#knoll table

[manyaktranslations]

Loft-Style - Family Room Example of a spacious minimalist loft-style family room with blue walls, a tv that is hidden, a travertine floor, and a beige floor.

[missxdelaneyart]

Modern Kids Dallas Inspiration for a mid-sized modern gender-neutral carpeted kids' room remodel with beige walls

[hommedessept]

Table Lamp by Isamu Noguchi for Knoll

[themillievintage]

Living with Modern Classics, 2000

[crabsblog]

Quadrifoglio Lamp by Gae Aluenti

Circa 1968

Production lapsed in 1979 but distribution continued through the 80s.

[nedgis]

La lampe pop Nesso, une icône du design signée de la maison italienne Artemide !

Voici l’une des plus célèbres lampes des années 60-70… Telle un gros champignon indémodable, la lampe à poser Nesso est éditée par la maison italienne Artemide en 1967. Nous transportant tout droit dans les années sixties, cette icône du design détonne par ses coloris pop et sa forme singulière. Idéal pour habiller votre bureau, en bout de canapé ou votre table de chevet d’une touche de couleur,…

[furniture-freak]

Eero Saarinen tulip side table by Knoll

Source

[literaryvein-reblogs]

some words for worldbuilding (pt. 1)

Air

billow, breath, bubble, draft, effervescence, fumes, puff, vapor

Arena

aquarium, bazaar, coliseum, field, hall, mecca, stage

Building

abbey, architecture, armory, asylum, bakery, bar, booth, cathedral, club, construction, court, department store, dock, edifice, emergency room, factory, food court, fort/fortress, framework, garrison, greasy spoon, hacienda, hangout, headquarters, hotel, inn, institute/institution, jetty, laboratory, mansion, mental hospital, monastery, mosque, museum, nursing home, office, pavilion, penitentiary, plant, prison, rampart, repository, ruins, sanctuary, shrine, skyscraper, stockade, storeroom, structure, temple, theater/theatre, treasury, warehouse, wharf

City

capital, metropolis, town, village

Furniture

altar, banister, bench, booth, bunk, cabinet, chair, couch, crib, davenport, dresser, furnishings, futon, jetty, lectern, partition, perch, platform, pulpit, rail/railing, screen, secretary, stand, wardrobe

Geographic division

area, county, desert, dynasty, kingdom, outskirts, quarter, sector, suburb, territory, tract, zone

Habitat

abode, ecosystem, environmentalist, habitat/habitation, harbor, home, land, nest, paradise, premises, refuge, settlement, tent

Habitat, human: accommodations, apartment, barracks, cabin, castle, condominium, convent, domesticity, dungeon, element, encampment, estate, grange, hacienda, home, house, housing, hut, jail, lodging, madhouse, monastery, neighborhood, old country, palace, prison, reservation, resort, sanctuary, shanty, suite, vacancy, villa

Habitat, rural: barn, burrow, conservatory, desert, farm, forest, grange, jungle, sanctuary, wilderness/wilds, wood/woods

Land

abyss, avalanche, bank, bay, bed, bluff, campus, cape, cavern, cliff, compost, cove, crevice/crevasse, dirt, downgrade, dune, elevation, estuary, expanse, field, fossil, garden, glacier, gorge, green, ground, gulf, harbor, hillock, inlet, knoll, landscape, lawn, lot, marshy, menagerie, mine, moat, mound, mountainous, nature, outlook, park, patio, pit, plateau, plaza, porch, prairie, projection, property, quagmire, ravine, ridge, savanna, shelf, soil, stack, table, trench, tundra, valley, well, wood/woods, yard

Nation

country, home, land, nationality, soil, state

Personal item

adornment, amulet, beads, best-seller, briefcase, cache, cargo, charm, contraceptive, disguise, effects, equipment, favorite, gem, glasses, handbag, jewelry, knickknack, luggage, marionette, memorabilia, necklace, novelty, object d’art, odds-on-favorite, paraphernalia, pledge, possession, pride, puppet, purse, resources, ring, souvenir, stuff, supplies, sustenance, thing/things, trappings, trifle, valuable

Planet

cosmos, Earth, galaxy, moon, planet, sphere, world

Region

capital, commonwealth, quarter, region, settlement, suburb

Room

alcove, attic, bath, bedroom, boutique, cellar, den, enclosure, foyer, gin mill, hall, lavatory, loft, outhouse, parlor, restaurant, saloon, shop, stage, store, tenement, theater/theatre, vestibule

Shape

angular, beaten, billowy, checkered, concave, conical/conic, crescent, curly, deformed, elliptical, flat, gnarled, kinky, misshapen, obtuse, round, shapeless, spiral, straight

Vehicle

camper, conveyance, motorcade, transport

Vehicle, air: aircraft, armada, blimp, dirigible, helicopter, shuttle, UFO

Vehicle, land: ambulance, bicycle, car, cherry-picker, dolly, excavator, model, traffic, truck

Vehicle, water: armada, boat, craft, fleet, sailboat, yacht

Water

abyss, aqueduct, basin, beach, blackball, brook, cape, channel, condensation, creek, deep, estuary, fountain, gulf, heading, inlet, lake, oasis, pond, promontory, reservoir, sea, spray, strait, tide, wash, wave, whirlpool

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[jinmark]

Phoenix Modern Family Room Example of a spacious minimalist loft-style family room with blue walls, a tv that is hidden, a travertine floor, and a beige floor.

[aubreefisher]

Scandinavian Family Room Large danish open concept medium tone wood floor, brown floor and wainscoting family room library photo with white walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[bigpoppadean]

Modern Family Room in Phoenix A large, minimalistic image of a loft-style family room with a travertine floor and beige walls, blue accents, no fireplace, and a hidden television.

[andazzi]

(via SMALTO | Tavolo ovale Collezione Smalto By KNOLL design Barber & Osgerby)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Depths 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: fisherman!Geralt of Rivia x artist!reader

Summary: your sleepy existence is thrown into chaos by a mysterious man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The water crashes onto the coast. The sound is dulled by the distance of your perch. The sky melds into the lake's surface as the sun hides behind a swathe of clouds.

You lean in to squint at the strokes on the canvas, sweeping your brush in repetition of the rippled horizon. You use the wnd of the brush to scratch your cheek.

Almost...

You peek above the easel and watch the small speck growing larger as it moves across the water. The fishing boat is there so often that you've added its silhouette to the acrylic tides. A stalwart to your early mornings and listless afternoons.

Day after day is layered before you in shades of cerulean, slate, and lavender. The grey sky with a tinge of golden sunlight, the waters stirring in sparkling shades of aquamarine and pearl, the coast rippled in fawn and umber. Another eye might see it and deem it finished but not you.

You step back to let the paint dry and rinse your brushes in the jar. Hmm. You're out of clean water.

You close up the easel and hook the canvas on the backside, carrying it like a briefcase as you pick up your canvas bag with your roll of brushes and pots of paint, your palette around your index finger.

You make a slow descent down the cliffside and curl around towards the shore. You veer away from the dock and head down into the silt. You put your stuff on a flat rock. You take the used brushes and palette to rinse in the shallows.

The water laps over your sandals as you linger in the soothing cool foam. The approach of evening skews the water with emerald and jade. You shake it all off and step back to dry it with a paint-blotted cloth.

You rearrange the bag so it all fits and hook it over your shoulder. You look down at the your linen apron. You can recall where every splotch and streak came from.

You take your easel and canvas and head back up along the dock. As you reach the post, the fishing boat knocks against the other end. You peer over at the man that lays a board across the spanse between.

You see him every night. You couldn't forget a man with snow white hair and golden eyes. His age is less than his locks might suggest and his eyes seem to look through you, not at you.

You smile, like you do every night. He doesn't react. Just like every other time.

The smell of fish wafts in the boat as he drags his net across the wooden ramp. You turn and press on. He's much to busy for you. It doesn't bother you. You came out here to get away from people.

Your feet leave divets in the dirt as the rock of the boat knocks in a rhythm against the dock. The man's toil adds to thunks and thuds and they fade behind you. The peace here is immaculate, you wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone else.

Past the seaside houses left vacant in the colder seasons and the smaller basins of the lake, between the rocky ridges and grassy knolls, you return to your little house.The cornflower paint chips from the wooden siding and the stairs are worn in the middle from the tramp of feet. A bench stands on the other side of the white railing between a plinthed flowerpot and folding table with a book forgotten on its slats. Home.

The spindly wreath on the front door rattles as you push through and the screen door snaps behind you. The evening breezs drifts in through the mesh as you set your easel down and rest the canvas on crate just beside the mat. You put your bag in front of the wooden stand and bask in the calm.

You hang your wicker hat and untie your apron. Your hands are covered in paint. You'll wash them before you eat. You leave your wet sandals at the door.

You pull out the pot of chowder you made two nights past from the fridge. You put it over a burner and wait for it to warm. The fare lasts you near a week when you take the time to put it together. Every ingredient must be used to its last, especially when it is so far to market. And expensive.

You scoop out a bowl and eat it on the front porch. Your eyes are too tired to read. When you finish, you recline on the bench and yawn. You lay in the dimming hue of the evening as the stars wink down at you.

A whistle carries on the wind. You sit up and look for the culprit. They are close enough to hear but that could still be far. It could even be a bird.

You take the empty bowl inside and rinse it. You retreat to the bedroom and change

You open the window to let the night in. Around here, you can do that. Not like the city and its grated windows.

You laze in the dusk shade and drift slowly into yourself. Sleep enshrines you atop the cushy bed, the water stirring from afar, the loons calling into the dark. Tomorrow you'll figure out the exact right colour for the undertow.

You're more than due to sell a new piece. You need to if you want to stay in paradise.

[vivmaek]

POETRY FOR YOUR MOON SIGN

✰ my masterlist poems written by someone who has the same moon sign as you <3

☾PISCES☽

Edgar Allen Poe, A Dream Within a Dream

“Take this kiss upon the brow! / And, in parting from you now, / Thus much let me avow – / You are not wrong, who deem / That my days have been a dream; / Yet if hope has flown away / In a night, or in a day, / In a vision, or in none, / Is it therefore the less gone? / All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.”

June Jordan, You Came with Shells

“You came with shells. And left them: / shells. / They lay beautiful on the table. / Now they lie on my desk / peculiar / extraordinary under 60 watts.”

Toni Morrison, It Comes Unadorned

“it comes / Unadorned / Like a phrase / Strong enough to cast a spell; / It comes / Unbidden, / Like the turn of sun through hills / Or stars in wheels of song. / The jeweled feet of women dance the earth. / Arousing it to spring. / Shoulders broad as a road bend to share the weight of years. / Profiles breach the distance and lean / Toward an ordinary kiss. / Bliss. / it comes naked into the world like a charm.”

☾AQUARIUS☽

W.B Yeats, A Coat

“I made my song a coat / Covered with embroideries / Out of old mythologies / From heel to throat; / But the fools caught it, / Wore it in the world’s eyes / As though they’d wrought it. / Song, let them take it / For there’s more enterprise / In walking naked.”

W.B Yeats, The Lover Tells of the Roses in His Heart

“All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, / The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, / The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, / Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. / The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, / With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold / For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.”

Louisa May Alcott, The Lay of a Golden Goose

“Oh! Be not rash,” her father said, / A mild Socratic bird; / Her mother begged her not to stray / With many a warning word. / But little goosey was perverse / And eagerly did cry, / “I’ve got a lovely pair of wings, / Of course I Ought to fly.”

☾CAPRICORN☽

John Milton, Sonnet 19

“When I consider how my light is spent, / Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, / And that one talent which is death to hide / Lodged with me useless, through my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker,”

Jala al-Din Rumi, The Guest House

“This being human is a guest house. / Every morning a new arrival. / A joy, a depression, a meanness, / some momentary awareness comes / As an unexpected visitor. / Welcome and entertain them all! / Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, / who violently sweep your house / empty of its furniture, / still treat each guest honorably. / He may be clearing you out / for some new delight. / The dark thought, the shame, the malice, / meet them at the door laughing, / and invite them in. / Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent / as a guide from beyond.”

Gwendolyn Brooks, a song in the front yard

“I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life. / I want a peek at the back / Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed / grows. / A girl gets sick of a rose.”

☾SAGITTARIUS☽

Lewis Carroll, A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

“In a Wonderland they lie, / Dreaming as the days go by, / Dreaming as the summers die: / Ever drifting down the stream – / Lingering in the golden gleam – / Life, what it is but a dream?”

Dante Alighieri, From “Inferno”

“It’s the pain / of the people down there that empties my / face. / It’s pity / that you’ve mistaken for fear. / And it’s the long way / that pushes us now. / Let’s go.”

Victor Hugo, Tomorrow, At Dawn

“Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens, / I will set out. You see, I know that you wait for me. / I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain. / I can no longer remain far from you. / I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts, / Seeing nothing of outdoors, hearing no noise / Alone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed, / Sorrowed, and the day for me will be as night.”

☾SCORPIO☽

Sarojini Naid, Autumn Song

“Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, / The sunset hangs on a cloud; / A golden storm of glittering sheaves, / Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, / The wild wind blows in a cloud. / Hark to a voice that is calling / To my heart in the voice of the wind: / My heart is weary and sad and alone, / For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, / And why should I stay behind?”

Shel Silverstein, Dreadful

“Someone ate the baby. / It’s absolutely clear / Someone ate the baby / ‘Cause the baby isn’t here. / We’ll give away her toys and clothes. / We’ll never have to wipe her nose. / Dad says, “That’s the way it goes.” / Someone ate the baby.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Aftermath

“When the summer fields are mown, / When the birds are fledged and flown, / And the dry leaves strew the path; / With the falling of the snow, / With the cawing of the crow, / Once again the fields we mow / And gather in the aftermath.”

☾LIBRA☽

Maya Angelou, Caged Bird

“A free bird leaps / on the back of the wind / and floats downstream / till the current ends / and dips his wing / in the orange sun rays / and dares to claim the sky.”

Emily Dickinson, Good Morning – Midnight

“Good Morning – Midnight – / I’m coming Home – / Day – got tired of Me – / How could I – of Him? / Sunshine was a sweet place – / I liked to stay – / But Morn – didn’t want me – now – / So – Goodnight – Day!”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, My Heart and I

“You see we’re tired, my heart and I. / We dealt with books, we trusted men, / And in our own blood drenched the pen, / As is such colours could not fly. / We walked too straight for fortune’s end, / We loved too true to keep a friend ; / At last we’re tired, my heart and I.”

☾VIRGO☽

Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays

“Sundays too my father got up early / and put his clothes on in the blueback cold, / then with cracked hands that ached / from labor in the weekday weather made / banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. / I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking / When the rooms were warm, he’d call, / and slowly I would rise and dress, / fearing the chronic angers of that house, / Speaking indifferently to him , / who had driven out the cold / and polished my good shoes well. / What did I know, what did I know / of love's austere and lonely offices?”

Jack Kerouac, How to Meditate

“Thinking’s just like not thinking- / So I don't have to think / any / more”

William Faulkner, Study

“Muted dreams for them / for me / Bitter science. Exams are near / And my thoughts uncontrollably / Wander, and I cannot hear / The voice telling me that work I must, / For everything will be the same when I’m dead / A thousand years. I wish I were a bust / All head.”

☾LEO☽

Walt Whitman, I sing the Body Electric

“I sing the body electric, / The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,”

Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, / By each let this be heard, / Some do it with a bitter look, / Some with a flattering word, / The coward does it with a kiss, / The brave men with a sword!”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Friendship

“A ruddy drop of manly blood / The surging sea outweighs, / The world uncertain comes and goes; / The lover rooted stays. / I fancied he was fled, – / And, after many a year, / Glowed unexhausted kindliness, / Like daily sunrise there. / My careful heart was free again, / O friend, my bosom said, / Through thee alone the sky is arched, / Through thee the rose is red; / All things through thee take nobler form, / And look beyond the earth, / The mill-round of our fate appears / A sun-path in thy worth. / Me too thy nobleness had taught / To master my despair; / The fountains of my hidden life / Are through thy friendship fair.”

☾CANCER☽

Shakespear, Sonnet 147

“My love is as a fever, longing still / For that which longer nurseth the disease, / Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,”

Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night

“I have been one acquainted with the night. / I have walked out in rain – and back in rain. / I have outwalked the furthest city light. / I have looked down the saddest city lane. / I have passed by the watchman on his beat / And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. / I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet / When far away an interrupted cry / Came over houses from another street, / But not to call me back or say good-bye; / And further still at an unearthly height, / One luminary clock against the sky / Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. / I have been one acquainted with the night.”

William Blake, Auguries of innocence

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a wild flower / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour”

☾GEMINI☽

Rudyard Kipling, Blue Roses

“Half the world I wandered through, / Seeking where such flowers grew. / Half the world unto my quest / Answered me with laugh and jest. / Home I came at wintertide, / But my silly love had died / Seeking with her latest breath / Roses from the arms of Death.”

John Keats, To Sleep

“Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords / Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; / Turn the key deftly into the oiled wards, / And seal the hushed Casket of my soul.”

Lord Tennyson, The Eagle

“He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, / Ring’d with the azure world, he stands. / The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; / He watches from his mountain walls, / And like thunderbolt he falls.”

☾TAURUS☽

John Donne, Air and Angels

“Twice or thrice had I lov’d thee, / Before I knew thy face or name; / So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame / Angels affects us oft, and worshipp’d be;”

Audre Lorde, Recreation

“my body / writes into your flesh / the poem / you make of me. / Touching you I catch midnight / as moon fires set in my throat / I love you flesh into blossom / I made you / and take you made / into me.”

Margaret Walker, Lineage

“My grandmothers were strong. / They followed plows and bent to toil. / They moved through fields sowing seed. / They touched earth and grain grew. / They were full of sturdiness and singing. / My grandmothers were strong. / My grandmothers are full of memories / Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay / With veins rolling roughly over quick hands / They have many clean words to say. / My grandmothers were strong. / Why am I not as they?”

☾ARIES☽

E.E Cummings, Love is more thicker than forget

“love is more thicker than forget / more thinner than recall / more seldom than a wave is wet / more frequent than to fail”

Mark Twain, Genius

“But above all things, / to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse / and then rush off and get booming drunk, / is the surest of all the different signs / of genius.”

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Ships that Pass in the Night

“Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; / I look far out into the pregnant night, / Where I can hear a solemn booming gun / And I catch the gleaming of a random light, / That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.”

[hihomeghere]

Meet The Family: Part of the Tesoro Series

Five Hargreeves / F!Reader

Word Count : 3k Summary : Five finds a way to return to 2019, you both break your contract with the commission and you meet your in-laws for the first time. Aged up!Five, reader has the ability to shapeshift. Fluff with a lil bit of angst if you squint. ( I do not own the umbrella academy or any of it's characters ) Warnings : Cursing, drinking, allusions to sex, talking about death

“Do you trust me?” Five asked, both of you standing on the grassy knoll. You nodded, staring into his eyes.

“Of course I do.” He wet his lips nervously, looking around. 

“Okay,” he said, wiping his hands off on his pants. You grabbed his hand squeezing it.

“Hey,” he turned to look at you, “whatever happens we face it together, okay?” You squeezed his hand again, giving him a small smile. He nodded, returning the smile. Although his didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hold onto me, okay?” He said holding your eye contact. You nodded, grabbing his bicep, gripping his gray coat sleeve. It definitely was a struggle, but slowly the blue portal opened. The wind whipped your hair in front of your face, Five’s yells grew louder. Suddenly his hands passed through the blue, with you following behind him. You felt your body warp as you pushed through. It was similar to changing, but your body wasn’t changing outwards, it felt like it was being turned in on yourself.

And then you were falling, fortunately for you, and unfortunately for Five, he broke your fall. You both groaned as you rolled off of him onto the wet pavement. You took in deep gasps of air, your hand coming to your chest as you closed your eyes. Tiny pebbles rubbed against your hands, getting stuck under your fingernails. You heard Five shuffle next to you, his feet scraping on the pavement as he stood up.

“Shit,” you snapped your eyes open, why did he sound so different? You gasped as your eyes fell on your husband. He was young, younger than when you had first met him. Early 20s, maybe? 

“Does anyone else see Number Five and some girl or is that just me?” A man’s voice said. You looked up staring at a group of people you quickly deciphered as Five’s siblings. You looked down at yourself, your hands were still scarred, but they looked fresh. Like they had looked when you first escaped the lab, you shook your head. If Five was younger, then that meant you must be too. You felt your face, the wrinkles around your eyes were gone. You were young again. 

“What’s the date? The exact date?” Five said walking around the kitchen. You felt yourself shrink under his siblings' gaze. Mainly Klaus who seemed enamored by you. You had already caught his gaze once and he had given you a strange little wave while criss crossed on the table. If he moved his knee the wrong way you were sure you would get to see a bit more than you wanted to of your new in-laws. 

“The 24th.” Vanya said, still in disbelief.

“Of what?” Five asked exasperated.

“Of March?” She said her eyes never leaving Five.

“Good.” He continued making his peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. 

“So are we gonna talk about what just happened?” Luther spoke up, eyeing you warily, “And who the hell is this?” He whispered, leaning closer to Five. Five continued making his sandwich, refusing to meet Luther’s eyes.

“This is Y/n, my wife.” He said as though it was an obvious observation.

“Your wife?” Alison said, her head snapping to look at you.

“How’d you land her? Did you kidnap her?” Klaus snorted looking between you and Five. You smiled, looking down at your lap.

“We have bigger problems than Five’s girlfriend at the moment. It’s been 17 years!” Luther said standing up, Five scoffed turning to face him.

“It’s been a lot longer than that.” He said before he blinked behind him. “And she’s my wife, you’ll treat her as such, got it?” He said over his shoulder. 

“I haven’t missed that.” Luther sighed, staring forward where Five once was. You looked at all the siblings. Vanya was the closest to you, she seemed timid. Alison was next, standing up with her arms crossed. Then Klaus, and Diego, who was staring daggers at you at the moment before he turned his gaze to Five.

“Where’d you go?” Diego asked, his eyes returning to you. You gulped, returning your gaze to your hands. 

“The future. It’s shit by the way.” Five said grabbing marshmallows and blinking back to the table.

“Called it!” Klaus said, raising a finger.

“I should have listened to the old man.” Five sighed moving around the kitchen like he hadn’t been gone for more than a day. “You know jumping around space is one thing.” He opened the fridge door looking inside, “jumping through time is a toss of the dice.” He stood at the head of the table. “Nice dress.” He said, looking Klaus over.

“Oh, well danke!” Klaus smiled before Vanya cut him off.

“Wait, how did you get back?” She asked, putting her hands up, unable to comprehend Five’s nonchalant attitude.

“In the end I had to project my consciousness forward into a quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.”

“That makes no sense.” Diego mumbled looking at the tile floor, “how did she get through.” His eyes flicked up toward you. You felt your face heat up, and you turned to look at Five.

“I opened the portal allowing her to follow, and it would make sense if you were smarter.” Diego jumped up, only being held back by Luther.

“How long were you there?” Luther asked.

“Forty five years. Give or take. Including my time spent at our old job.” The commission. You felt your blood run cold, how could you have forgotten? Did they already have a team out looking for you? Working long enough for the Handler you knew the workings of her mind. She could never get over the fact that you and Five were together. Call it jealousy, or call it the inability to completely control someone. You weren’t stupid, you saw how she looked at Five, it made your blood boil. She wouldn’t kill him, he was too valuable to her, you on the other hand were good as dead. 

“So what are you saying? You’re 58?” Luther asked, all his siblings having the same confused expression on their face.

“No, my consciousness is 58.” He said before putting a slice of bread over his sandwich monstrosity. “Apparently my body is now 20 again.”

“Wait, how does that even work?” Vanya asked, shaking her head. Five took a bite of his sandwich before turning back to you. He picked up the newspaper sitting on top of the table.

“Guess we missed the funeral.” He said, no discernible tone in his voice.

“How’d you know about that?” Luther asked his eyes never leaving Five.

“What part of the future do you not understand?” Five said furrowing his brows. You looked up, Alison was looking at you this time. She offered you a small smile which you returned. Although it felt more like a grimace.

“Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah.” Diego said before being cut off by Luther.

“No.” Five clicked his tongue walking over to you.

“Nice to see nothings changed.” He said before turning to you. His cold fingers brushed against your arm, his brows furrowed seemingly deep in thought. He grabbed your hand leading you out of the kitchen.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Alison asked, throwing her hands up in the air. As Five pulled you after him.

“What else is there to say? The circle of life.” He said looking over his shoulder.

-

“Five come to bed.” You said leaning on the spare bedroom door. You pulled your robe tighter around your body crossing your arms. Five stood in front of his whiteboard, equation after equation covering the board. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes yet. His tie hung loosely around his neck, you could just imagine how he had been pulling at it. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his top two buttons were unbuttoned.

“In a minute, dearest.” He waved at you, his face never leaving the board. You sighed walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around him. You laid your head against his back, moving with him every time he leaned forward to change something. The only sound in the room was his heart against your ear and the squeak of the pen. 

“Five,” you whined. He sighed, setting his pen down. He held your hands against his stomach.

“Yes tesoro?” He turned, moving you so you were standing in front of him. 

“I’m tired.”

“Then go to bed.” He said as though talking to a small child. You rolled your eyes, giving him a look. He smiled before kissing your head. His mustache bristled against your forehead.

“Not without you.” If he wanted to treat you like a child, fine. You stared up at him through your eyelashes, your lower lip jutting out. 

“Now that’s not fair.” He scolded, a smile on his face. You laughed breaking your pout, you took his hands leading him out of the room.

“Come on Mr. Hargreeves,” you cooed a smirk on your lips. He tried to glare at you, but slowly a smile crept on his face. 

“What will you give me, Mrs. Hargreeves?” He teased his hands finding the tie to your robe.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” You leaned forward whispering against the shell of his ear. He chuckled lowly, letting you pull him into your shared bedroom

-

He blinked you both up into his old bedroom. You sat on his bed staring at your hands. He opened up his closet, muttering under his breath.

“Well, the first meeting with the in-laws wasn’t too bad.” You said watching his back.

“Mm.” He grumbled, rifling through the closet.

“Are you okay?” You asked, sliding off his bed to your feet.

“No!” He snapped, turning to look at you, “We’re stuck in these bodies! The world is about to end and I have no idea what to do!” He yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll figure it out, we always do.” You soothed approaching him like a cornered animal.

“Yeah, how'd that work the last time?” He scoffed a sarcastic smile on his face. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“It was the decimal! If I had had time to look over my equations I would have seen it.” He seethed, you recoiled.

“Are you saying this is my fault?” You furrowed your brows.

“Yes!” He threw his hands up, “If you wouldn’t have bothered me, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” He snarled his finger in your face. You grit your teeth, trying to keep your cool. 

“Obviously you need some time by yourself.” You said coolly, walking away from him.

“Fucking finally.” He scoffed, shaking his head as you slammed the door behind you.

-

You flew down the stairs, all but running into Vanya.

“Oh,” you said as you bumped into her, almost losing your balance, “sorry.” 

“It’s ok.” She says, “Are you ok?” She asks. You bite your lip, looking behind you.

“No.” You answer honestly, crossing your arms, “Your stupid brother is the biggest asshole I know.” You huffed.

“Yeah,” She smiled, chuckling slightly, “he can be a real pain the the ass.” You smiled looking back at her. You fell into an uncomfortable silence, before she said. “But he seems to really love you.” She gives you a smile.

“Well he’s got a funny way of showing it.” You shake your head.

“Five has never been the most emotionally mature person,” she chuckles, crossing her arms, “but none of us are, you saw that earlier.” You admired her honesty. 

“I appreciate it, Vanya.” You smiled, touching her arm.

“Listen, if you want to take the edge off, dads liquor cabinet is that way.” She points towards a room off the atrium.

“Thank you, I might take you up on that offer.” You nod heading that way, “see you around.” 

She smiles and nods as you walk into the living room. 

You groan, immediately face to face with a large oil painting of your husband.

“Yeah I feel that way about my siblings more often than not.” Klaus says stretching on the couch. You jump, your hand coming to your heart. “Oh woah!” He sits up looking at you. “Your hair! How did you do that!” He smirks pointing to his own head.

You smile softly, changing your hair back to your normal color.

“I was genetically altered as a kid.” You say looking back at the smug smile of your husband.

“Dang, heavy stuff.” He says leaning back on the plush couch. “Want to get drunk?” He asks with a grin spreading across his face.

“Hell yes.” You laugh, turning to look at him. He jumps up clapping his hands together.

“Great! I was looking for an excuse to get into the old man’s alcohol.” He moves to the bar, every movement he makes is extremely fluid. Like he’s floating everywhere. You walk up to the bar, sitting on one of the stools. “Now hang on, missy,” he says, holding out a finger towards you, “are you old enough to drink? Let me see your ID.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Technically I’m 45,” you say a grin working its way onto your face, “and I don’t have an ID.”

“No way.” Klaus says leaning forward on the bar, his hands clasped together. “You, 45? What’s your secret?”

You giggle, shaking your head, “A time traveling husband helps.” You shrug.

“Hmm, guess I need to find me one of those,” he muses as he hands you a glass. You study the glass in your hands, watching the golden liquid swirl inside.

“So how long have you been with Five?” He asks, swirling the alcohol in his glass before downing it.

“Um,” you hum looking up, “about 25 years, we’ve been married for 21.” You sip the alcohol, it’s good, maybe a brandy?

“Jeez, you stuck with that old geezer for 21 years? More than any of us.” He says, chuckling to himself. You nod, your lips forming a tight line.

“Yep.” You tense your jaw, downing whatever is left in your glass. Grimacing as the alcohol burns your throat.

“Enough about Five.” Klaus says, “Tell me about you, Mrs. Hargreeves, I mean I would be an awful brother-in-law if I didn’t know anything about my new sister.” He grins walking around the bar to sit next to you on a stool.

“I’m really not that special,” you chuckle, setting your glass down on the bar top.

“Mrs. I change my hair color when I’m surprised, isn't special?” He asks tilting his head, “What, did Five tell you that?” His brows furrowed as he recoiled.

“No, no he would never say that.” You wave him off. 

“Well what else can you do missy?” He asked, leaning forward, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Well, I can change my appearance to look like anyone I want. As long as I know what they look like.” You shrugged.

“Ooh! Do me! Do me!” He says, patting your arm excitedly. You smile before turning to face him.

He tried to stay still but his leg continues to bounce. You look him over once before you feel your body stretch. Your hair changes to a short curly brown, tattoos adorn your skin. Klaus’s grin grows by the minute.

“Holy smokes!” He exclaims looking at you, “Am I really that good looking?” You burst out laughing, maybe it was the brandy, maybe you were just having fun for the first time in a long time. 

You change back into yourself, wincing as your head throbs slightly. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” He leans forward lowering his voice slightly.

“Klaus, I think every question you’ve asked me so far has been personal.”

“Have you ever,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “you know, changed in the bedroom?” You pull a grin on your face.

“Klaus!” You blush, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Well? Have you?” He pushes his voice higher than before.

“No! Never!” You say waving him off.

“Oh come on! You don’t have to lie to me!” He pleads his hand resting on your arm.

“And I’m telling you Klaus, I’ve never changed during sex!” You whisper covering his hand with your own.

“Fine! Fine.” He says pulling away, “but if I find out you’re lying there will be hell to pay young lady!” He scolds half heartedly, you shake your head, a smile on your face.

“Yes sir.” 

“Y/n?” Five stands in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Klaus groans, throwing his head back.

“What do you want?” He asks glaring at him.

FIve ignores his brother, he adjusts his jacket looking up at you.

“Can we talk?” He pleads, walking toward you. You let out a sigh and nod. 

“Yeah I’m going, I’m going.” Klaus says waving to the air, as if someone only he could see was pestering him. Once he’s past Five he turns flipping him off. You snicker, looking down at your feet. Five sits next to you at the bar, he reaches for you, taking your hand. You don’t pull away which he takes as a good sign.

You wait for him to talk, feeling his warm hand in yours. If you were anything, you were patient. Especially when Five came crawling to you on his knees.

“I’m an asshole.” 

“Yep.” You say nonchalantly.

“I shouldn't have snapped at you, I just-“ he sighed, shaking his head, “I just screwed this whole thing up. I missed the decimal and changed our bodies forever.” He looked at your glass, avoiding your gaze.

“Hey,” you said, reaching out and turning his head to look at you, “I’m not mad at you for what happened. This-,” you motioned to yourself “I took this risk, and I’d do it all over again.” You reached up holding his face in your hands.. He leaned into your touch, his own hand coming up to caress yours.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked, shaking his head. 

“Beats me.” You laughed, he rolled his eyes lightly shoving you. You smirked, pulling him closer, kissing him. He hummed smiling into the kiss, his hand wrapped around your waist. You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his jaw. You weren’t lying when you said it didn’t matter what happened, as long as you had Five next to you, you would be just fine.

[siriusleee]

.22

a short thing using your favorite characters to remind you that 22 veterans commit suicide a day, and that this memorial day is not supposed to be a party. veterans get chewed up and spit out by a system that doesn't care about them, and while fiction is fun, we should remember that. mentions of canon typical violence and suicide. it's a fic about military men, you should already know.

The 7.62 is hot. 

Yesterday was another funeral, skipped in favor of the shooting range. There's a new one almost every week.

22 veterans die everyday!

A deafening crack - one thick finger on the base of a hair trigger. The casing burns his forearm when it flies out. 

Today is 23, but he's almost sure that the poster in the base's med hall doesn't count the ones on the other side of the scope. Or maybe it does. It's not his job to ask those kinds of questions. 

Price's voice cracks in the comms. He sounds old - they all sound old these days. This is not an old man's job, not with the way the arthritis is starting to eat at the base of his spine; not the way the hairline fractures spiderwebs away from his left knee.

 But they move on like young men - him and Kyle crawling in the dirt towards another bunkhouse, another step closer to Makarov, another step closer to bullet for Johnny. 

Simon is tired of feeling old. He's tired of the dirt beneath his nails, the gunpowder smell that clings to him no matter how long the shower lasts. Him and Johnny used to joke about going on vacations with the wives they don't have, watching the children they don't pretend to name chase each other on the warm sand of some beach they've only bled on before. They were supposed to feel young again in their retirement. 

But Simon gets older with every passing minute; every knife that knicks the bones and cartilage that threatens to break down. Retirement isn't coming, he thinks.

He's not Superman after all.

There's a .22 in the drawer of his bedside table. 

Lately he's been sleeping with it underneath the pillow. Memory foam. Thick. It's supposed to block out the feeling of the mattress springs digging into his neck, but it doesn't block out everything. 

He's a dog, spinning around in place to make the bedding more comfortable. But the grass isn't laying down evenly, and there's just a stick digging into the tender flesh of his abdomen beside something that was probably once a set of black stitches. 

22 veterans die everyday!

The 7.62 is hot; the bullet shatters another skull, another set of dreams. Another mother with a notice of her son's death at her doorstep, falling into a crumpled heap while her husband tries to hold back his own tears.

24 now.

Suicide is the biggest killer of veterans, mowing them down the way an enemy force could only wish they could. But isn't this all suicide?

Isn't it suicide to stand in front of a fucking open window when you know there's an unknown sniper on the knoll? Is it really warfare?

Price barks at them to get up, to get going into the house.

Vengeance doesn't wait after all.

22 veterans die everyday!

Simon is exhausted by it all - by the blood and viscera, and the death and destruction. Nothing prepares you for the way fat melts, the way it makes your skin sticky and you can taste it on your lips; the house burns behind him after they ransack it. He doesn't remember who dropped the match. Does it matter?

Does it matter who's pocket it came out of?

22 veterans die everyday!

The .22 is cold beneath Simon's pillow. He can feel it when he gets home and crashes into bed, still dirty from the long flight and his refusal to shower in unfamiliar hotel rooms. He shouldn't be able to feel it through the memory foam - it's supposed to block out all those lumps and bumps anyway.

22 veterans die everyday!

Midnight rolls around - the 12:00 flashing red in the darkness.

It's back to 0, Simon reckons, shifting so the .22 isn't pressing into the base of his skull.

He needs to get some sleep - tomorrow is another day of hunting down Makarov. 

Another 22 gone.