#if inky didn't get to bed the egg no one else should

[burningblake]

imagine if they allow you to romance solas as rook (provided your inky didn't romance him) and there's a sex scene I'll be so beyond furious

[crowley-in-arkham]

Horror Binge

When I blinked awake this morning I found myself dreamily surprised by Jon's presence in my bed. He lay dozed off under where my head rest, a quiet whistle seeping out his nose as he slept.

His shirt was dealt plenty inky black marks of yesterday's eyeliner.

I didn't get up right away, Zephyr stirred as I did, and promptly left the room.

I kept my head on the warm comfort of Jon's chest, listening to the beating of his heart and the quiet sounds his sleeping body made. I'm surprised he doesn't snore.

He was-- boney, unsurprisingly, but comfortable in the way that he stayed relatively distant as we slept, not smothering me in him but also not avoiding me like the plague.

My head was snugly nuzzled into him, an intoxicating concoction of cologne, chemicals, and coffee beans clung to his shirt and seeped into my nose.

He let out a grumble in his sleep, his expression, unusually calm, twisting into a short-lived scowl.

I chuckled quietly, and sat up in the Gotham morning darkness. Stopping to look at the napping Jon that lay on my bed, still dressed in yesterday's clothes.

Auburn hair flaked in white and grey, scars haphazardly across his body. Lips, eye, cheeks, neck, arms, and I know they're everywhere else as well.

I slowly crawled off the bed and looked back to Jon laying spread out on my bed. I'll ask him how he got in there later.

I crept out of the bedroom and made my way to the kitchen, making a single cup of coffee, and prepping a second in case Jon wakes up, or I get to it too.

I set the mug down in the bathroom, flicking on the shower: noting the sudden appearance of flannels and pants hanging from my towel rack, a black toothbrush next to my orange one, and a collection of soap and a bottle of-- two-in-one shampoo/conditioner, to which I was not at all surprised.

I took a rather short, yet, warm shower. Jon coughed once and I heard the creak of my apartment floor as he made his way by, stopping to say, "G'mornin' dumbass."

To which I retorted over the running water: "Coffee should still be hot."

I heard him chuckle and say, "I could get used ta this," as he made his way down the rest of the hall.

I flicked off the shower and wrapped up in a towel, stepping out to brush my teeth. I heard Victor lament beyond the door for me, then Jon called from the kitchen, "Uh, Mina, where in the hell you put the creamer?"

"In the jar labeled creamer, Jonathan."

There was a mocking lighthearted grumble of "In the jar labeled creamer," and with particular emphasis on, "Jonathan."

Then a pause followed by a: "Ah, shit. Nev'rmind! I found it."

I rolled my eyes and made my way to the kitchen, where Jon had helped himself to my left over burger. He leaned against the counter, with the to-go container in his hand, eating the burger cold.

With stuffed cheeks he said, "You weren't s'posed to see this."

I gave him an amused look, and made my way over to the closet pantry to pluck out a bag of grits, to which his eyes widened in a twinge of surprise and an air of excitement.

"Oh fuck," he smiled, in whatever disjointed way a Jonathan Crane does that--like a tall slim dog wagging his tail.

I snickered and filled a small pot with water.

I turned on my heel and snuck back into my bedroom, tossing on the casual autumn day-clothes. While I got dressed I noted that all the clothes Jonathan had brought were the same outfit in slightly different color combinations. I never noticed it until now. Nor had I noticed that his boots were needlessly heavy composite toe cowboy boots. He works at an asylum.

I chucked at him absent-mindedly, and in my slippers I made my way back to tje boiling pot of water, slowly sprinkling in my grits, hastily taking a moment to flick out a pan to prep some ham and eggs.

Into the grits was some of my father's smoked cheddar, just to appease Jon's curiosity, a heft of garlic powder and pepper, and as simple as that I'd finished the grits.

Sunny side up eggs I'd bought from a farm just outside if Gotham: and some ham I picked up from a deli in a nearby shop. I dusted the ham in a small amount of salt and pepper, same as the eggs, and I set two plates on the small island I typically ate at. One was loaded in eggs, grits, and ham, and the other had enough to feed a few birds.

When I sat down, Jon gorged.

Frankly, I'd never seen Jon inhale food that way. He took a bite, savored it with a groan, before basically swallowing the plate.

He leaned back into the chair and let out a chuckle, "Ya fin'ly made up for those damn grits ya promised me."

I rolled my eyes with a smile, "They probably got incinerated."

Jon snickered, standing up and making his way towards the door. He lifted up a bowl filled in a mountain of assorted treats and with a twisted grin he asked: "Ya ready to see sum Gotham blood run cold t'night?"

I stifled a laugh, "Good lord, they're gonna think you poisoned the candy."

He chuckled, "For what? Think just 'cause I sum kin'a supervillain in a burlap bag I'm gettin' my rocks off to poisonin' their kids? Please. If I was 'unna toxin kids, which woun't sit with me despite tha shambles a' my morals, I'd just pump a school with the shit, woun't I?"

I shrugged; then caught myself: "Jon, you can't just say 'If I wanted to gas children, I'd gas children a different way'."

"I'm just sayin'."

"Say less, Jonathan, say less."

There was a momentary silence, as I picked up our plates and Jon flopped himself down on the couch.

"You feeling any better?"

"Jonathan, I killed a man yesterday." I stroked a sud-riddled sponge down a plate, "It's a bit too soon to tell."

"Don't seem as upset about it as last night."

"Trying to take my mind off of it," I sighed, "Trying to remember it wasn't me that did it-- and it probably wasn't the first time-- and- and-"

Jon sighed then interjected, "Well, any thoughts on what ya wanna do today?

"Uh-" I paused, "You're not going into work?" I raised a brow, looking back to him.

"I think we'd both prefer that little jackass," He pointed a thin finger at my cat, "to survive just in case Carrion tries again."

I smiled solemnly, a pang tearing through my heart at the thought, "Yeah, I'd prefer you were here. Just in case."

Victor had made his way to Jon and stuffed his little grey head against Crane's neck.

"He's taking to you."

"We bonded last night."

I suddenly snapped back to before: "Right, about last night--"

"You were cryin', thought I'd check in."

"Oh," I nodded to myself, "That makes sense."

I sighed, "You just kinda pass out there?"

He chuckled, "Sleep just 'bout anywhere."

"You can eat just about anything too."

"This 'bout the peanuts?"

I snickered; "Except the damn peanuts."

Jon rolled his eyes and chuckled, kicking his feet onto the coffee table and sipping a new cup of coffee I didn't realize he made.

"You done over there?" Jon asked nearly impatiently, he'd suddenly stood up and closed the blinds.

"Not gonna murder me I hope?" I said jokingly.

"I'd've done it last night if I was gonna," he cooed as he made his way over to me. Jon flicked the main light off and left me in the dimness of the single bulb that glowed over the sink.

"Hurry up, I wanna watch a movie."

"You're impatient as hell," I giggled plucking the jack-o-lantern dish rag from it's seat beside the sink to dry my hands.

Jon smirked crookedly, "Always."

He flicked me on the forehead and said, "And that's fa yesterday. Now, get in the damn livingroom and get comfy. It's fuckin' Halloween and we're bingin' horror movies until sunset."

I rolled my eyes and sat on the couch, Jon then asked from behind me, clattering in the kitchen: "Where tha hell ya keep yer snacks?"

I snickered, "Jon, you just ate!"

"Uhuh," His head popped over the counter, "An' I'll be hungry lata."

I chuckled, "Just get in here."

Jon chuckled and basically stepped over the arm of the couch to sit beside me. He grabbed the remote and flicked on a streaming service to expose me to whatever flicks he clearly had in mind with the most boyish grin I'd ever seen on his face.