#i need a couch for my storage unit and also when i find permanent housing ill need a couch

[deepfriedseagullfeet]

LOOKING AT COUCHES ONLINE AND OUUUUUGHHHHHH SHES SO PERFECT

[masterwords]

catching sparks

Summary: Hotch accepts Morgan's invitation to live with him as he goes through his divorce. And then they fall in love, of course.

Warnings: divorce & everything that goes along with that, there are some minor injuries, and some swearing

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 6.5k

Notes: This is a roommates to lovers story for @imagining-in-the-margins roommate challenge using the prompt: When Character A accepted a single parent roommate, neither of them ever expected to become a family. ALSO...this is my 200th fic posted to AO3, so I guess it's fitting that it's a SUPER LONG Hotchgan story because that's really what got me to 200 in the first place.

Read on AO3: catching sparks

****

It was supposed to be temporary.

A couple of weeks, enough time to find a suitable apartment or condo, buy some furniture, and sort through the storage unit. He was afraid of that though, peeling the layers away of a life full of expectation and hope all the way back to the beginning. It was an expedition he didn’t have the heart (or the time) for, so he put it off. Staying with Derek was only supposed to buy him that time to muddle his way through a divorce he didn’t want before making any really big decisions like permanent housing. The offer was mostly, Hotch thought, out of some sense of guilt or obligation at seeing him hit rock bottom. Sitting in his office with his overnight bag after returning from a case, wondering whether a hotel room or the couch he sat on would suffice for the next few nights. He'd given Haley back the house, Jack needed his bedroom and his toys regardless of Haley's ability to pay the bills and Jessica needed them out of her home.

Enter Morgan, just popping up with a report to slip onto his desk before hitting the road for the night. If he hadn't looked so damn pathetic sitting there with his head in his hands, maybe...in any case, Morgan was too kind for his own good. He’d always known that.

“You need a place to stay? I've got a big house, it's just me and my dog...”

“I need to find a place with two bedrooms,” he began, raking his hands desperately down his face. The offer, if he could assume it was that, was so automatic that he felt tears well up in his eyes. There was more to what he said but it was so low, so woeful that Morgan couldn’t make out more than a word here and there. He was both talking to himself and trying to turn Morgan down in the kindest way he could manage, but Morgan refused to take the hint.

“You can have the whole upstairs. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, an office. Until you find a place. You just gotta watch out for Clooney, he's a big guy and he likes to think the upstairs belongs to him.” He paused, smiling like he was talking about his child. “He likes to do this thing where he lays at the top of the stairs and thumps his tail when I walk outta my room at the bottom, like I can’t see him? Anyway, it might come with a built-in tripping hazard but it’s yours if you want it.”

So far, the temporary arrangement offered had settled into something comfortable. He looked around through the paper and had a real estate agent he was talking with but had yet to make the jump. Too much to consider, and then there was the simple fact that they weren't divorced yet, he had no idea where their assets were going to fall and making a commitment to an apartment now wasn't wise. What if Haley decided not to keep the house after all? He might have to return to living in it, or sell it...these things added to the pile of thoughts that kept him up at night. So far nothing was going according to plan. His life was a mess.

Morgan’s life, he discovered, was the opposite. Neat and tidy. Shooting range on Sundays, construction at whatever property he was restoring on Saturday, Friday nights were for going out to the clubs. He called his mom every Sunday morning and usually one other day of the week. If he brought home dates, he made them breakfast in the morning and drove them home. He got up early and ran every day, hitting the gym before work. His life, Hotch marveled, was everything he wanted it to be. Sometimes an out of town case or trial would tear into it a little, but it didn’t seem to matter terribly much. He found his way back into his schedule easily.

The first night, he didn’t sleep. Not even a little and it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

A new place with new creaks, new groans, a new chill. His window didn't quite close all the way. Morgan had apologized profusely and given him a roll of duct tape if it got too cold, laying out the promise that the first weekend he had free it was his top priority. Hotch didn't mind the soft breeze, though he didn't like the way it rattled when the wind got blustery at 2am. The house was quirky, it had real character, something his own house with its new construction lacked. Haley had insisted they buy new, and big, for the family they were going to start. “You don't know how to fix things that go wrong,” she'd said when they looked at an older house with its charm and its leaky plumbing. “And you're never home. I'll be hiring people to come out to fix things all the time.”

As soon as 6am hit, he figured it was an appropriate time to leave his room. Quietly, still in his robe and pajamas, he made for the kitchen. Feeling a path through unfamiliar territory in the dark, he narrowly missed tripping over Clooney at the bottom of the stairs. There was a coffee pot collecting dust in the corner, clearly a little old but brand new. Without really thinking, he set to the automatic work of cleaning it off and making a pot, he was freezing and nothing sounded quite as good as warming his bones with a hot cup of coffee. He'd always been the one to wake first and make sure there was fresh coffee when Haley woke. It never occurred to him that Morgan might not drink coffee at home as he filled the pot to its limit.

“Mornin',” Morgan grunted, wandering through the kitchen in nothing but his boxer shorts. Hotch poured his mug of coffee and breathed it in deep, letting the bitter steam fill his tight, aching lungs. He'd been on the verge of tears for hours now, torturing himself all night with the relentless tricks of anxiety. The smell of the coffee brought the tears closer, he could feel their heat sting the corner of his eyes.

“Good morning,” he said, attempting to sound as even as he could. Morgan dug around in the fridge until he found the carton of eggs. One egg, over medium and an apple with peanut butter. The same simple breakfast every day. He considered his job to be the only chaos he could handle and lived the rest of his life as predictably and simply as he could manage while still allowing for fun. Hotch was even easier in the morning, it would be a miracle if he had anything more than coffee to get his engines running. Speaking of which, Morgan was surprised that the coffee pot actually worked. He couldn't remember when or where he got it, maybe a gift from his mom when he moved into his first apartment. He hadn't ever bothered to use it...wasn't even plugged in. Grown ups just have coffee pots in their kitchens, so when he moved in, he brought it with him. It was more ornamental than anything, but seeing it used made him smile.

The two of them hadn't said more than a few sentences to each other since Hotch showed up reluctantly on his doorstep. “Thank you again,” he'd muttered, the shame overwhelming, on the verge of tears. He'd been on the phone with Haley moments before, another nail in the coffin. Morgan paid it very little mind, he knew Hotch would do the same for him, even at their worst of times. This wasn't exactly the best point they'd had in their tumultuous relationship but he thought of it as a sort of rebuilding. A chance to dig through the wreckage and find something there to start from. Either that or the size of his house would allow them to coexist without ever crossing paths if that was necessary. He wasn’t altogether hopeful at first.

“Would you like a cup?” Hotch asked, hazarding a sip of the scalding liquid. Morgan considered for a moment, he hadn't had home brewed coffee in years.

“Sure,” he nodded, watching with some sleepy fascination as Hotch acquainted himself with the layout of the kitchen. He yawned.

“How do you take it?” He'd had to stop himself from finding the cream and sugar, making Haley's cup of barely coffee on autopilot. Her first cup was almost all milk and sugar, very little coffee, and throughout the day she gradually worked her way up as the exhaustion kicked in. By the time dinner was on the table she was sucking down a steaming mug black as night. He should have known how Morgan took his coffee, they drank it every day at work and yet he was drawing a blank. Good friends know things like that. It really shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was, but it felt like stepping out of a dense fog, the light harsh and illuminating all of his ugly new habits.

“I uh,” Morgan started, frowning. “Whatever. Surprise me.” He wasn't sure. He knew what he liked at work, or tolerated at least. Sometimes you had to really doctor it up to make it palatable, but he wasn't picky when it came to coffee. “Want me to throw an egg in for you?” He was poking around in a bowl, trying to grab a few renegade bits of shell. He hadn’t broken the shells like this is forever, the coffee question had distracted him.

“No, thank you.”

“Hotch...” Morgan's voice took on a serious tone as he was handed his coffee. “Are you eating?” He knew damn well it was none of his business, but he hadn't seen Hotch eat anything in days. The team would order lunch while pouring over case files in the round table room, and Hotch would sit with a cup of coffee or tea while they ate. Sometimes a can of soda, a Sprite or a ginger ale.

The question caught him off guard and he bristled a little, sipping his coffee. He would normally have spat an answer quickly, given it very little thought...what difference did it make? But he froze, and ran back through the last few days in his mind quickly, a snapshot of moments strung together. “Hotch?”

“I will,” he promised finally, not really an answer but not an outright lie. “Haven't had much of an appetite.”

Morgan hummed and figured he'd let it drop. Having not been brushed off gave him a lot to consider, and before he could open up another line of conversation, Hotch was setting his washed mug in the dish drainer and breezing out of the kitchen.

He was distracted often, looked to be on the verge of tears almost constantly. His thumbs were constantly working at the pads of his fingers, a nervous tick Morgan watched closely, especially now. Very few words were spoken between them over the first few days. Hotch would come in and remove his shoes, set them neatly beside Morgan's discarded boots and make for the kitchen. An offer of tea (almost always declined, Morgan didn’t drink a lot of tea) was about as much noise as he would make, and then he and his mug would pad up the stairs and disappear for the night. He still wasn’t eating much, but he’d made it a point to put a muffin or a banana on his desk in Morgan’s line of sight, just to prove he was trying. Morgan, sitting on the couch reading or looking through real estate listings for his next project, some mindless activity to help him wind down for the night, would hear his feet upstairs as he moved from the bedroom to the small study where he would stay far too late in complete solitude. Most nights he was fine with this routine, so close to what he was used to, but there were times he wished Hotch would stand around a minute, shoot the shit with him. Why have a roommate if you were never going to talk?

Things were the same at the office, the two of them didn't carpool to or from, and Hotch had his own key so he came and went at all hours. Morgan hadn't really considered how much time he spent at the office until it was right in front of his face morning and night. It wasn't any surprise to him why Haley would want out...she was married to a memory. Sometimes Hotch would show up at 10pm, after having left hours before Morgan even woke up, and he'd look like the world had spent the day beating him up. Dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped, completely spent and ready to go to bed so he could do it all again in a few hours. If he should be lucky enough to sleep, anyway. That would be a real miracle.

He would spend much of his night in the study, lit by one lamp, usually working but sometimes just staring out into the shadows that covered the backyard. One night he watched Clooney nosing around in the shrubs that butted up to the privacy fence, tail wagging like a propeller at some poor little creature he was tormenting inside the thicket. His sleepy eyes swept the yard, and soon he heard Morgan's tired voice calling for Clooney in a hushed sort of midnight yell. When the dog didn't come, he made his way into the yard himself, barefoot and in his boxers, illuminated by the silvery moonlight. Hotch found himself turning away at the burn in his cheeks, deciding it was best if he gave up for the night and went to bed.

There were nights that Clooney found him instead of Morgan, rousing him out of bed with a cold wet nose. Glad for the distraction from futile attempts to fall asleep, he would pull on his robe, bundle himself up, and sit outside beneath the stars. The night air chilled him to the bone whether he brought a blanket or not, but he wouldn't rush the dog.

Jack's first visit was eagerly anticipated, the kid had always loved Morgan who behaved just like an over-sized child. The way he began dragging things into his house for Jack while Hotch was at work provided endless confusion. Hotch sat at the table pouring over the apartment ads in the newspaper while Morgan built solid contraptions of relative permanence in the backyard. His backyard. “You don't want a swingset in your yard...” Hotch said, staring at the monstrosity. “You built that?”

Morgan raised his hands, waggling bandaged fingers with a triumphant grin. “An afternoon well spent.” It was simple, just a set of posts and two swings, nothing wild and he swore it was made with reclaimed wood, he didn’t buy it. “I got the swings from the church down the street, they're updating their playground. They even threw in a few bags of concrete.” The chains on the swings were broken, but he knew how to fix them and now he claimed they were stronger than ever.

Jack's bedroom had gone from just a small bed to a bed and a dresser, and then a bed and a dresser and a toy chest by the time he came to stay. The toy chest had been handmade, the dresser pulled from Hotch's mother's house, and now all it needed was the boy to fill it out. Hotch promised him that they'd go to buy him sheets and blankets and some good toys to keep there, nothing he couldn't move into an apartment when he found a place...which he, as of yet, hadn't managed. He'd looked, but everything disappeared before he had time to go and take a walk through. The market was rough, and then there was Haley toggling back and forth on the status of the house. One day she wanted to keep it because she was sentimental and Jack had friends and a school in the neighborhood, the next she was certain they should sell it because it was way outside of her price range. Hotch assured her that, if nothing else, he would shoulder some of the burden if she wanted to keep the house…he just wanted them to be happy. He’d been a bad husband but maybe he could get this part right.

“I'm sorry this is taking so long,” Hotch said, washing dishes while Jack played with Clooney in the front room. They'd been staying at Morgan's for two months now. “I promise we'll find a place soon.”

“Take your time,” was the reply, same as always. In truth, Morgan was getting to a point that he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to living on his own. Hotch mostly kept to himself, except when he insisted on cooking dinner or cleaning the house top to bottom as if paying Morgan an overabundance of rent wasn't enough. He put groceries in the cupboards and scrubbed the toilets, mopped the floors, cleaned up the yard after Clooney...Morgan was hardly lifting a finger. It felt like his home was haunted by very helpful ghosts.

It had been a little awkward bringing home a date the first time, but Hotch was so quiet and scarce that they never even knew he was there except that his car had been in its spot. He'd since had plenty of other people over without anyone being the wiser that he even had a roommate. They would drink wine and visit on the couch, retire to his bedroom, and then he’d make them breakfast the next morning and drive them home. He was noticing how very wrong everyone had him, when Reid teased him about how many people he dated or Emily called him a dirty dog…Hotch found himself only thinking about how respectful he was, how yeah he brought home different people every time but he always treated them like they were the most special thing he knew. Hotch only met one, a young man he introduced as Marcus, because Clooney had come up to his room and whined at him to be let outside. As quietly as he could, he slipped down the stairs in his sweater and jeans, snagged a blanket from the back of a chair and was out the door without disturbing them. Morgan caught his arm with a smile on the way back inside, pulled him over and introduced him.

“This is Aaron, my roommate,��� he said with a soft smile while Hotch and Marcus shook hands. He’d thought about mentioning that Hotch was his boss, too, but that seemed like more information than was necessary and would probably put Hotch on the spot. That was the last thing the man looked like he wanted.

“I didn’t even realize anyone else was here…” Marcus mused. Morgan laughed.

“Sometimes I don’t either.”

Hotch disappeared back up the stairs with Clooney on his heels. After that, Morgan stopped wanting to bring dates home. Something had shifted in that moment…Marcus was nice, great even, but there was something akin to a fluttering feeling in his stomach when he introduced him to Hotch, like it was backwards. He’d wanted to place his hand at the small of Aaron’s back and lead him back to the couch instead.

“You wanna watch a movie tonight?” Morgan asked while Hotch rinsed out his coffee cup. He used the same mug every day, it had been sitting in the cupboard for months untouched. He thought he'd gotten it as part of a swag bag at a half-marathon in Chicago but he wasn't sure. “We've been living together for a while now and we never hang out. It's kinda weird.”

“You said you didn't want to hang out with me,” Hotch replied, smirking. Morgan rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You're worse than Reid sometimes, you know.”

The movie night was mostly uneventful, just a bowl of popcorn and a movie they'd both seen after about an hour of discourse because they couldn't agree on anything new. At first, Morgan had opinions and Hotch said anything was fine until that became a problem,until Morgan poked him enough times to assert himself and then it was a relentless back and forth. There were no winners, only grumpy faces and a movie they paid half attention to. But they stuck it out.

Movie nights weren't regular for a while, not after that catastrophe, but then Jack convinced them to try again and it became a little more fun. Easier to pick movies when the kid was involved. Then it became a battle over cinematic education. They began a list of must watch movies that found its way to being posted on Morgan's freezer, front and center. It was a living document, constantly having things crossed off and added. Morgan thought it was necessary to add fun movies when Hotch put on too many boring things, or worse, musicals.

Those nights were a distraction, and if Hotch brought up a place he found that he might go look at, he got the distinct impression that Morgan was looking for ways to keep him away. “Weren't we having dinner with Penelope that night?” “You have Jack all weekend...” It was hard for him to believe Morgan would want him to stay, and truth be told, Morgan was surprised himself to discover just how lonely he had been. Now he and Clooney had Hotch, and every other weekend (plus some weeknights) Jack. The house was more lived in now than it had been since he bought it. He'd grown used to the sounds of Hotch pacing upstairs at night, the hours his insomnia struck the fiercest. The sound of the shower hissing to life at 2am meant nightmares, he knew it because it was true for him as well. He was shocked to find that he and Hotch shared many of the same coping mechanisms, though they hadn't discussed it.

He only heard Hotch upstairs because he was awake downstairs.

“Your divorce is final,” Dave announced, entering Hotch's office with a radiant smile. The kind that told Hotch he wasn’t going to like what was coming out of his mouth next. “Let's go celebrate. I know this nice little Greek restaurant downtown.” Hotch sat quietly, his hands folded on his desk, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was more to it, he could see it in his friend's eyes.

“Dave, I'm not ready to start dating again.” He said it before Dave had a chance to take it further, but it didn't stop him. Didn’t even give him pause.

“I just want you to be my wingman. That's all. My treat.”

He agreed because it was Saturday and Dave was his friend. He agreed because Morgan would want to go out and he might also want to bring someone home with him, a simple thing he should be able to do without worrying that his sad, lonely roommate might be hanging around. He’d been so caught up in their movie nights that he hadn’t realized how long it had been since Morgan had brought someone home, but it seemed to him that his only option to make both of his friends happy was to go on this proposed double date and simply try to endure it.

“You look nice,” Morgan said, watching Hotch fuss with the coffee pot. He needed something to keep him awake through dinner, he was already dragging and he could feel the first sneaky tendrils of a headache tickling at his temples. Quietly he glanced down to remind himself what he was wearing, startled by Morgan's compliment.

“Thanks,” he replied a little sheepishly. Morgan laughed.

“Lighten up. It'll be a good time, and then you can come home and go to sleep.”

Home. Morgan had called this “home” and Hotch felt his breath hitch in his chest, forgetting momentarily the quietly mounting pain in his head. His heart beat erratically. Was this home? He supposed so, and it unsettled him a little. Home had always been where Haley was, and lately he'd been wondering if that feeling could ever be untangled from her, if he could ever have it without her.

His gaze met Morgan's and he forced a smile. “You're going out tonight?”

“Hell yeah. My friend is DJ-ing tonight at some new club, promised I’d go hype him up.”

He met Dave at the restaurant and slipped into the half-circle booth beside his friend with a shy smile and a nod. Dave already had a bottle of wine open on the table, and soon the waiter was coming by to pour a heavy glass to place in front of Hotch. “Sorry I'm late,” he muttered, swirling the crimson liquid mindlessly. It was terrible, but he wasn't sorry he was late, he was sorry he'd come. He already felt the headache settling behind his eyes now, every blink pulsed through his face. The wine would turn it into a migraine, but without the wine he was doomed to how incredibly dull and shy he was.

Wine or no, the dinner was doomed. His headache worsened, spreading down into his neck as he tried to make pleasant conversation with the table of people. Not ready for this, he knew the moment she sat down next to him and it had nothing to do with her, she seemed nice enough. Dave was having a great time, exuberant and full of stories. He was pulling both of their weight and if he played his cards right he could probably take both women home. Hotch’s charm was quiet, reserved, and no matter how Dave tried to pull him out of his shell he seemed unable to budge. Mindlessly he reached up and rubbed at his neck, pulling a face when his fingers hit the spot. He’d never felt lonelier than he did at that moment.

“I'm sorry, Dave,” he said softly, turning to his friend in the booth. “I've had a headache all day and I think I need to go lie down.” Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have said so much but he knew Dave would ask, and ask, and ask. It would be faster just to get it out and over with. He could feel his pulse in his forehead and the glass of wine he'd been working on wasn't helping in the least. “Thank you for a lovely time.”

He made it home and collapsed on the couch with an ice pack on his head. He was already feeling better just being home, comfortable, quiet. Home. A quick text let Morgan know he was done early and to give him warning if he needed the place to himself, he'd make sure he kept quiet. He thought he was dreaming when Morgan came through the door not an hour later, sweaty and smelling like sandalwood and something citrusy. He scrambled to try and stand, to make his way for his bedroom so Morgan could have the main level to himself.

“Stay,” Morgan called, kicking out of his boots. “I'm alone.”

Morgan flopped into the chair beside the couch and regarded the other man curiously. He looked miserable. A far cry from the man who had been making coffee in the kitchen a few hours before. “What's the deal huh?”

Hotch groaned and pulled himself upright, the ice pack falling into his lap. “I'm fine, just a long week catching up with me.” He was tired, and he certainly hadn't been ready to attempt dating. The anxiety alone had built into whatever this was. His divorce was barely even final. Dave was only trying to help, he knew that, but he should have known better than to think it would work out.

They wound up turning on the television, and Hotch fell asleep with his head on Morgan's shoulder. Not for the first time, Morgan slipped out from beneath him and pulled the blanket up to his chin. When he woke, Hotch was still sleeping where he'd left him. It was a little concerning, but he was breathing, he was fine, it wasn't anything to really be concerned with.

More concerning was the thought that he'd given up a night at the club to come home and watch TV with Hotch.

He hadn’t even given it a second thought.

A case in New York derailed everything. Morgan was a little too attached, he realized as he stewed over his glass of Stella, the crisp bubbles popping against his hand while he contemplated taking that first sip. The sip that said he was really truly done with the night and he wouldn't be going back to that station, to Hotch and Kate and every feeling he had wrapped up in that.

But he didn't drink and he did go back and he was met with all he could reasonably expect. A quiet apology, an even quieter acceptance. Somehow it felt better, calmer, he thought they could get past it…

…and then there was fire and brimstone in the middle of the street and he had to look, turn to a pillar of salt. Nothing could keep him away.

The blood dripping into Hotch's eyelashes gave Morgan an ethereal glow as he ran toward them, and he felt a gust of air fill his lungs. It was painful, splintering broken ribs and shifted vertebrae, and god his hip hurt so bad he could barely bite back the tears every time he moved. There was a blinding flash of pain as he gulped more air and erupted in a coughing fit, his lungs were on fire. He shifted his shoulder, tried to cover his coughs, to stifle them, to stop them from rattling his hands against Kate's back to no avail.

“Hotch! HOTCH!” No sight had ever been more of a relief. That Morgan was running to him. That Hotch was alive.

Morgan didn't see him for two full days after returning from New York though they were inhabiting the same space on the same enforced medical leave. He lay on his couch with an icepack on his shoulder going over and over the four hour long miserable car ride in his head, the hour spent together in his home afterward. Checking the wounds on Hotch’s back, washing them, pulling bottles of pills from his medicine cabinet and ice packs for the deep ache in his hip that he refused to be seen for. The ER hadn’t gotten to that and he was just going to deal with it. Morgan combed through the conversations as if there was something there, some reason for the two days of silence. He would stand at the base of the stairs and worry himself over it, the lack of pacing, no coffee pot gurgling at 6am, no shower, nothing. He knew Hotch was there, and he knew he’d gone to doctor’s appointments and come back, but somehow he’d done it all without detection.

The worst part was wondering.

Why was he so carefully avoiding detection? Morgan had seen him through multiple injuries in the months they’d lived together, this wasn’t the worst of it. And he’d seen Morgan through just as many. His last concussion had left him unable to get out of bed for two days, and Hotch sat himself in the chair in his room just to observe, to make sure he was fine. Hotch had gone a week without being able to use his right hand after a takedown involving shattered glass, so Morgan made the coffee and all the meals.

Yeah, the car bomb was really bad. Hotch looked visibly shaken as he reached for the handle of the SUV in New York, and the sound of a car alarm screaming outside of the diner they stopped at for lunch set him on edge. All of this Morgan knew how to maneuver, he opened Hotch’s door for him after that and turned the radio up just loud enough that it drowned out any sounds that might startle him outside of the vehicle. They’d weathered storms already in their years of camaraderie. No reason for Hotch to hide from him the way he was. The best he could figure was that Kate Joyner had meant more to Hotch than he let on, and he was wallowing in the throes of grief. Or he was worried Morgan would take the New York job, there was always that. He’d already decided against it but he was letting them squirm a little, keeping them on the hook, just for fun.

And then he fell asleep on the couch with Clooney watching TV, enjoying the last high his meager prescription would afford him for the pain in his shoulder. Draped, all arms and legs everywhere, Clooney beneath his knees. Awoken by the sound of a stair creaking, that damned second step that he kept saying he was going to fix but hadn’t because it almost worked like an alarm letting him know Hotch was moving around the house. He woke and sat upright, squinting into the dark.

“Hotch? That you?”

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, pulling his aching body up another stair. At this time of night, every joint was locked but his hip was the worst of all. He could barely lift his leg, and shifting his weight to use the step was agony. Morgan could hear the strain in his voice.

“Stop,” he said, jumping up and knocking Clooney unceremoniously to the floor. “Let me help.”

He was able to reach Hotch before he could stubbornly pull himself up another stair, and clasped one of his hands. “Please let me help?” Ahh, the way the drugs softened his edges and loosened his tongue.

“I’m tired, Derek,” he whispered, eyes downcast. “It’s been a long day.” It would be silly for him to explain to Morgan that he’d been dealing with his brother, speaking with Kate’s family, fielding calls from the Director about Morgan transferring and why he hadn’t recommended him. It would be silly to mention that he sat in the lobby of his doctor’s office for thirty minutes trying to collect himself after scheduling his MRI and realizing for the first time that he didn’t have Haley to drive him and he’d have to try and get through it without sedation. He could do it but it was going to wreck his day. If bad news was added to that, if he couldn’t go back to work…

Morgan held onto his hand though, and wouldn't let him go. “Can we talk? Come sit down.”

Hotch regarded him for a moment, and Morgan almost felt bad. He really did look beat, but he swore it would only take a minute. The force of emotions building in his chest weren’t going to take long to explode right out, he just hoped they’d be gentle when they did. Hotch didn’t look like he had enough in him to weather a storm.

He eased himself slowly onto the couch beside the fireplace, almost wishing it was crackling with life. It wasn’t really cold, but he was cold anyway. Born with ice in his marrow, that’s what his mother always said. He got it from her. Shivering, he jammed his thumb into the deep ache in his hip, dug around at the joint until the muscle let up some of its tension. Morgan was sitting beside him, maybe a little too close but he knew Hotch’s hearing was in and out and he wanted to be heard. Or at least seen.

And close, he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t crave that too.

The moment of silence seemed to stretch on forever as he forced himself into being alert, shrinking a little under the intensity of Morgan’s gaze. “Did I miss something? Has something happened?” he rasped, his voice raw like he spoke around a pile of smoldering ashes.

“What? No, I was just worried about you. Haven’t seen you since we got back.”

Silence. That damned silence. Hotch wasn't sure how to take that, with Morgan so close. Looking at him like that. His hip protested the movement, but he shifted and angled himself until he was facing Morgan, trying to look more alive than he felt. In his struggle against broken ribs and one very painfully locked hip joint, he made a number of involuntary and pathetic noises. Getting back up was going to be a challenge. The ringing, at first just background noise, was now a fierce whine in his ears, some of it he knew was nerves.

“I have a few places to look at tomorrow afternoon, after my MRI,” he whispered, still trying to find his breath through the tightness in his chest. His palm splayed over his left side, fingers pressing into the space between splintered bones. He pushed hard, like if he just held it tight enough the pain would go away and let him take a real breath.

“You're going to look at apartments like this? Hotch...” Punch his lights out or kiss him, Morgan couldn’t quite make up his mind. The absolute absurdity of Hotch’s defense mechanisms was baffling.

“I've overstayed my welcome. You've been more than gracious, but I’ve got to let you have your life back. And…” He paused, shifting a little to look away before Morgan caught the shine of tears in his eyes. “It’ll make things easier if you take the job in New York, huh?” He let out a sardonic chuckle and swiped at the tears now streaking his cheeks. What a mess. Two days hiding out and he still hadn’t worked through any of it.

Morgan, without thinking, reached out and placed his hand beneath Hotch's jaw, drawing his chin toward him with one finger. He leaned in, kissed him softly at first and pulled back only far enough that he could search out some kind of approval in Hotch's sleepy half-lidded eyes. A teary dazed look, serene almost, was what he was met with. He had anticipated a stunned silence, but that wasn't it at all, it almost felt surreal.

“Stop talking, please,” Morgan whispered against his lips before coming in for another kiss, this time finding that Hotch was returning it, sharing his breath. Morgan let his free hand slide up Hotch's side, finding rest against sore ribs delicately, holding him upright. “I shouldn’t even have to say this, Hotch, but I’m not moving to fucking New York, and I don't want you to move out,” he breathed into the kiss and smiled. “I want you to move downstairs.”

Hotch couldn't speak, and he couldn't blame it on his smoke scorched lungs or the ringing in his ears. His chest was too tight to pull in another breath. With the last exhale he could afford, he made his final weak protest. If you could even call it that…it wasn’t so much a protest as it was an attempt to save Morgan the trouble of finding out what Haley already had. “Morgan...”

“Shh. Stop. You're gonna ruin it with your stupid mouth...just kiss me back, dammit. I know you want to.”

It was supposed to be temporary, Hotch thought as he leaned forward.

[missmentelle]

COVID-19, Inequality, and You

This pandemic has been a bad time in a lot of ways, but one of the most devastating impacts we’re going to see besides the death toll is the economic impact - the economic impact on real, working people, not on stock index numbers. Unemployment rates are skyrocketing, and people are being thrown into financial chaos as a result. 

But for all the talk we’ve heard during this pandemic of “we’re all in this together”, and “we’re all in the same boat”, it’s important to remember that, financially, we’re really, really not. Job losses, evictions and health crises are not equally distributed; if anything, this pandemic has been a stark reminder of inequality as the wealth gap grows wider and wider. 

My own life has been a weird cross-section of the ways that the pandemic has economically affected different people in very different ways - my mother has completely lost her job at a seasonal tourist restaurant that will likely go out of business, my brother’s hours at his campus security job have been cut as the school moves online, my boyfriend is seeing his savings rise as he goes out less but makes exactly the same salary at his financial tech job, and I’ve fielded multiple job offers through this pandemic as government grants for social services boom in my region in anticipation of a coming homelessness crisis.  

The news has been reporting on unemployment numbers and shuttered businesses, but there hasn’t been a lot of in-depth coverage about the ways that this is really going to affect people’s lives. There will be a lot of unexpected consequences to this pandemic if governments don’t step in to provide relief, including:

‘Eviction freezes’ are throwing tenants into debt without protecting their housing. Many places have put moratoriums on evictions during the pandemic, which is great. You don’t want a sudden surge in mass homelessness during a pandemic. But “no evictions” does not mean “no rent” - people who are currently being protected from eviction are still being charged rent, and their arrears are growing every month. As soon as eviction protections expire - which is set to happen very soon in many places - landlords can move forward with evicting tenants, going after their back rent, sending their debt to collection agencies and destroying their credit scores. 

A lot of people are about to lose most of their possessions. If you get evicted, your parents or friend might have room for you to move in with them for a while. They probably do not have room for your couch, dresser, bed, table, desk, bookshelves, TV and an entire apartment full of stuff. Putting your things in storage is an option, but you need to be able to pack and transport all of your things to the storage unit and pay for the unit every month. You could try selling the stuff you can’t take with you, but it may be difficult with so many other people also struggling financially, and you may have to leave on short notice. A lot of people who get evicted will end up abandoning a lot of their stuff, which they’ll have to re-purchase all over again to get back on their feet. 

People with low wages are disproportionately likely to lose their jobs. If you work as a software engineer, you’re probably still employed. If you work as a hotel maid, there’s a good chance you’ve lost your job or had your hours cut to nearly nothing. The jobs that are most impacted by shutdowns are jobs in the service and hospitality industry, and they tend to be low-wage, hourly jobs that cannot be done from home - bartenders, servers, hotel clerks, and dishwashers are way more likely to have lost their jobs than lawyers, accountants, engineers and college professors. In many ways, the people who are getting kicked the hardest right now are the ones who could least afford it. 

Not every university will survive this pandemic. With a lot of universities and colleges scrambling to figure out whether to have in-person fall semesters, the future of a lot of post-secondary institutions looks bleak. Many students are choosing to take a year off or defer their admission rather than deal with online courses that have been haphazardly thrown together. On top of that, it’s not clear if international students will be able to attend university abroad this year, or if they even want to take the risk. This adds up to a whole lot of lost tuition money, leaving some universities with no way to keep operating - at least one American university has already permanently closed its doors because of the pandemic. The big players - Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Columbia - will probably pull through, but smaller colleges are at serious risk of going under, leaving their students in limbo and at risk of not finishing their disrupted degrees. 

A lot of people are about to go from “poor” to “disabled”. The people most likely to contract coronavirus are the workers who have to interact with the public every day - not only nurses and doctors, but grocery store workers, delivery people, ride-sharing and taxi drivers, transit workers and janitorial staff. Those who survive are at risk of life-long complications of coronavirus, including permanently reduced lung capacity - that’s not great when you need to work a physically demanding job. A lot of people are about to find themselves in a situation where they are no longer able to do their jobs due to a virus that they contracted because of their jobs. 

Many women’s careers may never recover from this. Daycares and schools are closed, and women are bearing the brunt of it. In a world where women still tend to earn less than male partners, it’s women’s careers that have taken a backseat when things get rough. Even when both partners are working from home, women are the ones overwhelmingly taking on most of the domestic and child-rearing chores, which hurts their work performance and leaves them more vulnerable to layoffs. And that’s a relatively privileged position to be in - without childcare services available, many working moms and single moms have had to quit their jobs, whether they could afford it or not, because they have no other options for their children. This kind of career disruption is something that these women may never totally recover from, especially as they try to re-enter an increasingly hostile job market. 

Black and brown people are the most affected by rising unemployment. People of colour - especially immigrants and women of colour - are facing higher rates of unemployment than other groups. Hispanic and Latina women are in particularly dire circumstances, which is alarming, as they are also the most likely to be dealing with an uncertain immigration status. People of colour - particularly women - are disproportionately likely to work in industries that have been impacted by the pandemic, like the hospitality, food service, retail, child care, beauty and personal care industries, and they face systemic racism that makes it difficult for them to advocate for safe working conditions or access adequate medical care. 

College and tourist towns are at risk of complete economic meltdown. A lot of towns or small cities depend on their local university or annual tourism to survive. A huge crowd of strangers flocks to their town for a few months per year and gives local businesses the money they need to pay for necessities year-round. My hometown is one of these places - most businesses are only open from May - September, and they make enough money during that time for everyone to scrape by for the rest of the year. Those tourists aren’t coming this year, which is something that locals have only learned as they begin to run out of last year’s money. You don’t need to work for a university or a hotel to be impacted by school and tourism shutdowns - the ripple effects will be felt by entire communities. 

Escaping domestic violence will be difficult even after lockdown ends. It’s not exactly a secret that domestic violence has skyrocketed since the global pandemic began, a fact that many experts attribute to the fact that everyone is trapped indoors together and under a lot of stress. But even as lockdown regulations start to lift in areas that handled the pandemic responsibly, victims of domestic violence will face higher-than-usual barriers to escape - many victims may have lost their jobs and burned through their savings, and may have difficulty finding a new job that can finance their escape. Victims with health issues may also be wary about going to shelters for fear they will be further exposed to the virus. 

Poor children will fall even further behind their upper-middle-class peers. I come from a part of rural eastern Canada where reliable internet access is simply not available. So for young children in the region, school effectively ended in March - they do not have the resources needed to connect to online learning. And children from rural areas aren’t the only ones missing out - more than half of all students in the United States aren’t accessing their online classes regularly, and marginalized kids are especially likely to be absent. Poor kids are staring down the barrel of an enormous education gap; they are less likely to have a stable internet connection and a device for their online learning, they are less likely to have books at home, and their parents are more likely to be essential workers who still have to go to work right now and don’t have time to teach them. Middle-class and wealthy families can afford laptops, educational software, tutors, books and time at home to educate their children - when schools are eventually back in session, the gaps between children from different socioeconomic backgrounds will probably be the widest they’ve ever been. 

Don’t get me wrong - I am not arguing that we should end lockdowns prematurely to ease the economic impact. Public health measures exist for good reason, and I don’t think any of us want to even imagine, much less live through, the personal, physical and economic devastation of letting a pandemic rage out of control and melt down our healthcare systems. Despite what many people seem to believe, managing a global pandemic is not about “health vs. economy” - letting the virus rage out of control and kill millions would devastate every economic and social system we have. The preservation of human life has to come first.

What we need instead is comprehensive action to recognize and address the issues that come with long-term quarantines and economic shutdown - we need rent relief, social safety nets and basic assured income programs to get our most vulnerable friends and neighbors through this pandemic. The world will probably never return to the “normal” that we knew before the pandemic struck, and it shouldn’t - it’s time for a new, better normal that doesn’t leave our most marginalized people behind. 

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Epilogue

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~2200

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Summary: Moving forward, together.

Author’s Note: This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

“So, who owns this place again?”

“It’s Cam’s uncle’s girlfriend’s sister’s building.”

“And we trust her… why?”

“Because she is fine with Cam vouching for us, so no income minimum, no issue with your lack of credit history, and no broker’s fee.”

Drake nodded. It still felt kind of shady to him, going to check out random units they heard about from different people they were tangentially connected to, but he was deferring to Riley completely, seeing as he had never been responsible for finding his own housing in his life. And apartment hunting in New York, it turned out, was a complicated task.

Back in February, when they’d started trying to figure out what neighborhoods to consider, Riley had told him not to bother searching the units listed on basically any website.

“There’s gonna be massive broker’s fees, and they probably won’t take us since we won’t have a guarantor. There’s a lot of scams, too. Just talk to your coworkers, word of mouth is going to be the best way to do this,” she’d warned him. 

Drake had done as she’d asked, but the units that his connections, the ones at the law firm he’d been sent to as coverage for one of the assistants who was out after surgery, recommended had not been a good fit. One didn’t allow dogs, one had been a definite bait and switch scam that looked nothing like the pictures he’d been shown, and the one they’d checked out last week was nice, but they would have needed a roommate to make it affordable, something they both weren’t really interested in doing.

But today they were checking out a one bedroom place in the Kensington neighborhood in Brooklyn that she’d heard about through one of her managers. They were supposed to meet with the building owner at 3 o’clock, so they had taken the F train over just after lunch so that Drake could get a better feel for the area.

Now that it was April, the weather was finally feeling like spring more consistently. It really couldn’t have been a nicer day for them to walk around the neighborhood. Drake was shocked at how close they were to a park. It was crowded as all get out, given that everyone and their mother seemed to want to take advantage of the pleasant day, but Prospect Park was large, had fishing spots, and most importantly, was some actual green space. While there were still numerous restaurants in the neighborhood, it felt so much more residential than their current apartment’s location. Drake could actually see why people would choose to live in a place like this.

The building owner, Kris, let them in and showed them up to the second floor walk-up she was looking to lease. It was in an older building, but everything looked well maintained at least. And it was big, probably twice as big as their current apartment. Drake was sure the fact that he’d been living in a 35 square meter studio for over four months was influencing him, but it just felt larger than his quarters at the palace had been, even though he was sure that wasn’t the case.

He wandered around, checking out the bedroom while Riley chatted specifics with Kris. After their first apartment tour a couple of weekends ago, they’d both quickly decided that was the best approach. Not only did Riley have more experience and knew the better questions to ask, but when left to her own devices, she was often able to charm landlords into throwing in some sort of perk, like waiving the pet fee or granting them some flexibility on move in dates. It was best to let her just do her thing.

As he checked out the closet space, it hit him how different his life was now than it was even six months ago. That Drake would have just been amazed that Riley would ever willingly choose to be with him over Liam. He could have never pictured himself choosing an apartment in New York with her. Sitting down and making plans for the future with her. 

It was easy to look at her and say that the change was all about her. And to an extent, that was true. He probably wouldn’t have found the motivation to make any changes in his life if he hadn’t met her. But it really was about more than that. It was about stepping up, letting go of the past, and taking ownership of his own happiness. He remembered Riley yelling at him, telling him he was scared to make changes in his life because he might still end up miserable on the other side of them. Basically telling him he needed to stop making himself a victim by his own choosing. And she’d been right.

Sure, some things were still a work in progress. Their visit to Texas a handful of weeks ago had proven that his relationship with his mother was not going to be mended overnight, after all. But on the other hand, he was hard pressed to imagine the man he was six months ago willingly getting an office job and going out for drinks after work with colleagues. He probably also wouldn’t have gotten a more “professional” haircut at the advice of one of those coworkers in hopes of turning a temp job into a permanent one. He would have fought such advice tooth and nail, insisting that anyone who cared that much about something as dumb as a haircut was a stuck up asshole, not worth his time. And while part of him still felt that way, he now saw it was a small price to pay to try and gain a more stable income so that Riley could cut down to part time at the bar and go back to college in the fall and work on finishing those last two semesters. Plus, she seemed to like his cleaned up cut, which was an added bonus.

The only way her going back to school was even a possibility was actually because of Maxwell. When he had let them know he was coming to New York for a “business venture,” they had both been confused, to say the least. But, when they met up with him for dinner and drinks, he’d told them he had found a way to bring some much needed cash to the Beaumonts - he had sold the rights to a holiday movie to the Hallmark channel, and that the script was so well received that they wanted him to keep writing for them. This had meant nothing to Drake himself, but Riley had just laughed, explaining that it was a TV network that made dozens of cheesy romance movies each year, many of them centered around Christmas.

When pressed, Maxwell had informed them, rather reluctantly, that the plot of the movie centered around a New York City waitress who came to a European country as the date of a prince for some Christmas ball, but ended up falling in love with his best friend. Despite Maxwell’s assurances that he was barely inspired by them and that all the names and locations were changed and that Christmas had nothing to do with Riley’s time in Cordonia, Drake and Riley had called him out on profiting off their story. Eventually, they struck a deal - they got a percentage of his payout for the script, which was going to cover most of Riley’s first semester tuition, and Maxwell had to help them with their move. It still irritated Drake a bit that Maxwell had just decided to throw their story out there for the world, but Liam had told him he approved the script and said it really wasn’t identifying at all, so Drake just decided to be grateful that Maxwell had not only brought Riley into his life, but also was giving her a ticket towards a job that didn’t require her to work a shitton of nights and weekends.

Drake wandered back towards the living and kitchen area, passing Riley and Kris in the narrow hallway, looking at the bathroom. He squeezed her hand as he passed them, and she threw him a little wink. He took in the main space of the apartment. They would be able to get a couch and a TV in there with their table, maybe even a bookcase. The kitchen was actually pretty nice, too. It probably had three times as much counter space as their current place. Everything here felt like it could work.

He opened the cabinets absentmindedly, half checking out the storage space, half waiting to see what Riley had to say about the place. After a couple more minutes, Riley and Kris came back out.

“Alright, well I’ll give you two a minute to talk it over,” said Kris, heading to the door, “I’ll be back in a few and you can let me know if you want to go forward with a lease.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Kris.” said Riley, leaning against the end of the counter.

As soon as the door latched, Riley looked up at Drake, “So what do you think?”

“I think it’s great. It feels too good, to be honest. How bad’s the rent?”

Riley paused for a couple seconds, “1850.”

“That can’t be right. That’s less than what we’re paying now, and it’s so much bigger.”

She chuckled a little bit, “Well, that’s the beauty of not living in a prime neighborhood.”

Drake just shook his head. He considered this location to be far more desirable than their current one, but he knew he was in the minority there. “What do you think about it?”

“I think this could be a really good fit for us.”

“You’re okay with his neighborhood?”

She nodded and gave him a smile, “This is a pretty diverse area of the city, so the restaurant options are good, and there’s decent access to the Q and F trains, so the commute shouldn’t be too bad.” She stood up and joined him further in the kitchen, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Let’s be real, Drake. I’m not going to be as hard to please with this as you are. So, you gotta be honest with me. Can you see yourself here?”

He nodded, “Yeah, Liu. I can. I love this place.”

“Really?”

“Really. Is she willing to lease to us?”

“It seems like it. It sounds like her last tenant moved out unexpectedly, and her late partner used to handle the financial side of things, so she just wants to rent it out as quickly as possible.”

“And she’s cool with Anderson?”

“She told me she’s fine with small breeds.”

“Great, let’s sign.”

“Woah there,” she said, laughing, “And they say I’m the impulsive one.”

“What’s to discuss, Liu? Do you think we’re gonna find a better place than this one?”

She just shook her head and shrugged a little.

“Okay, then I stand by my statement  - we should sign the lease today. If she’s motivated to lease this unit quickly, don’t we need to jump on it?”

“I just want you to be sure, Drake,” Riley said, biting her lip slightly before she continued, “Last time you moved on a whim, things kind of… blew up for us for a while.”

Drake let out a little snort, “I think this is a little different, Liu.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “That may be the case, but I want us to actually take a minute and think about this. Make sure we can see ourselves here, okay?” And with that she plopped down on the floor, laying back and closing her eyes.

“Uh, Liu… what the fuck are you doing?”

She opened one eye and squinted at him, “I’m just taking a moment to tune out everything else and think about this. You should try it,” she said, waving him down.

Drake rolled his eyes, but sat down on the kitchen floor and leaned back slowly in the opposite direction. This seemed dumb as hell, but if it’s what she needed from him to not feel like he was going to flake out on her, he would do it.

They laid like that for almost a minute, breathing slowly. No fears or concerns or worries crept into his mind, which he was pretty sure was the point of this exercise. He wasn’t sure how long they were supposed to do this, but then he heard her moving and felt her curl her body against his head, snaking her hand under his neck and resting her head on his chest.

“So, any reservations about his place?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and glanced down at her. Her eyes were staring back at him, wide and dark.

“None,” he said shaking his head slightly, “I think the fact that there’s enough floor space in the kitchen for us to do this has just convinced me even more.”

She chuckled softly, tracing soft circles along his neck with her fingers. “So, you want to sign the lease then?”

“Yeah, Liu,” he said, letting his eyes fall shut at her soothing touch, “This feels like home.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal  @lilyofchoices  @thequeenofcronuts  @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019   @sirbeepsalot  @texaskitten30   @princessleac1  @ladyangel70  @dcbbw  @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only:  @jovialyouthmusic  @iplaydrake  @gibbles82  @drakewalkerisreal  @riley--walker​ @notoriouscs​  @butindeed​  @addictedtodrakefanfic​  

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon  @thesumofmychoices​  @cosigottahavefaith​   @thequeenchoices​  @katedrakeohd​  @feartheendlesssummer​  @ao719​  @ooo-barff-ooo​   @sunnyxdazed​

[asktemmie-frisk]

Progress Report (ゴッドモードアーク(Goddomodoaku)) (God-mode Arc)

After they got inside the house, they went to the living room. Frisk, Chara and Asriel took a seat on the sofa, while Alphys stood up. Before she could say anything, Toriel walked through the door with her paperwork. "Greetings, my children." She said. "I hope you-oh! Greetings, Alphys. I did not expect you to be here. Is there something that I can help you with?" "No, I'm fine." Replied Alphys. "Very well. Should anyone need my services, I shall be upstairs grading papers." Toriel walked upstairs to her room. When she was out of sight, Alphys spoke up. Well, more like shouted. "Okay. Now that we're here..." Alphys started before violently grabbing Asriel and holding him to her face. He got scared. "EX-FUCKING-SCUSE ME?! WHY THE FUCK DID YOU CALL ME OUT LIKE THAT?!" She was furious. "Whoa, Alphys!" Asriel started, trying to defend himself verbally. He certainly wasn't expecting her to get so mad so fast. "Look, I'm sorry I called you out like that in class. I know y-" "First, you scare the shit out of me, then you try to destroy everything, now you put me so far on the spot, I have to tell everyone what I did?! WHAT KIND OF PERSON ARE YOU?!" "That's what I said!" Added an angry Frisk. "Stay out of this!" Frisk growled at Alphys in an almost animal-like manner. Chara got curious at what Frisk just did, but thought it would be best to not say anything, as Alphys glared in disgust, anger, and adjacent curiousity. "Anyway, why the fuck did you call me out in class, Asriel?" "Easy." Asriel started retaliating in anger with black sclera and markings on his face to match. "You're the goddamn reason I became this way! You turned me into a fucking flower! And then you decided that wasn't good enough for you, so you permanently ruin other monsters' lives, ON PURPOSE, all because YOU didn't have the balls to tell dad the fucking truth the first time! If anything, ALL I DID WAS TELL YOU WHAT YOU NEED TO HEAR! Now stop fucking with me, 'doctor'! I don't want to hear it from you!" Alphys got so angry, she sent a surge of lightning through Asriel, who shrieked in agony. He screamed loud enough for Asgore and Toriel to hear him. Both of them came running to their son to protect him. Asgore kicked open the door. "All right. WHO'S HURTING MY SON?!" Asgore roared. Toriel stormed downstairs with the safety on her hands turned off. "WHY DID I HEAR MY SON SCREAM?! SHOW YOURSELF!" She bellowed in rage. They both saw Asriel recoiling from the electrocution Alphys unleashed unto him, and Asgore and Toriel charged toward Alphys to protect their son. Toriel was ready to turn her to cinders, but Chara stood in the way. "Chara, move. Now." Toriel said with a near-murderous look in her eyes. "With all due respect, mother, you are NOT killing anyone. Not today." Chara responded back with her creepy face. "How dare you disobey your mother like that, young lady? Step out of the way, NOW!" Asgore commanded with a glow in his eyes. Frisk joined Chara. "Look. I enjoyed watching Alphys zap your son and all, but that doesn't mean she had that right. All you two are doing is making it worse. Douse the flames, and put away the trident, or Chara and I are gonna make you." Asgore let his rage take over as he attacked Frisk. Frisk forcibly yanked Asgore's trident from him, and threw it into the wall. Toriel launched fireballs at Alphys, all of which missed as Chara jerked her arm upward just enough to make her mother miss the mark. "That's it! You both need some discipline!" Asgore and Toriel yelled at Frisk and Chara. Before they lay a finger on them both, Frisk and Chara subdued them by grabbing both of their wrists, and forcing them onto the wall. The fireballs that Toriel threw splashed on the wall where the trident was. Unfortunately, it started to burn. Asriel, recovered somewhat from the tazing, grabbed something to extinguish his mother's flames. It was successful, but he was still in pain. He went to sit on the couch, still stinging visibly from Alphys' assault. "Now, you listen to me." Frisk started. "I'm not saying Asriel had it coming, no matter how true that statement would be, but Alphys needed to get it out." "That does NOT mean she had to attack him!" Said both of the still enraged boss monsters. Toriel tried to force her restraint to release her, but Chara was having none of it. "Frisk, mom and dad-STOP IT, MOM-mom and dad have a point." Said Chara, ready to help defuse the situation. "Alphys could have simply talked it out. However, Asriel was the one who reminded her of what she did. Also, he told her she didn't have the courage to tell dad what she really did the first time, and she made others suffer alongside her for her wrongdoings." "Chara, you don't get to talk to your mother and I like that! You know damn well that-" "NEED I REMIND EVERYBODY THAT WE ARE ALL AT FAULT FOR WHAT HAPPENED?! ESPECIALLY US DREEMURRS?!" Chara stopped holding back. "Do not raise your voice to us!" Said Toriel. "SHUT UP AND LISTEN, MOM! No one is innocent here, especially not us! So everybody calm the fuck down, and stop throwing your magic where it doesn't belong! We aren't gonna save our skins if we start trying to burn each other's off, so we all need to cool our goddamn jets for a moment and actually talk to each other, okay?!" After hearing Chara out, despite the fact that they were ready to spill more blood than a hospital, both of the boss monsters took their adopted daughter's advice, took some deep breaths, and took a seat in the living room. The room was silent, coupled with rising tension and thinning tempers. Toriel looked at Alphys with a murderous sneer. Asgore looked at Frisk with both eyes glowing, one orange, one cyan. Frisk growled like a dog again while bearing his teeth. His hair appeared to flare up a little. Asgore's attempt at intimidation failed, and he looked away from Frisk in fear and disgust. Toriel and Asriel noticed the king yielding to Frisk's will. "Asgore? What did you just see?" Asked Toriel. "I saw Frisk's hair flare up a little. Not a lot, but just barely enough to notice." Replied the king. "My hair flared up?" Frisk responded, overhearing him. "You didn't feel anything? That's strange. I could have sworn that I have seen your hair stand on its own a little bit." "What? How?" "I do not know. But I felt something else just now, when you growled at me. A feeling I've never felt before." "Do you know what it is, dad?" Asked Chara. "No. I have just...never felt such a thing in my entire life." "Can you describe how it felt?" "I cannot. It is...indescribable." Asgore went silent again, trying to figure out exactly what it was. Why did Frisk feel weird to me, he pondered. Is Frisk more powerful then we initially gave him credit for? "Frisk. When you and Chara held back Toriel and I, how did you both do it? You would have to be very strong in order to hold us back, even if you were only dealing with one of us." Chara's curiousity got piqued again as she wondered that herself. Dad's right, she thought. I shouldn't have been able to hold back mom if that were the case. Chara found her words. "Maybe we're both somehow stronger than we let on. We just don't know why or how." This was a question no one knew how to answer properly. The room was silent thinking of ways to answer it, but there was nothing to say. It stayed silent, completely forgetting what happened before Toriel tried to burn Alphys alive. After a few minutes, Alphys' phone rang, and everyone jumped up in surprise. Alphys then nervously picked up. "Hello?" She wavered. "Alphys! Babe! Where are you? I gotta tell you something! It's about Frisk!" Undyne said on the other side of the line. Alphys' eyes opened wide, and she started sweating. "Umm, I'm at Fr-Frisk's house. Come on over." "You got it, lambchop." Undyne only took 9 seconds to get inside, and she already felt something wrong. The room felt...off. Like something was out of place. "What happened in here?" Asgore and Toriel didn't respond. "We kinda just had a heated argument, and you came at a lull in the whole kasaba." Chara took the reigns of the awkwardness floating in the air. "Oh. Well, I guess that explains why you're all acting like that. Anyway, Alphys, I gotta tell you something, babe." Alphys snapped out of her inquisitive trance. "Hmm? Oh, what is it? You said something about Frisk?" "Yeah. When Sans and I were teaching in gym today, Frisk threw a dodgeball at me so hard, he knocked me down to the ground! And I was like 'HOW THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT', and he was-" "Wait a minute. Frisk threw a dodgeball at you, and knocked you down?" "Yep!" "Frisk, how did you do that?" "I. Don't. Know." Frisk enunciated in frustration. "Even if you don't know, maybe Chara does? She held back her own mother, and considering what type of monster Toriel is, it would be completely impossible for a normal human to hold her back very well. You and Chara, however, held Asgore and Toriel back almost effortlessly." "Alphys, I don't know either. Maybe mom and dad let us hold them back?" Said Chara. "Now, come on. What did you really want to talk to us about before you sent a lightning bolt through my brother?" "Oh yeah, that. Well, it's about Gaster." Everyone became all ears for a moment. "Gaster? Did he find out anything? And what about the blueprints for a portable DT extractor?" "Well, he showed me a rough draft. Here's what I remember from what it should look like."

Everyone gazed in amazement. "Wow. It looks like a weapon and a storage unit." "Yeah. Gaster said that was the point. He even told me to make spare canisters just in case it requires more storage space." "Why would it need spare containers?" Asked Frisk. "Magic and determination, when concentrated heavily enough, takes different forms. Magic's normal concentration only takes the form of the way its used, which is determined by its user. However, if it's concentrated enough, it takes the form of water, which in turn will increase its mass. When concentrated even further than that, it will take the form of a solid, like rock or food. Determination is the exact same way. However, magic is normally able to change colors; determination is only seen as red, or black with a reddish hue." "So determination looks like blood?" "Well, yeah, if you wanna cross that line!" "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend! I just...thought determination would look like blood. You know, blood that humans have in their bodies." Frisk's reaction made everyone short-circuit for a split second of how dumb Frisk acted. Undyne tried to say something, but she couldn't think of anything. Even Asriel had no words to describe to Frisk how stupid he sounded just now. Finally, Chara spoke for everyone. "Yeah. Determination looks almost exactly as if it were blood. However, I'm certain it has a certain glow to it as well." She said. "Yes. It does have a reddish aura to it." Alphys replied, snapping out of it. "Still, I'm curious as to how it'll look if we mix it with magic. Will it augment the magic, or will they repel each other?" "There's only one way to find out. I'm hoping we don't have to." Suddenly, a knock on the door got everyone's attention. "Come in!" Said Toriel. It was Sans and Papyrus. "Oh, hey, bros! What's up?" Said Frisk happily. Sans didn't bother hiding his annoyance with Frisk. "Whoa. Who threw out your ketchup, Sans?" "Nobody." Sans replied with empty eyesockets. "I just need to ask you how you managed to run so fast, and how you managed to knock Undyne down in gym today." Frisk tilted himself away from Sans slightly. "Sans, I already said I don't know how I did it. I really do have no idea how I was able to do it." "Well, brother, if that really is what you believe to be the truth..." Started Papyrus. "Then we may be getting closer to finding out." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Ok, dad. You can tell everyone now." Everyone jumped up in surprise. Sans and Papyrus stepped out of the way to let their father, W. D. Gaster, into the house. "Gaster, is that you?" Asked Asgore. "Salutations, your majesty." The former royal scientist replied. "I have returned, and I bring vital information to you all." He bowed to the royal family in respect. "It is...troubling. Inhumane, even. However, it is the truth, and it must be told now. I have found out Talrok's method to his madness." The skeletons all stepped further inside the house. Everyone braced themselves for what Gaster had to say. "Now then, Alphys, do you remember the amalgamates?" "More than anything." Alphys shamefully replied. "Well, Talrok has captured them. All of them. And he's making more using your example." "What?!" "It appears he stumbled upon the laboratory we abandoned when we left the mountain. But I can't be certain, for it is simply an assumption. I don't truly know, but I do know he has also been kidnapping some monsters and humans. Experimenting on them. He seems to be siphoning the humans' determination from their bodies and souls, and injecting it directly into the monsters. The humans don't die, but they are malnourished. Afterwards, the amalgamates take over the humans' minds and bodies, warping them and molding them into the perfect slave to him." Everyone felt a chill in their bodies, one that felt like imminent death. "And if that doesn't confirm how horrible it is, the magic of the monsters and the humans' determination force the two souls to merge into one, alongside causing the humans' souls to mutate into monster souls, which in turn transforms the humans into monsters with an unusually high amount of magic and determination. It's an abominable mix of man and monster." No one felt good about this. Asriel was so horrified, he vomited and fell to the floor. Frisk and Chara ran to him, trying to help him. "Asriel? Asriel, stay with me!" Chara started begging. Frisk kept lightly swatting his face to keep him conscious. "Please, Rei! Please don't leave us! Please!" Chara started crying. "ASRIEL, SNAP OUT OF IT!" Frisk slapped Asriel in the face hard, and he came to. Asriel was hyperventilating. "Chara...Frisk...lab...mommy...daddy...somebody help!" Asriel mumbled doggedly while crying. Toriel and Asgore ran to their son's aid, trying to comfort him. "Shh, shh, shh." Said Toriel. "It is okay. I am here. There is nothing you need to worry about, my child." "It's all right, kiddo. Your old man's got your back on this one." Asgore said, starting to shed some tears of his own. They both held their son to them so closely, it felt like if they let go, he would die again. Asriel held them back. "Mom, dad." He managed. "No, no. It is all right. You do not have to say anything." Toriel comforted. Asriel kept his mouth shut and kept crying, while Toriel rubbed his head in an attempt to comfort him. "Doctor Gaster, please continue. We need to know whatever you can tell us." Asgore boomed. "Yes, your majesty. But first, I am sorry I had to say such a thing; I had no intentions of scaring the prince." Asriel overheard the doctor, but had no remark. "Anyway, I have found an even worse piece of news for that matter. Talrok has seemingly learned of something named LOVE and EXP." Everyone but Frisk, Sans and Papyrus were confused. "Hold on. LOVE? EXP? What the fuck is that?" Asked Undyne. Frisk started to speak up, but Sans held his hand up. "No, lil' bro. I got this." He said. Frisk relented to Sans' order. "Let's start with EXP. EXP is an acronym that stands for something named 'execution points'. Execution points are a way to quantify the pain someone has inflicted on others. In order for someone to accrue execution points, they have to kill a monster. Upon killing the aforementioned monster, their execution points increase. When they gain enough, their LOVE increases as well. LOVE is also an acronym. However, I'm not talking about the emotional type. I'm talking about L.O.V.E., which, in this case, means 'level of violence'. A level of violence is a way to measure someone's capacity to harm other people. The more monsters someone kills, the easier it becomes to distance themselves emotionally. The greater the emotional distance, the less that person will feel emotional and physical pain, and the more easily they can bring themself to harm other people." "Sans, that's...actually a very good and detailed explanation for what it is." Said Gaster. "Thanks, dad. Anyway, if Talrok wants some LOVE, then I think I have an idea of what he's doing. He's gonna turn every last human in the world into monsters, kill all of them, then use the accrued power of his LOVE to destroy everything. But obviously, it won't be that easy unless he had a power source. Doing those types of experiments, and at such a ginormagantualossol scale, would require an extreme amount of juice." "True. That's where my creation comes in. The CORE exerts a lot of power, power that Talrok can use to perform such experiments." "Hey, wait." Said Frisk. "If he keeps kidnapping monsters and humans, he's gonna lose every last source of magic there is, especially if he uses monsters the way he has so far. Wouldn't he need to get more somehow? I can't imagine he would use his own nightmarish creation to get it." "Yes. He seems to be trying to find a way to use the residual magic in the underground as a way to do this as well. You see, he might be planning on using it to infuse within himself, or into other humans. Magic reacts strangely to humans if it's injected into their soul. It warps the mind, and causes the human to act feral. In addition, if a human acquires an extreme overdose of magic, one of two things happen: either their soul forcefully leaves the human's body, reenters it and causes them to change into an amalgamate, or the human dies. However, turning a human into an amalgamate this way will cause them not to lose their physicality, but it will alter their physical attributes, and turn their soul into a vessel for more souls." "Oh, no. How many times has that last part happened?" Chara said, visibly shaken. "Thankfully, only once. The rest of the times, the humans died, but not before turning into monsters shortly before dying." "Okay. Either that human got extremely lucky, or they were born a magician." "Doesn't matter. I believe there is a way to reverse the first experiment. That is why I created the blueprints for the portable determination extractor. However, I also designed it to siphon magic as well, so as to combat this. I'm not certain it will work, but if it does, we can restore the human and monster population." "So basically, we'll be playing janitor and police officer while Talrok is the polluting robber?" "In a way, yes. But simply one will not be enough. We will need to mass-produce the extractor if it is successful." "Well, that's good. We know what he's doing, and we know how he's gonna do it. Still though, what do we need to start building those extractors?" "We'll need whatever technology we can find. Even then, we will only build one for now. We'll have to test it out to make sure it works. If it fails, we'll need to try again." "Then it won't fail." "So naive. Sometimes, one try isn't enough on its own. We need a test subject to try it on. We'd have to catch one, and-" Suddenly, a growl was heard by the front door. It was one of the amalgamates Gaster talked about. It roared loudly, scaring Frisk. Sans went into big brother mode, and captured it with his magic. Asriel took his face out of his parents' arms, and looked to the doorway. His fear turned into disgust and confusion. "What the FUCK is that?!" He said. "This is one of the amalgamates I referred to." Gaster pointed to the abomination. It had a pale complexion all over its body, with its "clothing" covered in a murky, white liquid substance, and noticeable features of malnourishment, almost as if it hadn't eaten for months, especially around its ribcage and limbs, which had deteriorated into nothing but skin and bone. The amalgmate also had extra mouths on some of the parts of skin that were exposed. They all appeared to be trying to communicate with everyone. First, it croaked an indecipherable whisper, then an almost familiar hiss. Finally, it recovered enough of its communication abilities to relay a proper, yet terrifying, message. "Help us, please. Change us back." The amalgamate then passed out because of lack of food or water, being forcefully kept alive by nothing but magic and determination. Sans released his restraint, and set the creature down as gently as he could muster. Everyone but Sans and Gaster recoiled in fear. "So that's what one looks like." Chara said, trying to recover from the jumpscare that walked to the house. "How did it even get here?" "There is only one way to find out." Said Gaster. "You will have to help them return to their former selves, and then ask them what you wish to know. As for me, I must take my leave. I'm starting to fade away once more. Good luck, all of you." "Goodbye, doctor." Asgore bid farewell. "We shall all do what we can." As the former royal scientist bid farewell to everyone once again, everyone took the amalgamate over to Alphys and Undyne's place. They rushed the poor creature to the basement, where they hooked them up in a chair and restrained them thoroughly enough to the point where even Houdini couldn't escape if he tried. Interviewing this poor, unfortunate soul was going to be exhausting, both physically and emotionally, but it had to be done, and it would be.

[jeremystrele]

4 Big Ideas For Small Spaces

4 Big Ideas For Small Spaces

Interiors

by Sally Tabart

Sophie Bowers of Strutt Studios has made brilliant use of inbuilt banquette seating to maximise space in her tiny Kensington, Sydney apartment. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli

Making the most of wall space in the bathroom. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli

Sophie Bowers, founder of Strutt Studios Interior Architecture, fashion stylist Josh Climpson and their mini dachshunds Billie and Remi, at home in Kensington, Sydney. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli

Sophie has customised just about everything in her apartment to really let her design aesthetic and personality shine through. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli

Storage below the banquette seating – genius! Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli

Tailor-made furniture, With Sophie Bowers of Strutt Studios

In small spaces, a functionally driven, permanent piece of furniture is often the best solution to address the lack of space and lack of storage, and avoid an enclosed feeling.

There are three commonly used inbuilt furniture pieces. These include banquette seats or plinth lounges, fireplace and shelving units, and TV credenzas.

In small space design, you need to maximise the use of the walls. Therefore building in a joinery unit that can incorporate some or many of these seating, storing and displaying functions is a seamless way to get more from a minimal footprint.

Simple ideas like building storage to the ceiling will increase the perception of height in any room. Also consider incorporating feature handles or feet/legs to your inbuilt seating, this customisation is a great way to showcase your personality whilst allowing the bulk of the joinery design to remain simple, and thus not overwhelm a small room. Wall mounted shelving as a stand-alone feature or incorporated into a fireplace or TV storage unit is another way to draw the eye upwards, as nothing makes a space feel more enclosed than a cluttered benchtop or table.

The success of my own small apartment heavily relied on the spaces being dual purpose, and in the kitchen zone, an inbuilt banquette seat was the perfect way to achieve this. To create a minimal look, the junction at the kitchen and dining area is a very subtle detail with the waterfall stone seamlessly continuing from benchtop to banquette seat. This created a highly functional merge for us between the kitchen and dining, which often becomes the heart of the home, especially when entertaining. The inclusion of drawers below the banquette seat added significant storage, and by mounting the backrest cushion to the wall, a light and clean look was attained.

Considered and clever inbuilt furniture solutions prove bigger isn’t always better when it comes to a room’s footprint size.

See Sophie‘s home tour on TDF here. 

Alex Kennedy, who works in international development, lives in a tiny self-contained studio apartment in Carlton, designed by her friend interior architect Sarah Trotter of Hearth Studio. Photo – Eve Wilson. Production – Lucy Feagins.

The kitchen area in Alex’s apartment. Photo – Eve Wilson. Production – Lucy Feagins.

These days, Alex has a fold-out table where she’s had up 10 people over for dinner (which can be cleared away to make way for a mini dancefloor!). Photo – Eve Wilson. Production – Lucy Feagins.

Bits and bobs in Alex’s home. Photo – Eve Wilson. Production – Lucy Feagins.

Alex credits having a step-up bed space as essential to finding space in her studio apartment. Photo – Eve Wilson. Production – Lucy Feagins.

The bathroom area is divided from the living space by a division containing a sink, shelving + storage, offering a little more privacy. Photo – Eve Wilson. Production – Lucy Feagins.

Living Large In A Studio Apartment, With Alex Kennedy

Despite being an open studio plan, this apartment also has clearly defined spaces. For example, having a step up to the bedroom makes it feel cosy and separate from the rest of the house.

In terms of tips and tricks to make living in a small space work… don’t have lots of tall friends. Just kidding, I have lots of tall friends who at times have had to do a bit of limbo around the lights.

But on a serious note, I suggest not to over-design a space. Small spaces need generous storage, but I see a lot of houses are almost over-designed, and don’t allow you to grow into them organically, or allow for flexibility of use. I think it’s important to think about all of the different ways you might inhabit a space over time – it might go from being your home, to an Airbnb, to a studio. So, I think flexibility is key. For example, I have a dining table that folds out, so I’ve been able to have up to 10 people for dinner and then fold it back and move to the side to make way for a mini dance floor after dinner!

Over the last few years I have fixed up the garden and changed some of my furniture and household items that I know I will have for the rest of my life. I have a rule of not owning anything I can see in my space that I don’t find visually pleasing. This has meant I have had to implement a pretty strong policy with my family of not giving me household items for Christmas or my birthday!

See Alex’s home tour on TDF here. 

Melbourne-based stylist Lynda Gardener is an expert at styling small spaces, as evidenced by her boutique accommodation Room + Board! Photo – Marnie Hawson.

Stylist extraordinaire Lynda Gardener. Photo – Marnie Hawson.

Lynda advises hanging lighting low next to the bed as a way to warm up a room, without compromising on floor space. Photo – Marnie Hawson.

Lynda’s styling is proof that you don’t need to be a minimalist to successfully style a tiny space. Photo – Marnie Hawson.

Lynda’s WOW furniture in this project is this round table, which she uses as a showpiece for her collections (as well as a dining table!). Photo – Marnie Hawson.

Styling a Small Space, With Lynda Gardener

I have always enjoyed working on small places, as they can be a challenge at the best of times! I always start with painting the space white. It creates a blank canvas and always gives an instant feeling of space and light. Always consider the entire feel from the moment you walk in the door and the flow of the space. Keep it to a few simple tones and colours – a natural/neutral or earthy palette does not date.

That being said, you don’t need to be a minimalist just because your space is small! Collections can still be included – they just need to be considered. I love to create walls of art, and feature a mix of old and new as it does not take up any floor space, and there is always a great feature wall to work on.  Or if you can have shelves, use lots of them to create a library to house not only your books, but also make displays for art and object collections! Get creative and hang functional items like brooms, and baskets from hooks on the wall – again, no floor space is sacrificed.

If the space lends itself, create a centerpiece that is the WOW in the room….for example in Room + Board, I used a large round table as a showpiece for my collections… foliage, books and so on as well as a table to eat around.

For a striking way to warm up a room, get creative and hang something special low (next to the bed, for example).

See Lynda’s accommodation Room + Board on TDF here. 

As a freelance writer working from a small apartment, Lisa Marie Corso has had this working from home thing down pat way before the rest of us! Photo – Eve Wilson for the Design Files.

Freelance writer Lisa Marie Corso with her treasured collection of objects, collected since childhood! Photo – Eve Wilson for the Design Files.

The living, dining and kitchen areas of Lisa’s apartment. Photo – Eve Wilson for the Design Files.

Lisa suggests whacking a tablecloth on the table for dinner to change up the vibe after computers go away at the end of the day! Photo – Eve Wilson for the Design Files.

‘In an apartment, I like having distinct ‘zones’, even if the dining and living area is open plan’, says Lisa. Photo – Eve Wilson for the Design Files.

Get in The Zone, with Lisa Marie Corso

In an apartment, I like having distinct ‘zones’, even if the dining and living area is open plan. The easiest way to do this is to shove a rug under a coffee table, and there you have, it: a living room. When your foot touches the rug, know you’re in the couch zone.

Working from home, aka the three words petitioning for a joint place in the 2020 dictionary, in a small space can be tricky. If you have a spare room, try your best to work there during work hours, and when you clock off, shut the door! It’s very easy to feel like you’re working where you sleep, so again, making some ‘zones’ might help you.

If your dinner table has pivoted to become your desk, clear it in the morning when you start work, and remove your work stuff from it when you finish. No, sliding your laptop across table does not count! I think throwing a table cloth on for dinner can really make you feel like it’s a new part of the day, and help you forget you just spent 8 hours Zooming on the same table.

See Lisa’s home tour on TDF here.