a flat protective finish, b/c it's going to get very dirty), plus a new floor has an inlaid border.

The light fixture was removed from the ceiling medallion and they did a copper-look design on it.

The sitting room is very non-traditional with it's bright green walls but the ceiling mural has a colonial scene. Above the fireplace they have colored mirror squares.

The next room has a large jungle leaf print and a wooden hippo, elephant, plus a trunk.

This room has a wall of shelving and opens to hall stairs.

The family room has a dark, rustic, nautical look with black and deep green walls. This room has wood paneling that was painted over, plus a brick trim around the top. I wonder if they darkened the brick.

I have seen faux aged walls, but this one looks like black mold. It's well done, but unusual. They left the pocket doors and beadboard, but painted them dark gray. Ironically, the sink cabinet looks very colonial.

The tub has a framed skull print above it and some stuffed animals on the ledge. The shower is modern.

The dining room is gray & black with a French cabinet. The table is a pine colonial.

The large kitchen has a rustic ceiling and 3 different cabinet colors- blue, gray, and colonial red. The ceiling looks like flooring to me. The glassware cabinet looks French.

The open concept space has a dining room with a big stone fireplace and stripped doors on the patio. The gold glassware shelf is a French pastry stand.

The primary bedroom has a traditional look. Nice big fireplace in here. The wood paneling was painted white and there's a mural on the coffered ceiling.

This smaller bedroom has nice wallpaper. It even has a colonial rocking horse in the fireplace.

This is a lovely bath. I like the cabinet and closets.

There's a 2 car garage with a space between that they've turned into a home gym/man cave. There's also a sleeping area.

They painted this beautiful barn-turned-home a dark gray, including this wonderful brick wall on the side.

It's lovely inside with slate flooring.

There's also storage for the big Home Depot skeleton.

This garage has a sitting room downstairs and more of a hangout space upstairs.

The main house has a patio.

Lots of space. There's even another small stone building.

There's also a pond on the 25.02 acres of property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/11210-Cash-Smith-Rd-Keymar-MD-21757/67480669_zpid/?

[is-the-fire-real]

Three cercolons. Literally translates to "big circles", cercolons are decorative wall plates and a specialty of Andalusia. These are ceramic and hand-painted. The first two depict the Temple menorah (with seven branches), one in various shades of blue and one in a variety of colors. The other depicts a Magen David lined with leaves and flowers.

All of the golden-colored edging and accents are 24-carat gold. The flowers and decorative edgework are examples of cuerda seca (dry cord), a technique for painting tiles and ceramics which dates to the period of Arabic colonization of Spain.